by Mila Gray
‘You want to get him to talk, right?’ I ask my dad.
He nods.
‘I think maybe he would open up to me.’
My dad shakes his head. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I think he’s developing feelings for you that are more than just platonic.’
‘Why do you say that?’ I ask, my voice uneven and my heart starting to thump so loudly I’m sure my dad can hear it.
He arches an eyebrow and smiles at me. ‘I might be getting on, but I know something about men and women. I know what I saw.’
I look down at the tabletop and grip my coffee cup tighter to stop my hands from shaking. How can Walker be attracted to me? He doesn’t even know what I look like. My dad’s got to be wrong.
‘Well, what if I make it clear to him that we’re just friends?’ I say, looking up.
‘Didi, this is what I’m talking about – you can be friendly, but you can’t be friends with a patient.’
‘But he isn’t my patient.’ I hear the truculent tone in my voice.
‘Semantics,’ my dad says. ‘You’re here at the centre, working as an intern. You need to abide by the same rules as all the staff here. There are very strict guidelines. You know this.’
‘OK,’ I say, looking him firmly in the eye, though it’s hard to.
My dad finishes his coffee in one gulp and stands up. ‘Well, I’d better get going. I have another meeting.’
‘OK,’ I say, and I smile, but inside a million emotions have started to wage war. My dad leaves and I sit there staring at my coffee as it grows cold.
Five hours later, having got nowhere either with my thesis or with ideas for decorations for the party, I decide to call it a night. I glance up at the clock in the darkened canteen. It’s almost midnight. I close my laptop and walk to the door, hesitating when I get to the elevators. I should leave, go home, get some sleep. But I can’t stop thinking about Walker. It was around this time the other night, maybe even earlier, when I walked in on him having a nightmare.
I tell myself I just want to check in on him and that once I know he’s OK I’ll leave, choosing to ignore the voice in my head that yells at me that I’m being stupid. Before I know it I’m riding the elevator to his floor, my foot tapping, my heart starting to gallop.
What am I doing? I scold myself even as the doors open and I step out. I shouldn’t be checking in on him. That’s José’s job. I should be keeping my distance from him. But I can’t stop myself. He’s all I’ve been able to think about since the conversation with my dad.
Can it be true? Does Walker have feelings for me? I can’t ignore the buzz in my stomach at the thought that he does, the quickening of my pulse.
The door is ajar so I can see that the light is off in Walker’s room. I tiptoe closer and then stop, holding my breath. Walker’s asleep, lying on his side, facing me, the sheet thrown off the bed. He’s bare-chested, wearing just a pair of grey boxers, I watch him, my heart starting to crash against my ribs. He’s mumbling in his sleep, but then he rolls over, away from me, and falls quiet. I stare at the tattoo on his shoulder, still unable to make out the words.
I hesitate. I could take a step into the room. One step and I’d be able to make out what it says. One step, just to make sure he’s OK.
I remember my dad’s warning. I think about Zac.
I turn on my heel and walk away.
Walker
I’ve been forced into helping with the set-up for the fourth of July party. Forced by Valentina, who hunted me down like a sniper on the prowl. I’d been hiding out in Dodds’ room playing cards, hoping I could avoid the whole thing.
Dodds, like me, was refusing to take part, even in the decorating, but Valentina had us assigned to jobs before we had a chance to even finish our round of cards. And there’s no sense in trying to argue with Valentina. Dodds got told to help out in the kitchen making pigs in blankets, and I’ve been told to help Sanchez in his bid to launch himself on the world as a DJ.
Valentina leads me to the cafeteria, where he’s setting up his decks. I’m not sure what help I can be, and I say this to Valentina.
‘You got ears, haven’t you?’ Valentina answers roundly. ‘So tell him what’s appropriate music to play. We’re going to have children and generals present. He can’t be playing any of that rap music with all the cursing.’
She dashes off and I fumble around for a seat until Sanchez pulls one over for me and guides me to it.
‘Man, that woman had her way she’d have me playing Lionel Richie and Bruce Springsteen and nothing else. I’m not even allowed to play Miley Cyrus because she doesn’t want any twerking going on.’
