A Life Worth Living

by Lorrie Kruse

  Truthfully, an apartment crammed with family sounded ideal. He’d gladly sleep in the bathtub with a shirt for a pillow if it meant he could spend the night with them. The only thing that’d make it better would be having Derrick there, as well. Then, the family would be complete.

  “Sounds like too many people all fighting for the bathroom first thing tomorrow morning, if you ask me,” Jenny said, “but I’ll put up with it if it means having time with Faith.”

  Brad sat on the arm of Jenny’s chair and slid his arm around her. He did a chin thrust at his brother. “Ma said you’re coming right along with your recovery. Just like I told Derrick, you’ll be back in time for the summer rush.”

  His brother was trying to be encouraging, but it had the opposite effect, reminding him that more people were relying on his recovery than just himself. He looked at his father. Even after the long drive, he looked relaxed. Tired and weathered, but relaxed. How relaxed would he look come summer, with Matt still in a wheelchair and only three men to build the group home?

  His attention shifted to Crystal, who was still trying to interest Kaylee in the doll. How about her? How worn down would she look once she realized she was stuck with what he’d become, instead of the man he used to be?

  He looked back at his brother and sighed. “I’ve still got a long way to go.”

  Brad became interested in a tiny hole in his T-shirt, a confirmation that Matt couldn’t change the outcome of his recovery. Avoiding the possibility of his not recovering wouldn’t change things, either. In roughly a month, he’d be home again. The chances were becoming better every day that a wheelchair would be coming home with him. Like it or not, it was probably time to order his own chair. And stop hiding from the other arrangements he had to make.

  Matt clasped his hands behind his neck. Damn, how he hated the thought of putting in a ramp and making all the other modifications that’d make his house wheelchair friendly. Worse yet was acknowledging he’d need help when he went home. Twenty-six years old and he needed a frigging babysitter. Just didn’t seem right.

  “You look deep in thought,” his father said as he joined the party.

  Matt shrugged in answer while he inspected the fine lines that etched his father’s face, especially those around his father’s mouth. No traces of blood, but that didn’t mean his father was out of the woods.

  Maybe now wasn’t the best time to bring up the remodeling he needed done on his house. Besides, what if he was jumping the gun? What if he had the work done and then his body finally decided to cooperate with him?

  What if he wasn’t jumping the gun?

  Everyone was staring at him now. Everyone except Kaylee, who was still fixing the toy box, sawing on it with a chunky orange plastic saw. He wanted to be right there with her in the land of make-believe.

  Murphy’s law. Better to have the work done and not need it. “I was just thinking about having some work done at my house.”

  His father sighed, like he’d been waiting for this conversation and had been hoping this moment would never come.

  Matt lowered his arms. “I’m going to need a ramp put in. The bathroom needs remodeling. And I guess I’m going to need my bedroom moved downstairs.”

  “That sounds like you’re giving up.”

  “Carl,” his mother gasped.

  Giving up. His father would see it that way. Matt, always the disappointment. “Forget it.” His voice was louder than he’d intended. “I don’t want a ramp. I don’t want a wheelchair-friendly bathroom. I don’t want a downstairs bedroom. I don’t want any of it, and heaven knows, I don’t want to be stuck in this wheelchair the rest of my life.”

  Crystal’s mouth opened and she pulled back like he’d slapped her. And then her lip trembled and the tears started. He didn’t have it in him, right then, to comfort her. And he didn’t want to apologize for his outburst. All he wanted was to be alone. He pushed hard against his wheels and kept moving until he lost steam about two hundred yards down the hallway. He gave one final push and let his wheelchair coast to a stop.

  He shouldn’t have run out on his family. Not after he’d waited all week to see them. And not after they’d driven two hundred miles in a snowstorm to come see him. But he couldn’t make himself go back.

  He closed his eyes and pressed his fingertips to his face. His father was right to be disappointed in him.

  Footsteps sounded behind him. Heavy footsteps. Left out Kaylee. Whoever it was, he didn’t want a witness to him sitting here, wallowing in pity and shame. He especially didn’t want his father to see him that way. But he couldn’t make himself lower his hands.

  “Kaylee’s wondering where Uncle Matt went,” his father said.

  Damn. It would have to be him. Matt squeezed his eyes more tightly closed.

  “It’ll all work out, Son. Don’t you worry. You want to come back now and discuss these changes you need?”

  Want to? Hell no. He didn’t want to ever discuss it. But, like it or not, it was beginning to look like he had to.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  On Monday morning, Matt wheeled to the physical therapy gym fifteen minutes early, just to escape the quiet of his room. The weekend had been way too short, and the next five days stretched out ahead of him like a year.

  Parked just inside the door, he scanned the gym. Esther was with a patient across the room. Other therapists were working with patients, too. Everyone too busy to keep him company, but being here was still a damn sight better than being alone in his room.

  A woman came into the gym, dropped a stack of files on the desk in the nurses’ station, and then left. More people came and went until he lost track of the comings and goings. He barely noticed movement beside him.

  “Well, look what the cat dragged in.”

