by Faith Potts
“You’re cheating.”
“So what?”
“So what? That is not improvement! How are you going to get better if you won’t follow orders?”
James sighs dramatically, shifting to the side and leaning his shoulder against the wall that the bars are close against. “Look, this isn’t easy, okay?”
I wince—that was a jab. “I never meant to insinuate that this is easy for you, either physically or emotionally. But you can do it and you are going to do it.”
He stands there a moment, brows furrowing. “I’m not sure I appreciate your condescending tone.” When he pushes off the wall, glaring at me, I know I’ve won. “Move out of the way, Lil’ Miss Therapist.”
Grinning over the nickname, I duck back out of the bars and stand off to the side, arms crossed. “Show me what you’ve got, Semper Fi.” Two can play at this nickname-giving game.
Lips mashed together and eyes boring into the floor, he lifts his prosthesis and sets it down a few inches ahead of his foot. Then, hand clenching the bar so tightly his arm is almost shaking, he lifts his foot completely off the floor and moves it next to the prosthesis.
Grinning, I clap my hands—unintentionally startling him. “You’ve got this, James.”
He nods, still carefully focusing. “Thanks.”
I watch as he continues down the bars, gaining speed. A grin splits his face in two, stretching wider with each step he takes.
I meet him at the end of the bars, more pride welling inside of me than I’ve ever experienced over a patient’s progress. “Now how would you say this feels?”
He smiles at me, still holding tightly to the bar. “Amazing.”
“And the prosthesis? How does it feel?”
He releases an exaggerated breath. “Weird. Very weird. And not at all like I thought it would.”
I nod. Not that I can relate, but I’ve heard others say the same. “Any pain?”
“I’m not sure I’ve noticed. Sorry, I’ll try to pay more attention.”
“Oh, don’t apologize. You’ve got a pretty good reason to be distracted.”
He nods, still grinning ear to ear. “Thank you.”
I stay close and steady him as he switches his hand to the other side and turns around in preparation to take on the bars again. Then I walk alongside back down to the end we started at. He falters a time or two, but he doesn’t give up. Healing is sweeping in, as darkness and pain are losing ground.
We reach the end of the bars, and he turns to look at me. “How was that?”
“Good. Very good.” I take a step back and cross my arms, meeting him with a challenging eye. “But you can’t stop now. I want you on the treadmill by the weekend.”
He chuckles under his breath, apparently not taking me seriously. “You’re crazy. It’s Monday morning.”
“Maybe. But I’m in charge here.”
For anyone who’s wondering… James was on the treadmill by Thursday evening.
Chapter Seven || James
Once I’m deemed ambulatory by my therapist, I move forward with my plans to take Joe up on his offer of a place to stay while I figure things out. It isn’t like I can go anywhere, seeing as how I’m still reporting back for therapy three days a week. I’m not sure I’d want to leave this town even if I could.
My bag is packed and waiting at the door when Joe comes to pick me up. I’m not very steady on my new leg yet, so I still use a crutch to keep from losing my balance.
Greeting me like the cheerful retiree he is, Joe makes me feel at ease as we head down the hall and out of the hospital. Being around him, I don’t feel so messed up. I can tell he sees the person hidden underneath, just reaching for daylight. A good deal like his niece in that aspect. I could get used to hanging out with this family.
After navigating the hospital and parking deck, we arrive at Joe’s F-150. He tosses my bag in the back and heads for the driver’s door before looking over at me. “You good?”
“Yeah, I’ve got it.” I think. I hope. Lifting the crutch over the side of the truckbed, I drop it in the back and open the door. Gripping the handle above the door opening, I find the running board and heave myself up into the cab without a hitch. Not bad, bro.
I respond to Joe’s questions during the short drive, trying to keep my mind on the conversation. But I can’t. Instead, my brain bounces from one thing to another, continually coming back to the first time I left a hospital. And when I entered medical care in the first place. Which, of course, was the night I lost…
No. I squeeze my eyes shut and prop my head in my hand. I can’t go there now. God, help me to fight this. Help me not to fall into—
“You okay, James?”
