A Life Worth Living

by Lorrie Kruse

  No, it didn’t have to be perfect, but he wanted it right or his father would never believe him that the order was correct. He carefully laid out the tile pattern with shaded blocks. “See, if you lay it out just like this, there’s plenty.”

  His father rubbed his chin while he examined the diagram. “It could work.”

  Matt looked up at his father. “It will work.”

  His father continued to stare at the paper, working the figures in his head.

  “It’ll work, Dad. Trust me.”

  “We’ll see.” His father folded the paper and put it in his chest pocket.

  “Have I ever been wrong before?”

  His father grinned. “Not that we’ve noticed, but I think that’s because you sneak in extra materials when we’re not looking.”

  A devious idea. One he’d never thought of. Not like he’d ever needed to. But it surprised him that the thought had occurred to his father. Was it possible that devious thoughts came naturally to his father? Things he managed to hide with an expression of innocence? Things like paying his son’s loans?

  Matt laser-beamed his father. “You know anything about my loans?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  Finally, the mystery was almost over. In seconds, his father would say he’d made the payments. Instead of trusting that Matt could handle it on his own, dear ol’ dad had felt the need to clean up the mess.

  “Someone paid them,” his father said. “But, like I said before, it wasn’t me.”

  Matt sank into the pillow. The search was still on.

  §

  Friday came without much change in Matt’s life. Like an obedient dog, he’d sat and he’d rolled over. Now that his “workday” was done, all he wanted to do was play dead. When the CNA brought him back to his room, he eyed the bed with longing. She pushed the wheelchair to the bed and positioned him for the transfer. Within ten minutes, he could be sound asleep.

  But sleeping wouldn’t get him back to his old life.

  “I’d like to stay up for a while.” Like he was a little kid asking permission.

  “Sure thing. Just call when you want to get into bed.”

  Call. For help. Because, after five days of therapy, he still was little more than a helpless baby. So helpless that he apparently could no longer handle something as simple as paying his own loans. Even though his dad had said he hadn’t paid the loans, Matt was betting his father was the culprit. Picking up after his irresponsible son.

  “At least I can sit and roll over,” he muttered to the empty room.

  Barely.

  Trying to stop himself from dwelling on his lack of improvement, he pushed his thoughts in another direction, one that didn’t involve the damn loans. Unfortunately, the topic that came to mind was the group home, and it refused to be shoved away.

  There was no way three men could complete the project by the deadline. They needed a fourth set of hands. If those hands didn’t belong to Matt, then they’d belong to an outsider, something his father would never agree to. Which put them back at not being able to complete the project by the deadline. Matt’s fault. Both for convincing his father to bid on the contract and for now being out of commission. Somehow, he had to figure out a way to stay a viable member of the crew, even if he remained stuck in the damn wheelchair.

  He pictured himself on the ground nailing together the framing. A bit inconvenient, but doable. He’d be no help, though, when it came time to erect the walls. Installing the windows and doors would be impossible. He could help with the siding for the lower four feet, maybe even five—after that, he’d be useless. Forget helping with the roofing. Insulation? Possible…for the bottom half only. Drywall, no way.

  The list of what he couldn’t do far exceeded what he could. All in all, he’d be pretty close to useless. The only way to salvage the project was for him to not be stuck in the wheelchair.

  Hoping for a miracle, he held his hand an inch away from his leg. Please, God. Let me feel something.

  He dug his fingers into the muscles.

  Nothing. He pulled his right leg onto his knee and tore off his too-white running shoe, tossing it onto the ground. He focused all of his attention on his big toe. Move, damn it. Just a little. Move.

  His toe wasn’t listening.

  A heavy weight of responsibility pushed down on his shoulders as his thoughts shifted to Crystal. How fair was it to hold her to marrying him when the man she’d be getting wasn’t the same man she’d said yes to? The right thing to do would be to cancel the wedding, at least until they knew if he’d recover or not.

  Canceling the wedding might be the right thing, but if it meant losing Crystal, he didn’t want to do right. How selfish was that?

