A Life Worth Living

by Lorrie Kruse

  She held the book with one hand and pulled her pony tail loose with the other and finger-combed her shoulder-length hair. If life were a book, there’d be a man running his fingers through her hair right now, instead. They’d be stretched out in front of a crackling fire. Somewhere far, far away from this nursing home.

  In the book, Chase had just told Piper he loved her when, in real life, the CNA came into the room, bringing reality with her. Sally stooped over to pick up Helen’s discarded book. “Your mother’s been exercising her arm again, I see.”

  “I made the mistake of showing her how to turn the page.” Abby stashed her book back in her purse.

  “Trying to teach her anything is useless, you know, but you get a gold star for trying.”

  Helen stared at the TV without any recognition that she was the topic of conversation. Sally put the book on the nightstand and then waved her hand in front of Abby’s mother’s face. “Helen, time to tell your daughter goodnight.”

  Helen’s eyes shot to Abby. “You’re leaving, already? You just got here.”

  “I’ve been here two hours, Mom.”

  “I know how to tell time. It’s only…” She looked at the wall clock and then back at Abby. “You’re messing with my mind. You changed the clock just to…nail with me.” She shook her finger at her daughter. “And don’t you lie to me or I’ll tell your father when he gets home. Where is your father, anyhow? He should be here by now.”

  More than ready to make her escape, Abby gave her mother a hug and a kiss. “Goodnight, Mom. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Most nights, her mother returned the hug without a fuss. Tonight, her mother clung to her. “Take me with you.”

  Abby’s whole being tensed. “Tomorrow, okay? We’ll go for a car ride. Go and get ice cream. Would you like that?”

  “I want to go, now.”

  “Tomorrow.” Feeling trapped, in more ways than one, Abby pried her mother’s arms loose. She wanted to make her escape. Not just for tonight, but forever. Just step out that door and disappear.

  “You’re going to leave and never come back, just like Danny.”

  Like her mother had read her mind. She crouched and locked her gaze on her mother’s beautiful blue eyes. “I’ll always come back, Mom.” It was the truth, but it felt like a lie. She had to force herself not to look away in guilt. “I’ll always come back.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Matt’s hands lay limp in his lap as the CNA wheeled him to the gym on Monday morning for his first round of therapy. A man who was calm and relaxed, without a care in the world. That’s what he hoped anyone looking at him would see. Act confident and you’ll be confident. It usually worked. Usually. Not today.

  He wanted to believe what he’d been telling everyone. Everything would be fine. Fine. As in, him, walking. But it was hard to hold on to that belief when he was on his way to learn how to adapt to a life without walking.

  The CNA pushed him through a set of double doors into a room filled with blue padded tables and basic exercise equipment. Not a single set of parallel bars in sight. His shoulders slumped as the dream slipped further away.

  Off to the right was a nurses’ station where Abby stood behind a desk. She looked up and waved, her smile wide, as if his arrival was the highlight of her day. The cheerleader held up a finger, motioning she’d be with him in a moment. His mouth tightened in a half sneer as she all but skipped over to a file cabinet. Probably to get her pompons.

  The CNA, who was old enough to be the cheerleader’s mother, parked his wheelchair to the left of the doors. “I’ll be back for you in forty-five minutes.”

  Forty-five minutes stuck with the cheerleader. He didn’t think he could put up with Ms. Peppy that long. “I’ll give you twenty bucks if you come back for me in thirty.”

  “See you in forty-five.”

  Across the room, a therapist worked with a man on one of the blue vinyl mats. She looked about as far away from being a cheerleader as possible. She had to be at least forty-five years old. Chubby. She looked like it’d take a jackhammer to crack the frown off her face. Sure bet there were no pompons hidden beneath her bed. The important thing was, it looked like she knew what she was doing.

  There was a third therapist, also older than Abby. Much older. She’d probably been a therapist as long as Abby had been alive. Which meant she had lots of experience.