I sit there while Sanchez busies himself setting up. Within a few minutes he’s playing Lil Wayne at deafening volume. It’s so loud neither of us hears the interruption.
‘Gentlemen?’
Sanchez kills the volume abruptly.
‘How are you doing?’ It’s Doctor Monroe. Immediately my senses are on high alert, wondering if Didi is with him, but straightaway I know she’s not and register a dull disappointment.
‘Hey, Doc,’ Sanchez says. ‘Just setting up for the party.’
‘I’ve got a visitor. He’s here doing some research. I was wondering if you two might have time for a quick chat with him.’
‘Sure,’ says Sanchez.
I say nothing. Research? I’m starting to feel like a caged guinea pig in this place. I try to think of an excuse to escape, but before I can the doc has left and Sanchez is introducing himself.
‘And that’s Walker,’ he says, obviously nodding at me.
I lift my chin in a vague greeting and wonder if I should hold out my hand, but I don’t. I can’t be bothered with niceties. I wonder if he can tell that I’m blind?
‘Well, it’s great to meet you,’ the guy says in the overly enthusiastic voice I’m starting to get used to. It’s the one people use when they’re uncomfortable around me. ‘I’m Zac.’
‘So what can we help you with? What are you researching?’
‘Well, actually it’s for a role I’m auditioning for.’
Auditioning for? He’s an actor?
‘Wow, that’s cool, bro,’ Sanchez says. ‘What’s the role?’
‘It’s a paraplegic guy who takes on the government for the right to commit suicide.’
There’s a beat of silence before Sanchez fills it with a forced, ‘Huh, well, I guess you came to the right place. It’s paraplegic central here.’
Zac laughs and I grind my teeth. How exactly is that funny?
‘What I want to do is find out what it’s really like to be in a wheelchair,’ he goes on. ‘I want to understand what it’s like to know you’ll never walk again, never be able to do anything for yourself, never be with a woman.’
My stomach tightens into a knot.
‘I want to get into the mindset,’ he continues. ‘Really go method on this one. I’m thinking of borrowing a wheelchair from the centre and using it for a couple of days to help me get more into the role.’
There’s another beat. Is this guy for real?
‘You know, I’m not sure we’re the right people to talk to,’ Sanchez says in the tone of voice he uses with superior officers he can’t stand. ‘And we got to get ready for the party and all.’
I feel Zac’s eyes rest on me. I turn to face the windows. He’s not getting anything from me either.
‘OK, well, maybe I’ll, um, go take a look around, see if I can find someone less busy.’
‘You do that,’ Sanchez says.
He takes his leave and I hear the door shut behind him.
‘He wants to go method?’ Sanchez mutters. ‘I know a few people might help him out with that one. Put him in a wheelchair for real.’ He starts laughing and a second later Lil Wayne is blasting out of the speaker again.
Didi
I find Zac in the kitchen helping Dodds make pigs in blankets.
There’s a gaggle of kitchen staff around him, all female, and all of them giggling. One of them is trying to show him how to fold the sausage into the pastry and he’s joking around with her, flustering her so much that she drops a sausage on the floor. Another girl is filming the whole thing on her phone and in her excitement shoves Dodds out of the way in his wheelchair, her elbow connecting with his head. She doesn’t even apologize.
I see Dodds’ face darken as he wheels himself out of the way and into a quiet corner of the kitchen. I go over and join him there.
‘Hey,’ I say.
He grunts a greeting at me, his gaze fixed on Zac, who’s putting his arm around yet another girl while she snaps a selfie of them together. I watch for a moment, my gaze settling on Zac’s hand, which falls from the girl’s shoulder and comes to rest on her hip. I feel a pang of something sharp and unsettling and have to tell myself sternly not to get jealous. It’s just part of his job. He’s only being friendly.
‘Must be nice,’ Dodds mutters.
‘What must be?’ I ask, dragging my eyes away from the ongoing selfie snapping.
‘Having girls throwing themselves at you all the time.’
I don’t say anything.