  He rubbed his forehead. It’ll be okay. It’ll work out. Somehow, it’s going to be just fine.

  “Is that some new fad?” came a familiar voice from the doorway. “Wearing only one shoe?”

  Matt looked up to find two of his pool buddies standing there. Travis and Sam. “If you were hip, you’d already know that.” He put out his fist and butted hands with both men in a modified handshake.

  The visit helped distract him from his worries, and he found himself even more thankful he’d opted to stay at St. Luke’s. In Milwaukee, there’d be no visits from the casual friend or distant relative. Or nightly visits from Crystal and his parents.

  §

  Abby sat in the quiet of the gym with an open directory of group homes and nursing homes. Thirty minutes gone and she had yet to find even one place that would give her mother better care than Eastlawn Manor. Looking at the list of homes she’d rejected, she wondered why she was bothering. Paul wanted her to stay. He’d said so last night.

  Right after he’d said he loved her.

  She grabbed the phone and dialed yet another number. The receptionist answered with a chipper, “Hot Springs Villa. How may I help you?”

  Can you make my decision for me? That’d be a help. “I’m looking for a place for my mother.”

  “I’ll connect you to our administrator. Hold, please.”

  Abby sighed. More wasted time for what was sure to be another dead end. She rocked her feet left and right, swiveling the chair. She’d give it two more calls. If she didn’t find a place better than Eastlawn in two more calls, she’d take it as a sign.

  “Charles Presthed.” The clicking of computer keys accented his greeting. “What are your mother’s needs?”

  His abrupt question rendered her speechless.

  “Her needs, please.” The clicking of his keyboard never slowed down.

  This was sure to be a bust. Tempted to simply hang up, she gripped the phone a little tighter and took a relaxing breath. “My mother had a head injury seventeen years ago.”

  “Her needs, Miss.”

  Could he be just a bit more brusque? “Supervision, I’d guess. She’s like a child when it comes to the basics.”

  The clicking of the keyboard finally stopped. Unfortunately, it came with a sigh followed by a five-second stretch of quiet before he spoke. “All traumatic brain injured patients require supervision, and they’re all like children when it comes to the basics. Is she on a respirator? Does she need assistance with feeding herself? Can she dress herself?”

  If this was what the administrator was like, then she was afraid to find out about the staff. “I’m sorry. I don’t think this is the right place for my mother.”

  “You obviously haven’t heard our success ratio or you wouldn’t be saying that. Seventy-five percent of our residents are released home within months of placement with us. Of the remaining twenty-five percent, three quarters are in less restrictive housing within three years. There is no other group home in all of Wisconsin that can make the same claim.”

  Her mother, in independent housing? No. That was impossible. “I’m sorry, but you must have missed the part where I said my mother’s injury was seventeen years ago.”

  “Head injury, seventeen years ago, supervision, like a child.
I heard it all. If you change your mind and wish to have your mother placed here, perhaps it’d be better for you to have her doctor call me.” The clicking started up again. A moment later, he was gone.

  “Of all the arrogant donkey’s behinds.” She dropped the receiver onto the cradle. “‘Have her doctor call me.’ I’ll do just that you…you…uuurgh.”

  “Problems?”

  Her stomach fluttered at the sound of Paul’s voice. She looked up and met his blue eyes. It amazed her how one look at him had her wanting to melt into the safety of his arms. Just the way she’d felt with Jovan—before she’d found him in bed with another woman.

  She scooted closer to the desk and further away from Paul. She hugged her arms across her chest. “Just a group home administrator with a stick up his behind. Whatever you do, if anyone ever asks you about Hot Springs Villa, tell them to run in the other direction, as quick as they can.”

  “Hot Springs? In Milwaukee? It’s funny you should mention them because Cara said I should tell you about Hot Springs.”

  Cara, who batted her eyelashes at Paul. Little Miss Cara, who had to giggle and playfully slap Paul’s arm every time she talked to him. Caaraa, who talked to Paul waaay too much, above and beyond the call of duty for a doctor’s nurse. Gag.