I lift my head at Joe’s voice. “Yeah, I was just thinking about the last time I was not an occupant of a hospital. I mean, initially. Some things I just don’t have the strength to relive. You know what I’m saying?”
“I know, son.”
He doesn’t say anymore, but there’s no need. Others may talk more, attempt to pry out details I’m not ready to share, try insistently to understand when they really can’t. But Joe doesn’t need to. Because he does understand. He’s been there.
It takes less time than I thought it would for us to get to Joe’s house and complex. I thought it was farther from the hospital than it is, but maybe that’s because we didn’t take a direct route, going or coming, last time.
We roll into the parking lot, and I scoot forward to glance around. A grassy lawn is situated on the street side of the main complex, cut and bordered with stone. The secondary complex, as I already know, is under interior construction to eventually be able to house up to eight additional vets. A private drive cuts through the parking area between the two stacks of apartments and leads to a average-sized home at the back of the property.
Joe pulls up in front of the first building, puts the truck in park, and glances my way. “Ready to meet the guys?”
“I guess so, ” I say with a shrug. But he’s already out of the truck and around the back.
I slide out of the cab and hold onto the door until Joe brings my crutch. “Thanks.”
He doesn’t say anything, just looks me in the eye in the way that suggests he can see straight through my skull and read my innermost thoughts. “You all right, son?”
Hearing something behind us, I turn to check it out—avoiding the question. The door to the apartment opens and a guy in a wheelchair comes out. He’s probably about my age, with loose blond hair and tattoos scattered up his arms.
Another guy steps out behind the first, probably thirty or a little over. When he steps out of the shadows and into the sunlight, I see that a few jagged scars mark the side of his face and neck. Wonder what his story is.
“Yes, sir,” I say quietly, so only Joe can understand. “I think I’ll fit in just fine here.”
Chuckling, he shakes his head, retrieves my bag, and leads the way toward my two new roommates. I limp along, skirting the cement parking block, finally making it to the sidewalk.
Joe wastes no time in making introductions. “Corporal James Greene, this is Corporal Lester Speirs and Staff Sergeant Brian McGuire. James, don’t take anything either of them say seriously without checking in with me. They’re Army guys, but it’s the best I could do. Brian, Lester, this is the guy I told y’all about. Make the new kid feel at home, and don’t berate him too much, will you?”
I’m not exactly a kid, but his rapid-fired words brings smiles to all four faces, so I let it slide.
“Nice to meet you, James.” Lester looks like he’s about to offer me his hand, but catches himself in time.
“Say, Lest, we’re the three musketeers again!” Apparently noting my confusion, Brian turns to me and explains. “Another guy, Josh, lived here for about a month before moving in with his parents. You don’t plan on leaving us for the old folks anytime soon, do you?”
I wince at the question, a prod into an area of my life that I’ve been thinking of less a
nd less lately. “Uh, nope. Let’s just say they don’t want damaged goods.”
Brian’s amber eyes cloud and he nods. “Hey man, I’ve been there. Don’t let it get you down. We’re all damaged, but that’s okay.” He grins and whacks my shoulder with the back of his hand. “Welcome to the club.”
|| ~* || ~* || ~* ||
|| Alex
Weaving my way through the populated church sanctuary on Sunday morning, I scan the room looking for familiar faces. Okay, to be honest, I’m looking for James. And it appears that he’s not here.
Uncle Joe catches my eye, his smirk unmistakable. Caught. Stifling my grimace, I start toward him.
“Good morning, Alexa dear.” Aunt Gloria greets me as I slide into the pew next to her. Opposite my conniving uncle.
“Morning,” I return her loving hug and sit down. After dropping my bag to the floor at my feet, I turn back to the couple at my side. “Did James not come with y’all? I saw Brian and Lester in their usual seat, but he’s not with them.”
