A Life Worth Living

by Lorrie Kruse

“What? That we’d be lucky to get a job building a doghouse?”

  She smiled a you-got-it smile.

  He curled his lip and eyed her through tiny slits. “Doghouse? I don’t get it.”

  “We, honey. You said we. You’re no more ready to cut yourself out of the business than your father is.”

  She was right. He wasn’t ready to cut himself out of the business. But that didn’t mean he wanted it to go down in flames, either. “The group home is an important contract. It really is going to have an impact on future contracts.”

  She sat down and regarded him. “Your father didn’t start the company to get rich. He did it with the hope it’d be something he could share with you and your brother. If you end up building doghouses, that’s okay with him, as long as you’re all building doghouses together.”

  They both were insane. It was obviously up to him to make the build a success. Which meant he needed a frigging miracle.

  A hint of a memory tickled his brain. Miracle. It was something to do with a miracle. And Abby. She’d said something. What? It’d been just before he’d been released. They’d been in the gym. Their last night together. He nodded as it came to him. He’d asked her if there was any chance he’d recover, and she’d said the Internet was full of miracle recovery stories. That was it. The Internet.

  He went to the computer, logged on, and then typed in “paralysis cures.” The screen filled with lines of text. One hundred twenty-nine thousand hits. A lot of it guaranteed to be crap, but the key to his recovery might be hidden somewhere in all those websites.

  He scrolled through the lines, looking for anything promising. He saw a hit that said, Woman cured after two years of paralysis. Two years. That was well beyond the eighteen-month mark he’d been told would mean the end of hope. With his heart pounding, he clicked on the website, only to find it dealt with a woman who’d had a stroke. He clicked on the printer icon anyhow, just in case there was something helpful he’d missed.

  He clicked on entry after entry, printing anything that looked hopeful. After two hours, his eyelids started to droop. He propped his head up with a hand and scrolled to the next entry. The words in front of him started to blend together. He closed his eyes. Just for a second.

  §

  He was aware of movement beside him. It took him a moment to realize his head was tipped forward and his eyes were closed. He’d drifted off to sleep. Something heavy dropped onto the desk. He looked up just in time to see Crystal walking away. The thick stack of printouts were no longer haphazardly stacked in front of him but were off to the corner, right about where he’d heard the thump. Damn.

  “Crystal,” he called out. She didn’t stop. He backed away from the desk and went after her.

  She stood in the kitchen, facing the counter, her back to him. Her purse sat on the table next to a plain plastic shopping bag.

  “Don’t you think it’s time to move on?” she asked.

  “Move on?” She, the queen of I-won’t-touch-you, couldn’t possibly be saying such a thing. “You mean like you have?”

  She turned to him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He went to the fridge, pulled out a beer, and popped the tab. The liquid was cold, and he felt it all the way down to his stomach.

  “Matt.” Not a question, but a demand.

  “Why do I need to move on when you refuse to accept my paralysis?”

  She squished up her face and gave a little shake of her head. A movement he used to find cute. Used to.

  “I have accepted your paralysis.”

  He took another drink and then stared her down. “That’s why you still refuse to touch me? Because you’re so accepting?”

  Her eyes shifted away.

  “I can feel, Crystal.” He ran his hand down his thigh. “Here.” He touched his stomach. “Here.” He laid his hand flat against his heart. “But most of all, here.”

  She opened her mouth. No words came out.

  He put his beer can on the counter. “I’m looking for a cure so I can be the man I used to be. The man you once loved.”

  He wanted her to correct his claim, to say she still loved him.

  She stepped closer. With her eyes on his, she knelt and placed her hands on his legs. “My feelings for you haven’t changed, Matt. Not one bit.”

  “That’s what scares me, Crystal. Things haven’t been all that great between us in a long time. I’ve tried to do whatever I can to make you happy, but it’s impossible when I don’t know what’s wrong.”

  “Nothing’s wrong.” Her eyes didn’t meet his.