‘You think if he was in a wheelchair for real they’d be acting the same way towards him?’
I put my hand on Dodds’ shoulder and squeeze. What is there to say to that? We both know the answer is that they’d be ignoring him as much as they ignore Dodds.
Zac turns and sees me and his face lights up. He waves, excuses himself and comes towards me and then, in front of everyone, he kisses me on the lips.
I’m so taken aback that I forget to close my eyes, so I can see all the girls over Zac’s shoulder as their jaws hit the ground. Someone raises their phone and takes a photograph and I pull away, but Zac takes my hand and smiles at me, not even appearing to notice that we are now the focus of everyone in the room and that even Dodds is gawping up at us in astonishment.
‘Were you looking for me?’ Zac asks.
I nod, though the truth is I’d actually been looking for Walker. Ever since the conversation with my dad I’ve been both avoiding him and unable to stop thinking about him. Even now I’m with Zac my mind keeps flitting to Walker.
‘Do you want to come and see the rest of the centre?’ I ask, wanting suddenly to get away from the glare of the spotlight. ‘I could show you the physio room if you like?’
Zac nods. ‘Yeah, maybe we could find somewhere private,’ he suggests.
I lead the way out of the kitchen, aware of the gossip machine roaring to life behind us, and I have to admit to myself that there’s a certain thrill to being with Zac, though the therapist side of me asks why that should be the case. Would I be as excited to be with him if he wasn’t famous? Dodds’ words linger in my mind. As we leave the kitchen, I notice that Dodds is staring after me with a scowl on his face. Is it disappointment? I glance quickly away and let the door fall shut behind us.
Walker
‘There you are!’
She’s found me. I was hoping that in my Dress Blues and sitting away from the crowd I’d be able to keep a low profile, but Valentina’s like a heat-seeking missile.
‘Can I get you some food?’ she asks, rubbing my arm.
‘I’m good, thanks.’ Truth is I’m starving, but eating in public is hard. I can’t see what’s on my plate and I always end up dropping food down my front.
‘You sure?’ Valentina presses.
‘Yeah,’ I say, forcing a smile. ‘I’m just not hungry.’
She pats my cheek. ‘You’re looking thin. Are you not eating?’ She tuts. ‘It’s the food here. It’s so bad I wouldn’t even feed it to my dog.’
‘It’s not so bad. But not as good as yours, for sure.’
‘Oh, there she is!’ Valentina shouts and rushes off.
I sit there alone, listening to the party going on all around me. I’m sitting at one of the tables that they’ve set up outside on the lawn in front of the lake. I was steered here by José. I’m not sure how many people are here, but it sounds like hundreds. All around me I can hear people chatting and laughing, kids screaming and yelling as they tear around – it’s setting my nerves on edge. Someone drops a tray of cutlery or something and the sound makes me leap out of my seat, my heart hammering in my throat like it’s an animal trying to claw its way out of my body.
Bruce Springsteen wafts across the lawn. I’ve been wondering where Didi is and whether she’ll try to find me. She hasn’t talked to me in five whole days. On the third day I asked Dodds if he’d seen her and he said that he had, that she’s been sitting in on his therapy sessions and helping with the art therapy classes, so I know she’s around, which leads me to believe that she’s avoiding me on purpose.
I almost thought about joining an art class, but what am I going to do? Throw paint blindly at a canvas? Mould my feelings out of clay like an angry toddler mushing Play-Doh?
I don’t know what I’ve done, and that’s the hardest thing. If I knew, maybe I could put it right. I keep thinking back to the bathroom – to her shaving me. Did her dad tell her off? Say something? I hope not. I don’t want her getting into trouble over me.
My beard has grown back again but I haven’t wanted to ask José for help. I’m probably getting funny looks, but that’s one of the benefits of being blind – you don’t have to deal with funny looks. You just get to imagine them instead.
‘Noel, this is my cousin Angela.’
Oh God. Valentina is back.
‘Angela,’ she says, ‘this is Lieutenant Walker.’
‘Noel,’ I say, standing up and holding out my hand for her to shake. I never use my first name. All my friends call me Walker, so it sounds strange even to my ears.