  He looked back at Abby. The tightness in his shoulders stretched to the back of his neck. Why’d he have to get stuck with the cheerleader? What was it about her that got under his skin, anyway? No matter how many times he’d told himself he was being an ass when she’d been in his room, he’d found it impossible to be nice. She was fifteen feet away, and he already felt nasty crawling through his veins.

  Trying to put her out of his mind, he turned his attention to the exercise and weight-lifting equipment that lined the farthest wall. He had better equipment in the workout room he’d built in his attic, back home.

  “Ready to begin, Matthew?” Abby asked.

  She’d managed to sneak up on him. His heart gave three quick beats before it settled into a regular pace. He looked up at Abby in her purple smock top with her hair pulled up and her lips all shiny. “Shit. You ever hear of shoes that make noise?”

  “Sure have, but they’re not as much fun. Speaking of fun, are you ready to start?”

  His pulse jumped up another notch. “Been looking forward to it all morning.”

  Abby moved him to a padded exercise table and then set the wheelchair’s brake. She swung the armrest out of the way before handing him a highly polished transfer board. “You want to tuck—”

  “I took Wheelchair 101.” Damn it. They hadn’t even been together a full minute, and he was already barking at her.

  She stood back and crossed her arms with a “have at it” expression.

  Using the remaining armrest for balance, he leaned sideways to tuck the board beneath his thigh. He hated relying on others to move him, and it also bothered him that he needed to grip the armrest to keep from falling over. Hopefully, the cheerleader could help with that.

  When the board was in place, Abby leaned over. He rested against her shoulder like he’d been shown. Her hair smelled nice, like strawberries.

  “Today, we’re going to work on balance.” Abby slid him across the board. She kept her hands on his shoulders once he was settled onto the mat. “Your head is your center of gravity. If you lift your hand, you’ll want to move your head in the opposite direction to counterbalance. I’m going to let go in five seconds, so do whatever you feel you need to in order to stay upright.”

  He pressed his hands against the vinyl mat. Abby pulled her hands away. His body rushed backward, filling him with the sensation of falling. His weight settled on his arms. His breath came out in a burst, even though he was safe.

  “It won’t be so bad once you learn how to control your weight,” Abby said.

  His heart still pounding, he looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time since he’d been brought in. She wasn’t in the same league as Crystal, but Abby qualified as pretty. The bright overhead lights brought out the natural golden tones in her silky, light brown hair, which was pulled back in a ponytail like Kaylee often wore. Unlike Crystal, who used makeup to its fullest, Abby wore very little. Her only indulgence seemed to be lip gloss.

  “I’m taking you on your word,” he said.

  “You’ll see.” She bent those lips into a smile that would have convinced an armless man to buy gloves. “Lift your right hand, Matthew.”

  The last word was like nails on a chalkboard. “My name is Matt. Got it?”

  “Okay, Matt. Lift your right hand.”

  It was going to be an awfully long six weeks if he couldn’t control his tongue. He sighed. “I didn’t mean to snap. I just hate being called Matthew. Makes me feel like I’m being yelled at.”

  She flashed him another one of those buy-these-gloves smiles. “Apology accepted.” She raised her h
and in front of her as if to remind him of her request.

  Inside his head, the motion of lifting his arm was easy. In reality, he had to concentrate on tipping his head just the right amount to counterbalance his arm. The fact that he had to concentrate so hard on something so simple renewed the resident anger to a slow simmer.

  “When I was a kid, anytime I did something wrong, it was Abigail Marie Fischner. Never just Abigail. Always had to be the full gamut.”

  He nodded, his body wobbling with the movement. “I know what you mean. I got yelled at so much, I thought my first name was Matthewlucashuntz. It wasn’t until I was in kindergarten that I realized it was three names, instead of one.”

  She arched her eyebrows. “You were a troublemaker?”

  Troublemaker? That depended on whether you asked him or his mother. “Nah. I prefer to think I was overly inquisitive. My niece, Kaylee, is that way.”