  “Well, I feel so much better now.” He tried to wheel away from her, but he was trapped between her and the refrigerator.

  “I know I’ve been rather distant lately, but it’s only because your accident shook me up. You could have died. I guess, in my own little way, I’ve been protecting myself from further hurt.” She moved her hand higher up his thigh. “I’m sorry, honey.”

  At that moment, he no longer wanted an apology nor did he want to quibble with explanations. What he wanted was for her hand to move two inches higher. It had been way too long.

  He brushed her cheek. “Babe, don’t you know it’d take a lot more than a scrawny tree to take me down?”

  She covered his hand with hers, pressing his fingers to her skin. Tears gathered in the corner of her eye. “I’m sorry.”

  The floodgates were about to open unless he found a way to stop them. “You’re sorry?” He motioned toward his lap. “What about him?” He stared deep into her eyes. “He’s missed you.”

  “I’ve missed him too.” She covered his crotch with her hand and gave a light squeeze before pulling her hand away.

  “That’s all he gets?”

  “I have to get dinner going.” She stood and picked up the shopping bag.

  He pictured a fighter jet spiraling from the sky and then crashing into the ground in a burst of flames. That was their relationship. “That’s right. Dinner trumps sex any day.”

  “I just don’t want to be eating at nine, okay?”

  “Sure. Fine. Dinner it is.” He took a deep breath and willed his anger away. Not worth the effort. He nodded at the package clutched tight to her chest. “What’d ya get?”

  “If you must know, it’s a treat I was going to save for this weekend.”

  He made a grab for the bag. “What kind ‘a treat?”

  She twisted away from him. “You just never mind.”

  “That’s not fair. You know I hate surprises.”

  Her mouth twisted. He couldn’t for the life of him figure out what she was thinking. Her mouth snapped back into place. “Fine. You want to know so bad, go get undressed and lay down on the bed.”

  He felt hope reviving. Any surprise that started with those words was just fine with him. “You getting undressed too?”

  Keeping her body between him and the bag, she wiggled past him. “Just go, like I asked. Lay face down.” The stairs creaked a moment later.

  Still backed up to the refrigerator, he looked up at the ceiling, picturing where she was based on the sound of her footsteps. His old bedroom. Other than when she’d moved her clothes back downstairs, he couldn’t remember her going upstairs for anything.

  “Are you naked yet?” Her voice drifted down the stairwell into the kitchen.

  At the word naked, he decided he really didn’t care what she was doing up there, as long as she didn’t plan on leaving him stranded in bed alone.

  She came into the bedroom just seconds after he’d settled himself chest down on top of the covers. The satiny slip that she wore shimmered as she moved. One hand was hidden behind her back. He thought he’d died and gone to heaven when she straddled him, her weight resting lightly on his upper thighs.

  There was a snap, like the sound of a flip-top bottle opening. “This might be a little cold,” she said.

  “What might be cold?”

  “Shhh.” A rose scent filled the air. Something dripped on his back. She
slid her hands up his back toward his shoulders.

  Body oil and a soft touch. He’d never felt anything so heavenly in his life. “Where did you have that stuff hiding?”

  Her fingers stopped moving for just a second. “Nowhere. I just bought it, from Judy at work. She had one of those naughty parties.”

  Her fingers kneaded little circles high on his shoulders. It felt truly wonderful, but naughty thoughts were now running through his head. Her, lying back, legs bent and spread while he worked her to a frenzy with a vibrating toy. “What else did you buy?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Too bad.”

  Her hands, warm from the oil, moved away from his shoulders, going lower. The sensation changed when she crossed the injury line. The warmth of her hands changed to just a sensation of touch. Her fingers slid over his hips and then cupped his ass.

  “I always liked your naked behind,” she said.

  “Ditto.” He sighed as she squeezed his right cheek and then moved upward again, this time at a faster pace until she reached his shoulders.

  “I can turn over, if you want,” he volunteered.