  Abby giggled and batted her eyelashes and playfully slapped Paul’s arm. “What a coinkidink.” If Hot Springs came with a recommendation from Cara, then it was all the more reason why she shouldn’t place her mother there.

  “She said she’s heard great things about them. Did you know that ninety percent of their residents are back home within months?”

  It’s seventy-five percent. “Wow. Imagine that.”

  He pulled her up by her hand and wrapped her in his arms, squeezing and suffocating. “You might want to give that place a chance.” He nibbled her neck. “Just because you put your mom there doesn’t mean you have to leave, too.” His lips went lower, creating a new kind of tension. She arched her back, bringing her breasts closer, while wondering how she could ache to be with him while fearing it at the same time.

  “After all,” he said, his lips moving across her smock while his fingers probed her elsewhere, “your mom would be home in no time.”

  Her mother. Home. Not in a nursing home, but…Home.

  It seemed like an impossible dream, but one that made her wonder if it could be a dream come true.

  She cradled Paul’s head and pressed him closer to her breast and sighed. Maybe her mother coming home wasn’t the only dream that could come true.

  §

  Travis and Sam had barely left when Crystal appeared in Matt’s doorway, dressed all in white. A white parka. White jeans. White fur boots. She looked like an angel. An angel who didn’t deserve being stuck with a paralyzed man for a husband.

  “Your parents will be up in a moment,” Crystal said. “Your dad’s parking the car.”

  She came closer and leaned in to him. Her lips felt like heaven next to his. So good, he didn’t want to give her up, even if it were the right thing to do. He guided her onto his lap. Now that she was in his arms, he intended on keeping her there until her return to Fuller Lake forced them apart.

  She made a move to stand. He held tight. “Stay.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You’re not going to hurt me.”

  “I might,” she whispered. Her eyes shifted away.

  He caressed her cheek. “No, babe. Trust me. This couldn’t ever hurt.”

  She settled her head on his shoulder. Contentment filled him as he snuggled his arms around her. She rubbed his smooth cheek. “Thanks for getting rid of the beard.”

  As much as he hated to admit it, he felt more like himself with the beard gone. “Anything for you, babe.”

  Her hand dropped to her lap. Nothing concrete, but he sensed a shift in her. He closed his eyes and tightened his arms around her. Once he was home again, and walking, things would settle back into the way they belonged.

  “We leave them alone for five minutes and look what happens.” His father laughed. His laugh turned into a light cough.

  Crystal squirmed her way off Matt’s lap.

  He loved his parents, but why couldn’t they stay home, just once?

  Except, he didn’t really want that. He’d missed them as much as he missed Crystal. He just wished being with his parents didn’t mean losing physical contact with Crystal.

  His mother gave him a quick kiss and then dug into her bag. She held up a colorful drawing. “Kaylee made this for you.”

  A stick girl with yellow hair held hands with a black-haired stick man who was only one round head taller. Both people had smiles so large they spilled beyond the confines of their faces.

  “Let me guess. That’s Kaylee and me.”

  His mother nodded.

  “She’s grown a lot over the last week.” A sad smile formed as he gazed at the standing figure that represented him. How long until her pictures had him in a grossly disproportionate wheelchair?

  “I also brought your mail.” She dug in her bag again and handed him a stack of envelopes.

  Several cards. Bank statement. Too bad the statement wouldn’t tell him who’d paid his loans. He moved to the next envelope. Credit card offer. He ripped it in half and then dropped it in the garbage. The last envelope was his cell phone bill. Thinking of the phone’s glitch, he set the other envelopes on his lap and then ripped a tear in the cell phone bill envelope.

  “Did you figure out who your fairy godmother is?” his father asked.

  Matt looked up from the envelope. You? “Not a clue.”

  “Derrick said one of your pool buddies…Trevor?”

  “Travis.”

  “Yeah, Travis, that’s it. Travis told him the league set up some collection containers around town. Maybe they paid your loans.”