  “She seems like a very sweet kid.”

  He furrowed his forehead for a moment until he remembered that Abby had met Kaylee. “My mom thinks Kaylee got her curiosity from me.”

  “A legacy from her uncle.”

  The muscles tightened across his shoulders, and his jaw twitched. Was that the only legacy he’d leave as his mark on the world? He’d personally shoved a mile-long tube in his dick that morning, just so he could piss. Something like that should have registered somewhere between down-right-painful and mildly-annoying. He hadn’t felt a thing. Not his hand. Not the tube. Not even the pressure of needing to piss. In his estimation, that didn’t say much for his future between the sheets.

  “Okay, lift your left arm now,” Abby said.

  Back in the good old days, he’d have simply sat up straight and held up his left arm. Now, the motion required thought and patience. Once he recovered, he’d never again take for granted all the little things he’d done without thought for so many years.

  “Good.” She held her hand in front of him. “Touch my fingers with your right hand.”

  “Touch your fingers? I’m paying big bucks for therapy and that’s the best you can come up with?”

  Her mouth quivered as though she was trying to hold back a smile. “Okay. We’ll move to phase two. Be right back.”

  He watched her bounce away, and his weight wavered when he twisted his neck. He pictured himself toppling forward. He kept his head perfectly still, and the sensation that he was about to fall passed. Was this the way it was always going to be? Having to think long and hard about every move he made? Fearing he would fall flat on his face? Think confident. Be confident. He moved his head just enough to make him sway. Mr. Confident vanished in a flash. He held his breath until he steadied.

  Abby came back with a tennis ball.

  “Goody. We’re going to play tennis instead of work, huh?” He slowly turned his head to look straight ahead, stopping whenever he felt his body sway. The cheerleader turned tennis pro stayed silent as though she realized he needed his full concentration. It seemed to take forever before he inched his face forward again, but he made it without falling.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  For what, he didn’t know. “Sure.”

  “Catch,” she said as she tossed the ball.

  Instinct took over. He reached out. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Ms. Bouncy lean toward him with her hands raised as if preparing to catch him. He barely cracked a confident smile before he fell over, crashing against the padded mat.

  Abby put her hands on her hips. “So, do you want to do things my way? Or yours?”

  He pushed himself up, conscious of her watching him. His elbow hurt, along with his ego. “I’d hate to stand in the way of the couple weeks of schooling you went through.”

  “Thought so. Lift both hands and reach for my finger with your right hand.”

  Biting his lip, he reached to touch her fingers.

  “Good.” She pulled her hand a half inch away. “Touch my fingers, now.”

  He followed all of her stupid directions until she motioned him to put his hands down. The cheerleader was a pain in the ass, but she wasn’t the powder puff he’d pegged her for.

  “You did well,” she said. “We’re going to work on rolling over, now. I’m going to have you lie down.”

  She leaned in toward him, preparing to help him lie down. He was about to spout off that he didn’t need her help. Then, he remembered crashing onto the mat earlier. He clamped his jaw tight while she eased him backward. As soon as his head touched the vinyl, she stood and held up her hands like she was praying. “Clasp your hands, like this.”

  He clasped his hands. “Now I lay me down to sleep.”

  “You can nap when we’re done. In fact, you’ll probably want to.”

  He held back a laugh. Like rolling over was going to tire him.

  She moved her hands above her right shoulder. “Swing your arms as though you’re chopping wood sideways.”

  He linked his hands and stretched them over his head to his right side. Rapidly swinging his arms to the left, he brought his hands even with his hips, yet he remained on his back. This was supposed to help him roll over?

  “Try again.”

  Bringing his arms into position again, he wondered how stupid he looked. He sure felt stupid. Abby stood with her attention focused on his movements. If she’d had even a hint of a smile, he would have thought this was all a joke. As if she wanted to see if he’d do this incredibly ridiculous thing, just because she’d told him to. But she was all business.