  “Later.” Her hands remained at his shoulders and neck, her thumbs making paths around the edges of the surgery scar, never crossing directly over.

  “I can give you a massage,” he offered.

  “Later.”

  He gave up on trying for more and concentrated on the feel of her touch. It did feel nice. The sexual thoughts lessened as he became more relaxed. His breathing slowed. His cheek and ear sank into the pillow. His body melted into the comforter. Even if he’d had the , his legs he wouldn’t have been able to at that moment. As it was, it’d take more strength than he possessed if he needed to get into the wheelchair.

  Her hands stopped moving. A moment later she whispered, “Matt.”

  He took one more breath and then drifted off to sleep.

  When he awoke, the bedroom was cast in shadows. He cocked his head, thinking he heard noises upstairs. When nothing further came, he lifted himself up to his elbows and looked at the clock. Seven forty. Damn, he’d almost missed the whole evening. He turned himself over and then dragged his naked ass into his wheelchair. At that same moment, he heard a sound so quick he couldn’t quite place it. Footsteps on the stairs? He sat still and listened. Water ran in the bathroom sink. Obviously, he’d been wrong about the origin of the noises.

  He wheeled out of the bedroom at the same time Crystal came out of the bathroom. She looked like a vision, still dressed in the satiny slip. Her hair was mussed, only slightly neater than after a great round of sex. Color brightened her cheeks.

  She took one small step back. Her head dipped. “I didn’t know you were awake.”

  “Just woke up.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her onto his lap. He snuggled his face against her chest. She smelled good. Flowery. Like the scented oil. “But I can easily go back to bed, if you want. Use some of that oil on you now.”

  “I think we should probably have dinner.”

  He slid his hand beneath her slip. “My thoughts exactly. I’m very hungry.” He wanted her so much he ached. He worked his fingers between her thighs and wiggled his way around her underwear. She was warm and wet, just the way he liked her.

  “Matt, dinner, remember.” Despite her protest, she spread her legs slightly. His finger went in easily. Damn, she felt better than he remembered. So wet, like she’d spent the past hour dreaming of this moment.

  She tipped her head back and spread her legs even further while she purred like a kitten. He slid in another finger. About the only time he could remember her feeling this loose was right after he’d made love to her. He pictured the plastic bag she’d had earlier. It’d had a lot more in it than just a bottle of oil. She’d bought toys, and she’d been keeping herself busy while he’d been sleeping. Busy taking care of herself when he’d have been more than willing to please her.

  Shaking off the bad feelings before they could find a permanent home, he decided he’d just have to show her how much better he was than a vibrator. He pressed his fingers deeper inside her. She might have started her party solo, but he was going to finish it. Oh, he had plans for her. Bring her to the brink of a killer orgasm and then pull his fingers free. She’d have no choice other than to finish herself off in front of him or straddle his love machine. He didn’t care which, as long as she wasn’t hiding from him.

  She thrust against him and moaned softly. So close. So close he could almost feel it. One more second and he’d be giving her his ultimatum.

  The phone rang and she went still. He tried to get her back in the mood.

  She pushed against his hand. “The phone.”

  “They can call back.”

  She freed herself from him. “It might be something important.”

  “Nothing’s more important than this.” He tried to pull her back to him. He’d love to strangle whoever it was on the other end of the phone line.

  She stepped into the kitchen. The phone quit mid-ring followed by her breathless, “Hello.” A second later she shoved the cordless phone at him.

  “Your timing is impeccable,” he said as a greeting.

  “I figured you’d be happy to hear from me,” Derrick said. “I was thinking we should go out, get a couple brewskies.”

  Leave it to Derrick to finally decide to get together. Matt eyed Crystal flitting around the kitchen in the slip that clung to every curve she owned. No way was he leaving now. “Great idea. I’m free next week on Tuesday.”

  “I meant tonight.”