Trying in vain to hide his grin, Uncle Joe shakes his head. “No, he opted to stay home this morning. I was hoping he’d come, too.”
Too. I resist a teenager-ish roll of my eyes.
“Go ahead and fill her in, Joe,” Aunt Gloria is saying. “You know George can never get the music started on time.”
Leaning his forearm on the pew ahead of us, Uncle Joe scoots to the edge of his seat—apparently to convene with me. “Lexie, you remember the sister James told you about?”
I nod, immediately intrigued. “Callie. Why?”
“Found her.” He’s hunting through his shirt pocket as he speaks to me.
“Really?” I barely contain a girlish squeal. What is wrong with me? I do not squeal. Like, ever.
“Yup.” Giving up on his pockets, Joe makes a face and twists to Gloria. “Have you seen that piece of paper with—”
Before he finishes speaking, she holds out the sought-after note, shaking her greying head. “I thought you’d probably end up needing it sooner or later.” She winks at me, enjoying having the last word.
I grin; these two are adorable. “So…how did you find her?”
“I have my ways.” The smirk returning, Uncle Joe holds the paper out to me. “Her name, phone number, and address. She’s still Callie Greene, although she’s engaged according to her Facebook page.”
“You snoop.” I inspect the piece of paper, imagining what James would say if he knew we were looking up his kin. “Where’s Amesville?”
Joe shrugs. “A couple hours northwest of here. It wouldn’t be hard for her to drive down to see him.”
“So you’ve talked to her?”
“Impatient, aren’t you?” He laughs. “No, I thought you might like to be present.”
He wants to include me when placing a call to my patient’s detached sister? I’m appreciative—but slightly suspicious of his motives. “I would love to. Can we—”
Before I can finish the thought, the opening strains of I’ll Fly Away trample through the air, arousing even the least enthused parishioners.
“We’ll talk more after church.” Joe slides back into his seat, replacing his arm around his bride’s shoulders. And I know the conversation is over for now.
If only it would leave my mind so easily.
|| ~* || ~* || ~* ||
“Come on in, dear!” Aunt Gloria greets me as I let myself in through their kitchen door. In this family, everyone gathering at Joe and Gloria’s for Sunday lunch is nearly as much of a tradition as exchanging gifts on Christmas morning and eating turkey on Thanksgiving.
“Wow.” I drop my keys and phone onto the side table, eyeing the counters full of food. I know she believes in feeding people well, but this is a bit excessive. “What’s the occasion?”
Aunt Gloria smiles over her shoulder from where she stands across the kitchen. “Nothing special. The guys are coming over, of course, along with Kellon and his family.”
The guys. That means James. I smile to myself and wander over to the sink where she’s halving cherry tomatoes for a tossed salad. “Can I do something to help you?”
“Actually, yes.” She points the knife toward a drawer next to the stove. “You can get silverware and set the table in the dining room. Joe is in there now, putting the extra leaf in.”
Humming a worship song, I collect silverware and cloth napkins—it’s always cloth napkins on Sundays at this house—and head to the next room.
Uncle Joe looks up from pushing the table into place as I enter. “Hey, hon. When you’re done with that, can I steal you away for a few minutes?”
“Sure.” I start around the table, straightening tablecloths and adding napkins and forks. “Do you need help with something?”
He grabs the knives and helps me finish up. “Nah, I just thought you might like to be present when I call Miss Callie Greene.”
“Of course I would!” I grin, quickly arranging the last two settings. If we’re successful in reuniting James with his little sister, I have a feeling it will only strengthen his newfound faith. “I thought you were gonna make me wait until after dinner.”
“We’ll go ahead before everyone gets here. Depending on the response we get from her, I might even mention it to James this afternoon.”
Nodding, I follow him out of the room. I duck into the office behind him and hop onto the desk, swinging my legs over the edge like a five-year-old. Just as I have since I was a five-year-old.