  His heart raced a little when he recognized Abby’s voice. With his gaze locked on Esther, he spoke with a gruff voice. “You people ever hear of shoes that make noise?”

  “Sure have, but they’re not as much fun.”

  He looked up at Abby in her purple smock top with her hair pulled up and her lips all shiny. A feeling of déjà vu hit him, remembering their first therapy session. Next, she’d say, Speaking of fun, are you ready to start?

  Her lips parted. “So, who’s your therapist?”

  Feeling like she’d said the wrong line, he nodded in Esther’s direction. “Esther Roper.”

  “She seems nice. I think you’ll do well with her.”

  I was doing well with you.

  “It’s really great seeing you again, Matt, but I need to get back to work. Don’t want to get fired on my first day.”

  He let her get several steps away before he called out. “Abby.”

  She stopped and turned toward him. Her smile made him want to buy everything she had for sale.

  He wanted to ask what it’d take to get her assigned as his therapist, besides a brain injury. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “I’m glad you’re here, too.” She gave him a little wave.

  He laughed when he noticed the bounce in her step. Good ol’ Cheerleader Abby.

  “Well, well, well,” Esther said as she blocked his view. “Look at this. Matthew Huntz, all full of smiles. Eager to get going with his therapy. You must have heard that we’re jumping curbs again today.”

  “Oooh, curbs,” he said, feeling the pleasant effects of being with Abby fading. “Should be loads of fun.” Especially when he had to pick himself up off the ground when he fell again. Then he could have the enjoyment of listening to Esther tell him how much easier it’d be in his own chair. “Can’t wait.”

  “I knew you’d feel that way.”

  His own chair. One he should probably be ordering. He tapped his fingers against the push rims as he glanced over at Abby. She was talking with a woman he had never seen before. A center employee, he guessed, based on the ID badge clipped to her suit jacket.

  As if Abby knew she was being watched, she looked his way. He figured that buy-these-glo
ves smile would grow even broader if she knew he was thinking of ordering the damn chair. He looked back at Esther and wondered what her face would do if she knew what he was thinking. Him, ordering a chair. What was the world coming to?

  Esther stared back. Her eyes burned into him.

  Do it. Just open up your mouth and get it over with.

  “The curbs are waiting,” Esther said.

  “Yeah, sure,” he answered. Plenty of time to talk about ordering a wheelchair once they got settled into the therapy session.

  At the wheelchair obstacle course, he stopped in front of the curb they’d been working with on Saturday. He knew what to do. No instruction necessary. Instead of popping the wheelie, he said, “Let’s say I wake up tomorrow and I’m able to move my ankles or bend my knees that means I’ll be able to walk again, right?”

  “It would certainly be a good sign.”

  Encouraging, but not the affirmative answer he’d been wanting.

  “With your past patients, the ones like me who could only wiggle their toes at this point, have any of them walked again?”

  “Every case is different, Matthew. You can’t rely on what may or may not have happened with someone else.”

  Why couldn’t she answer the damn question? “I just want to know what my chances are.”

  “I’m sorry, but there’s no way to tell at this point.”

  Stepping around his question. Something Abby wouldn’t have done.

  “Shall we get down to business?” Esther asked.

  He popped a wheelie. The trick was to hold the wheelie and roll forward at the same time. He edged forward. His weight shifted. He tried to hang on to the wheelie, but before he knew it, the room was tipping the wrong way. As his head raced toward the floor, his thoughts betrayed him. This would be so much easier if you had a chair designed specifically for you.

  Esther crouched down next to him. “Matthew, are you okay?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  With a gesture that was becoming all too common, she held open his right eyelid and then checked his left eye. “Appears normal, but I’d better call the doctor.”

  “Don’t bother. Call the wheelchair guy instead.”

  §

  As Matt feared would happen, the week dragged by, with each day feeling longer than the last. But Friday finally arrived, and he found himself growing excited. He parked himself by the bed after his last therapy session and cradled Crystal’s picture in his calloused hands. In just eighteen hours he’d be with her again, but tomorrow seemed a lifetime away. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine her laugh. Instead, it was Kaylee’s giggle he heard, and that brought forth a whole new feeling of loss. He missed what Saturday afternoon would bring and Sunday evening would steal away. His family. Crystal.

  “You’re too morose.” He put the picture back, adjusting it until it was just right, turned toward the bed where he could see it when he woke up.

  Five more hours until bedtime. Five very long hours. Made him wish he hadn’t already drawn out the plan for the ramp. He also wished he still needed to write up the materials list for the rest of the projects he needed done at home. Then, he’d have something to do.

  He couldn’t stand the thought of sitting in his room alone, not even for one second longer. There was sure to be activity in the common room, so he wandered out into the hallway. The common room was to his right, but he felt compelled to turn left. “What the hell.” He turned left.

  At the next intersection he paused as he considered his options. Right? Left? Straight ahead? His inner guide said straight. At the T-intersection he stopped again. There wasn’t a whole lot to the left, but to the right was the center’s lobby, another path to the common room, and the vending machines. Turning right made sense. He turned left, instead.

  Within two minutes, he found himself in front of the closed therapy gym doors. There was no reason for him to be here, but this felt like where he was supposed to be.