  “You can do it, Matt. Just put some power behind your swing.”

  Sure. Easy. No problem.

  He brought his arms down as hard as he could but failed to roll over. Warmth infused his cheeks. Maybe he didn’t want to roll over. Maybe he’d just go through his life stuck on his back whenever he was lying down.

  Shit.

  He tried again. And again. He tried until his arms and shoulders ached, but there was no way he was giving up. Not until he rolled over and made the cheerleader happy. Took him seven times, but his body finally rolled to the left.

  “Wonderful,” Abby said with an excited tone that sounded like he’d done something truly spectacular. She was so impressed, she made him do it again. Over and over. Until he thought he was going to keel over from exhaustion. He wanted to tell her what she could do with her lessons, but he was too tired to talk.

  He glanced at the door, expecting to see the CNA waiting for him. His forty-five minutes had to have been up at least twenty minutes ago.

  Abby raised the table. “Now, you get to relax while I do all the work.”

  “About fu…” He cleared his throat.

  The corner of her mouth tipped upward for just a second before she pinched her lips together. He had the feeling she was enjoying this.

  She picked up his leg and rotated his hip joint. “It’ll get better as you get stronger.”

  Before the damned accident had turned his world upside down, he’d been in the habit of working out forty minutes every morning before putting in a full day lifting lumber and sheetrock and bundles of shingles. How strong did a person have to be to sit up and roll over?

  She pushed his knee toward his chest and then straightened his leg. The tension returned to his shoulders and neck. He should be able to move his own damn leg. The thing was still there, attached to his body. The nerves, the veins, the bones, the tendons. All there. Nothing missing. It seemed so wrong that he had no control over pieces of his own body. It wasn’t just the lack of movement that bothered him but also the fact that he couldn’t feel her hands on his leg.

  Finally, Abby put his leg down one last time. He tried to ignore the helpless feeling as she transferred him into the wheelchair. Mean and nasty pulsed through his veins again, simmering beneath the surface.

  “Good job, Matt,” Abby said as the other woman took control of the wheelchair. “I’ll see you tomorrow,”

  “Can’t wait.”

  The CNA moved at a snail’s pace. He thought abou
t pushing the wheels for her, but that required too much energy. They’d just made it to the door when Abby called out. “Oh, wait.”

  She came up beside them. “I forgot, I have something for you.” She handed him some papers. “I gathered up some information on bikes you can pedal with your hands, like we discussed. I also found an article about a paralyzed man who rock climbs.”

  The top sheet showed two models of a recumbent-style bike. May as well hang a neon sign over the guy’s head that glared PARALYZED. A panicky sensation crawled beneath his skin. He didn’t want the damn bike. He didn’t want to climb mountains with special equipment. What he wanted was to be normal again. To be a man. Just like his dad.

  He looked away. “I’m ready to go back to my room.”

  §

  At the end of the day, Abby settled down in the quiet gym with a stack of patient files. Marsha and Sara had already left—the reversal of cockroaches—they scattered at the sound of quiet. Abby, however, found the hours after the patients had left to be the best time to do paperwork. Of course, she didn’t have a family waiting for her at home.

  And they didn’t have a nursing home visit waiting for them.

  She opened the top file. Matthew Huntz. No. Make that Matt Huntz. Exhaustion settled over her like a heavy coat. And that was the effect of only one session with him. Tomorrow, that would be doubled as they added in the afternoon session. Matt Huntz thought he knew best, like he was the therapist.

  He seemed to dislike her. Not like it really mattered. Her role was to get him mobile again—not to win a popularity contest. Their association would be over in eight weeks when he went home. Sooner, if she got the job at Milwaukee Spine Care Center.

  The interview had been over a week ago. She could only assume they’d made a decision by now. Obviously, that decision didn’t include her. She sucked her bottom lip in between her teeth. If she didn’t get the job, so what? She could always find a job somewhere else that would allow her to work exclusively with brain-injured patients.