“Pfft.” Joe sinks into the desk chair but doesn’t reprimand me. Being someone’s favorite has its advantages.
He digs around in his pocket for the paper with the number on it and then punches it into his phone. The ringing tone fills the room when he places the device face up on the desk between us, speaker activated.
“I’ll do the talking until things are mostly explained, ‘kay?”
I grin, matching his whispered tone. “What? You afraid I’ll botch something?”
Uncle Joe gives me a melancholy little smile. “No. But, as far as we know, she doesn’t even know he’s been hurt.”
My face falls, my heart drops. Oh. Right. “Gosh, I wasn’t even thinking about—”
“Hello?”
I jump, my eyes falling to the phone.
Clearing his throat and sitting forward in his chair, Uncle Joe speaks. “Hello. Is this Callie Greene?”
“Yes, sir… Can I help you?” Her voice is cute, but timid and apprehensive, too. Wonder what she looks like.
“I believe so. Do you know a Corporal James Greene of the United States Marine Corps?”
This time the answer is a bit coming. I chew my nails out of habit as we wait.
“Yes, sir,” Callie says again, following the pause. “That’s my big brother.”
“I thought so. Can you tell me when you last saw him?”
“Over a year and a half ago. Sir, can you please tell me why you’re asking all this?”
“Of course.” Uncle Joe’s tone instantly shifts from interrogating to easygoing. “I didn’t mean to frighten you, but I did want to be sure we had the right person. My name is Joe Craig. I’m a retired veteran, and I live in Capeton, South Carolina. I have a sort of ministry for returning service members, who may have been injured, don’t have families, or are trying to decide where their lives are to go from here.”
He pauses to catch his breath, and Callie quickly jumps in. “Are you saying you’ve met my brother?”
“Yes, ma’am. I met James about five weeks ago, while he was a therapy patient in a hospital here. He was officially released last week and is now staying here in one of the apartments.”
“So he is hurt?”
Uncle Joe’s eyes bounce to mine, full of confusion. “Yes…did you already know that?”
“Yes…no. Well, for months now I’ve felt like something wasn’t right, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I had no way to contact him unless I reached out to our parents. Is…is he okay, sir? If you were able to look me up, why
wasn’t it James that called?”
I watch my uncle pinch his eyes shut for a moment before answering her. I lay my hand on his arm and give it a squeeze. This is where it gets hard.
“He’s okay, ma’am. Or he will be. He was injured in an IED blast back in September.”
A noise comes through the phone that could easily have been tears or sniffling. Oh, God bless her…
Uncle Joe takes it all in stride. “He lost his left arm and right leg.”
Yep, she’s crying now. We both wait in silence for a moment before Uncle Joe tries to go on. “He’s doing very well, ma’am. My niece is actually right here with me, and she knows more about that side of things than I do.”
Uncle Joe nods for me to go ahead, and I lean over the phone. “Hello, Callie. I’m Alex, and I’ve been James’s physical therapist for the past month. Like Uncle Joe said, James has been getting along really well, especially lately. He was fitted for a prosthetic leg awhile back and got it the week before last. He’s doing great at walking again and seems to be regaining some confidence.” I stop to give everything a minute to sink in. I wish we were together in the physical sense, so I could know how well the poor girl is handling it all.
After a quiet moment, during which Uncle Joe reaches to take my hand, she speaks. “Can you tell me why James is there instead of home with our parents?”
I wince, having known we’d get around to this sooner or later. With a go-ahead nod from Uncle Joe, I quickly relay to Callie the story James told me about overhearing his dad’s conversation and the many comments about his supposed worthlessness. Uncle Joe adds comments now and then—apparently James told him much of this at some point in time.
“Psst!”
I turn to find Aunt Gloria standing in the doorway, waving a dish towel. “The guys are on their way over! I’ll shut this door, but y’all should probably make an appearance soon if you want to avoid questions.”
Joe nods, replying for the both of us.