  A crack of light shone under the door. Behind that door was thousands and thousands of dollars worth of state-of-the-art weight-lifting equipment. Equipment he worked with in therapy but not to the extent he liked. If he were at home, all alone, he’d likely be up in the attic working out with his own weights. That was all he needed to justify opening the door.

  Abby sat behind the desk that formed a hub in the center of the room. She looked up and smiled. A genuine smile that wasn’t simply polite. Like she was happy her work was being interrupted.

  “I was in the neighborhood and saw the light on,” he said, a genuine smile of his own forming. “I was wondering if I could spend some time on the weights.”

  “Sure. I’ll be here a while.”

  It appeared she was the lone therapist. “Did you get in trouble again and have to stay after class? Being forced to write over and over ‘I will not be a pain in the ass.’”

  “You know, I’m thinking I could get into trouble letting a patient use the weights after hours. I’d hate to get fired with only a week under my belt.”

  He wheeled a little closer. His gaze locked on to hers. “And I’m thinking that if you’re here this late on a Friday instead of out enjoying yourself, that must mean you need to brush up on your social skills. What better person to practice on than me?”

  She looked like she was struggling to hold back a smile. “Maybe someone who isn’t so stubborn.”

  “Stubborn?” He pressed his fingers to his chest with mock indignation. “Me?”

  “Yes, you.”

  Arguing with her was certainly more fun than sitting in his room. “Cool. I thought I was only disorganized and messy. It’s nice to know I’ve risen above mediocrity.”

  She nodded at the exercise equipment. “Go knock yourself out.”

  He wheeled over to the pec machine. Within minutes, his movements became automatic, and his thoughts were free to roam. They went right where they’d gone a lot this last week. In roughly three weeks, he’d be going home. In less than two months, they’d be starting the group home build. It was getting harder and harder to hang on to the belief that he’d be of any help on the project.

  In the back of his mind, he heard Abby spouting off percentages. He glanced her way. Her head was tipped forward. A lock of hair had pulled free of her ponytail and was hanging down by her cheek. Having even one hair out of place would have sent Crystal running for a mirror with a bottle of hairspray. Crystal wouldn’t even step out of the house without her face fully spackled with makeup. And you sure as hell wouldn’t ever hear Crystal reciting percentages.

  Less than two percent of all patients have any significant recovery.

  He looked away, but the thought was stuck there in his head. If he didn’t recover, what did that mean for the group home build? Or, on a larger scope, what would it mean for his future as a construction worker?

  Even though he’d already mentally navigated the jobsite in a wheelchair and determined it wouldn’t work, he found himself doing it again, looking for the loophole he’d missed before. After twenty minutes, he came to the same conclusion he’d come to before—working in construction was probably one of the worst professions for a paralyzed man.

  At the same time he noticed Abby walking toward him, he realized he’d quit working the weights somewhere along the line.

  “Coming to kick me out?”

  She sat on a weight bench next to him. “Nope. Just coming to remind you that I’m a good listener. It looks like you need one.”

  His impulse was to claim he didn’t need her good-listener skills, that he was fine. But he wasn’t all that fine. The stillness of the weights he was “working” with proved it. Abby’s statistics might not be as encouraging as he wanted, but at least she didn’t give him pat responses that didn’t answer anything. “I can move all my toes now and the sensation has returned everywhere. That’s good, right?”

  “Definitely. Every move forward is a step in the right direction.”

  “Let’s say I wake up to
morrow and I’m able to move my ankles or bend my knees, that means I’m going to walk again, right?”

  Her eyes were locked with his. “I know you want me to say yes, but I can’t.”

  Not what he’d hoped for, but it was exactly what he’d expected her to say.

  “I can’t say no, either. I can tell you all the statistics, but there’s just no way of knowing what’s going to happen.”

  Not a no, but not a yes, either. “I hate this not knowing.”

  “I would, too.” She leaned closer. “Matt, I know it’s not what you want to hear, but it really would be best for you to decide that this may be as good as it’s going to get. You can’t be disappointed that way.”

  “Okay, let’s say this is all I get. How do I stay in construction if I don’t walk again?”

  “I’m not a construction expert, but I’m certain there are plenty of things you can do. There’s got to be paperwork— ”

  “I’m a construction worker, not a secretary.” As his father would be the first to agree. “I’ve been over it all in my head. There’s close to nothing I can do in this wheelchair. That’s why I’ve got to walk again, Abby.”

  She sighed. “I don’t envy you the predicament you’re in. It’s got to be one heck of a balancing act to try to hold on to hope while facing facts at the same time. I wish I could be more encouraging, but the sad truth is that—”

  “The odds are against me.”

  She nodded.

  There it was. His stomach seized up like a pinched saw blade. He wished he were alone and that there wasn’t some unwritten rule that men can’t cry because he wanted to do just that.

  Abby put her hand on his knee. “I’m sorry, Matt.”

  Through the pain came an awareness that wasn’t unpleasant at all. He could feel her touch. Even if he never walked again, at least his body wasn’t dead. He wasn’t dead. When you got right down to it, that’s what mattered.