  Crystal had hamburger in a frying pan, sizzling. Dinner in the making. Make-out time was obviously over. But that didn’t mean it couldn’t be resurrected later. “Tonight’s not good. How about you come over…tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow’s no good. I’ve got plans. Maybe next week, then.”

  “Yeah. Next week.”

  “What’d he want?” Crystal asked after Matt hung up. Her back was to him. The slip shifted over her hips as she chopped an onion.

  “Just to see if we wanted to go out tonight, but neither of us are exactly dressed for the occasion, so I said no.”

  She brought her arm up, like she was wiping her eyes. She sniffed.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Darn onions.”

  She set down the knife and turned to face him. Her eyes glistened. “You know what we should do tonight? Let’s watch a movie. I can make some popcorn. Maybe you’ll sit next to me on the couch?”

  “Sounds like a date, babe.” In his book, a date was a hell of a lot better than being an old married couple. On a date, he had a chance and a half of getting laid.

  §

  A soft glow filled the bedroom when Matt awoke the next morning. Even though he’d never gotten to finish what Derrick had interrupted, the evening hadn’t been totally ruined. Crystal had cuddled up next to him on the couch while they’d watched You’ve Got Mail, and then, not even a minute after he settled into bed, she came in and slid herself into his arms. He’d take a night with her snuggled up to him anytime.

  They’d drifted apart over night but she was still next to him now, a tantalizing vision with her lips slightly puckered in sleep. He worked his way closer to her. She rolled away and pulled the covers over her head. So, they’d just cuddle he decided as he lifted himself to his elbow.

  “Could you stop jiggling the bed?” She rolled further away.

  He flopped onto his back.

  “All I want is another hour of sleep, okay?”

  “Sure, babe. Another hour.” Another hour with me lying here, wide awake, wishing you weren’t so far away. He dragged his body to the edge of the bed and reached out to grab hold of the wheelchair, but he got nothing but air. “Where the hell is my chair?”

  “I moved it,” she mumbled from beneath the covers. “It was in my way.”

  She’d moved his chair. Because it was in her way. What if he’d gotten sick over night and had to get up? Or maybe just to take a pi
ss? Or what if there’d been a fire? The house could have been filled with smoke by the time they woke up. Valuable time would have been wasted searching by touch for his chair. Time that could mean the difference between life and death.

  “Damn it, Crystal. You can’t move my chair like that. That chair is my legs.”

  Still burrowed within her cocoon, she said, “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

  He glared at the bump beneath the covers. The bump that hadn’t made any effort to get the chair that was out of reach. The chair that was out of reach because the bump under the covers had moved it. “Are you going to get my chair, or do I have to fall off the bed and crawl over to it? Where the fuck is it, anyhow?”

  She threw back the covers and stomped to the closet, which put her at the furthest point of the room. She yanked the chair away from the wall, her feet slapping the hardwood floor as she stomped her way back. She shoved the chair at him and then rounded the end of the bed. For someone so tiny, the bed shook an awful lot as she crawled back in on her side and pulled the covers over her head again.

  He made a face at the lump under the covers and then made his transfer. He got to the hallway before he remembered he was naked. Every stitch of clothing he owned was behind that closed door. With Crystal. The last person he wanted to be near at that moment.

  Too keyed up to relax, he wheeled into the bathroom and glared at the shower stall. He wanted his claw-foot tub back. Not that he ever chose baths over showers, but he wanted to be able to take a bath if the mood so happened to strike him. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. What he really wanted was to be walking again. To be the man he used to be, the one who didn’t have to rely on a frigging wheelchair to get around.

  But wishing didn’t change anything. The fact was, he was stuck in the damn chair whether he liked it or not. And the shower wasn’t going to magically change back into his tub. Taking one final deep breath, he wheeled closer to the shower and transferred onto the plastic bench—another piece of his life that he despised. On a roll, he thought about Crystal in the next room, buried under the covers. He’d envisioned Saturday mornings with Crystal starting out with them making love and then moving their lovemaking into the shower where they’d caress each other’s soapy bodies.