‘You know, he’s the one I was telling you about,’ Valentina says, stressing the about. I can picture her elbowing her cousin in the ribs.
‘Oh, hi.’ Angela giggles. Her handshake is clammy and feels a little like a damp puff pastry filled with cream. It’s weird the images that spring to mind now I can’t see. I picture her having a beard, but that’s just because of what Sanchez said and I doubt it’s true – I hope to God it’s not true.
‘Oh my goodness, you’re so tall,’ Angela exclaims.
She says something in Spanish in a whisper to Valentina, something I catch the gist of and which speculates on the size of another part of my anatomy.
‘And so handsome. Isn’t he handsome?’ Valentina says. ‘He looks even better when he shaves.’
I grit my teeth. I know Valentina has good intentions, but the way she’s trying to set me up is so obvious it’s making me feel as pathetic as hell. I don’t need any help being set up. And I don’t want to be set up with anyone anyway. And then there’s the fact that she’s emphasizing what I look like, blatantly trying to compensate for the major blindness detail that’s literally staring them in the eye. I smile politely, but it hurts my face. If they knew that it wasn’t a physical issue but a mental one causing the blindness, then I wonder if they would still be standing here, if Valentina would be trying to sell me quite so hard. For a second I wonder if I should tell them. That would definitely buy me some alone time.
But I don’t want to tell them, or anyone. I figure I’ll just have to make small talk for thirty seconds and then I’ll make an excuse to leave. But if I do that, I’ll have to try to make my way across the lawn without help, which will be like crossing a minefield what with there being so many kids and people in the way. Damn. I’m trapped.
‘Ooooh, there he is!’ Valentina suddenly squeals. ‘Did you see him?’
‘See who?’ I ask, wincing as she and Angela both start to gasp and shriek loudly enough to split my eardrums.
‘Zac Ridgemont! Oh my God, I can’t believe he’s actually here! I have to go and take a photograph.’
She’s talking about that actor. He’s still here?
‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ Valentina says, and she’s gone. I pr
ay for a second that Angela has gone with her – that the lure of Zac Ridgemont will be too great – but then I feel someone touch my arm.
‘Do you want me to feed you some cake?’ It’s Angela.
‘I’m good, thanks,’ I say.
‘Here, sit down,’ she says, tugging on my arm.
I sit, heavily, and suppress a loud sigh.
‘Here, try the cake. I made it myself. It’s my mother’s recipe. You like cake?’ She doesn’t let me answer but keeps on talking. ‘Well, even if you don’t, you’ll like this cake.’ And the next thing I know a heavily-frosted cake is being pressed against my lips.
I take the smallest bite, trying to control the urge I have to push her hand away.
‘Mmmm, lovely,’ I manage to say through gritted teeth, holding up my hand to stop her from forcing more at me.
She dabs at my face with a napkin. ‘There we go,’ she says. ‘Do you want some lemonade?’
‘No,’ I say. ‘No thanks.’
I can feel all my muscles winding up like someone’s ratcheting them with a wrench. Jesus, anyone, rescue me.
Angela is still jabbering away – a stream of consciousness that I realize, with relief, I don’t need to interrupt. She just needs an audience. A disabled one. I have never wanted my sight back so much in all my life as I do right now, but no one is coming to my aid, and though I will my sight back with every fibre of my being, it doesn’t come.
I zone out and instead focus on the last memory I have of Didi helping me shave. It’s about the only good memory I have since the bomb went off, and I’ve run over it so many times in my head it’s starting to wear thin.
Didi
Colonel Kingsley is stepping up to the podium to give his speech. I can see his wife, Jessa’s mom, standing to one side, smiling up at him proudly.
Zac is beside me, and I’m fully aware that all eyes are on us and not Colonel Kingsley. Even my mom is raising her glass to me across the crowd, her head cocked not so subtly in Zac’s direction.
Zac notices and raises his own glass. My mom smiles at him, and even from this distance I can see the blush rise across her cheeks. Even she isn’t immune to his charms, I note.