  Collection containers. Filled with cash. “Travis and Sam were just here. You’d think one of them would have mentioned it.”

  “Maybe they didn’t want to spoil the surprise,” Crystal said.

  “Possible,” Matt said as he set the stack of mail on the nightstand. Or, possibly, his father had found a good cover for what he’d done. He grabbed his cell phone and started dialing, earning a glare from his mother.

  “Who are you calling?” Crystal asked.

  “Travis. As pool league treasurer, he’d be the one to know.”

  “You can’t do that,” Crystal belted out as she grabbed the phone from Matt and pushed end call. “I mean, that’d ruin the surprise. Why don’t you give it a few days?”

  “Because it’s bugging me now.”

  Both of his parents laughed.

  “What?”

  “Some things just never change,” his father said.

  Matt held up his hands and shook his head with a shrug. “What?”

  “We’ll tell you later, dear,” his mother said.

  “Tell me what? Why later? Why not now?”

  Even Crystal laughed this time.

  “What?”

  “Crystal’s right,” his mother said. “If the pool league paid your loans, there’s a reason why they’ve not told you yet. Don’t go ruining their surprise.”

  “Errr,” Matt growled. “I hate not knowing.”

  “That means you’ll probably spend all night worrying about it,” his father said and then grinned. “Sounds like a good time to challenge you to a game of Dummy Rummy. Maybe you’ll be distracted enough to give the rest of us a fighting chance, for once.”

  “No,” Crystal said. “Not cards again.”

  “We could play Scrabble,” Matt said. Not that he liked Scrabble, but he had to do something or he would spend all night thinking about the damn loan payments, now that it was back on his mind. “I saw a game in the waiting room.”

  “No,” Crystal said. “No games. None.”

  “What do you suggest we do for fun, then?”

  “A movie. That sounds fun.” She aimed the remote at the TV. “I
’m sure there’s something good to watch.”

  A movie. Great. Like that’d keep his mind occupied. “I’m sure Ma and Dad didn’t drive all the way over here to watch a movie.”

  “Well, they didn’t come here to play Scrabble, either.”

  “I’m good with a movie,” his mother said.

  His father hunkered down in the chair like he was settling in for the long haul. “Movie’s fine with me.”

  Thanks for backing me up, guys.

  Crystal operated the remote with the skill of a seasoned couch potato. She paused for a moment on each channel, just long enough to get Matt interested before moving on. The all-news channel stayed on the screen for less than a heartbeat, giving him only a brief view of a man who looked like someone he knew. “Wait. Go back.”

  “We’re not watching news.”

  “Just for a second.”

  She sighed but flipped back.

  The man stayed on the screen only a second before the view changed, but it had been long enough to convince Matt that the man wasn’t anyone he knew.

  The pretty newscaster smiled at the camera. “Mr. Smythe claims he still plans on going to work tomorrow, even after winning the two hundred and eighty-million dollar lottery.” She looked at her co-host. “What do you say, Blake? Would you be coming to work tomorrow?”

  The co-host smiled. “You bet’cha. Long enough to clean out my locker.”

  “Lucky bastard,” Matt said. “Two hundred and eighty mil. That’s a shit load of money.” With that kind of money, there’d be no need for handouts from collection containers. His father wouldn’t have to pay his loans and pretend he hadn’t. Better yet, he could say goodbye to St. Luke’s and Milwaukee, as well. He could go home and bring in his own team of therapists. In no time flat, he’d be back to work.

  “I’d settle for eighty million,” Matt’s father said while he peeled back the paper wrapping on a roll of antacids. “No need to be greedy.”

  “Since neither of you are going to win the lottery tonight,” Crystal said, “can I change the channel now?”

  “As you wish, babe.” He leaned his elbow on the armrest and propped his head in his hand. He paid little attention to the pictures that flashed on the TV screen. Two hundred and eighty million. Crap load of money. Two hundred and eighty thousand would even be nice. Heck, he’d even be happy winning two hundred and eighty dollars, but he never won lotteries or raffles or drawings.