by C. E. Case
Wheeler asked, "Mind if I sit?
"Sure, Hank."
"I'd tip my hat if it were on."
"I suppose I should close my robe with a man in the room."
"It's the new century. But that's what brought me, actually."
"Oh?"
He began to take off his lab coat.
"Hank." She reached for the call button. "I may not be able to move, but I can scream."
"Oh, no, Natalie." He put his coat on the chair, and rolled up the sleeve of his tee shirt.
Wheeler was the only doctor on staff who wore tee shirts--this one was of a rock band she'd never heard of, black and stretched tight across his chest--but she assumed from too much television Greg House made sloppy dressing acceptable for doctors who had the skill to back it up. Wheeler qualified in her mind.
Under his sleeve was a tattoo of a red heart with an arrow through it, and the word, "Dawn."
"Who's Dawn?" she asked.
"Ex-girlfriend. I think of her every time I look in the mirror. Keeps me humble. I could have it removed, but then I'd just look at the absence and think of her."
"Do you still love her?"
"No. But I did."
She nodded. The tattoo had stretched and faded with time and did no favors to the age of his skin.
He rolled his sleeve back down and asked, "What about you? Any exes tattooed on your heart?"
"No." She shifted away and gazed out the window.
"Natalie."
"Huh?" Her voice sounded hoarse. She swallowed.
"You haven't had any visitors, except your boss and the district attorney. Isn't there someone?"
"No. Mom died, no siblings, no--relations. Friends to have a drink with or see a movie with, friends to email once in a while but not to schlep all the way down the coast for me. They're concerned, but they have lives."
He touched her arm. "I thought it was something else."
"Nothing else."
"Natalie, no one's going to lynch you for who you love. Not down here."
Her whole body felt hot. She breathed slowly. "There's no reason to have this conversation. But it’s nice you said that."
"We're all Christian here. We try. Not everyone is as obnoxious about it as Merry. She has her reasons. But we try not to judge."
"She's not obnoxious."
"She's got a good heart. You getting along with her?"
"Yes. I guess. Sure." She tried to shrug nonchalantly without hurting her shoulder or her stomach too much, and mostly succeeded.
"That's good, because--Look, Doctor Bhatti's going to come operate on your leg next week, but until then we'd like to discharge you."
Panic made bile rise up in her throat. "Back to Charlotte?"
"We wouldn't want you to travel far. You could get a hotel, but the ones with the internet you'd probably need for your job are pretty far away. Merry lives just down the road. She'd be able to provide nursing care. She'd take you in."
"Why can't I stay here?"
"You know how much it costs? Your health insurance is getting harder to authorize already."
"It's always about money."
"Yes. Besides, you're getting back some mobility. The stitches on your insides are holding just fine. This hospital isn't doing any good for you. I mean, you're only taking Tylenol. Merry's able to give you Percocet in an emergency. I know you think you're in a lot of pain, but the change we've seen in you is remarkable."
Natalie put her hands on her forehead, and thought. "Why are you telling me this, and not Merry?"
"Thought it would sound more official this way. Doctor's orders. And I talked to your insurance company about nursing care. Besides, you'd refuse any hospitality offered by a friend."
"I've got manners. The decency not to put people out."
"Not always in your best interest. Take advantage."
That's what Colleen said to do. It was the hardest thing anyone asked her. The thought made her sick. She liked Meredith too much to be resented underfoot. She really had no idea how it would turn out. It was terrifying to be so helpless.
Wheeler squeezed her shoulder. "Think about it. I'll be on my rounds."
"Later, gator," she said.
When he left, she turned on the television. Tyra over work, definitely, just to get her emotions steady. And Tyra would have good advice, though Natalie didn't need to hear it.
Live a little, make a friend. Love was important.
She turned off the television and tried to sleep. She couldn't.
# #
Chapter Nine
"I am your physical therapist extraordinaire," Jake said.
He had a gentle, quiet accent to match his round, kind eyes. He was of indeterminate Asian origin and Natalie didn't want to ask, because it was rude, and because her years in court gave her a pretty good handle on the basics. She enjoyed the guessing game. Though usually she could read the docket in front of her.
He was rotating her ankle in a most pleasant way, and asking her how she liked North Carolina, when she finally said, "Jake Syha. Nice name. Where's it from?"
"My grandparents came from Laos. You know, after the war. And my parents had a farm out by Fayetteville. Growing tobacco, until the government told them to grow soy. So they grow soy."
"Fayetteville's where the big base is?"
Jake nodded. He lowered her ankle and started massaging her calf. "I went into the Army, got some medic training. Paramedic, combat stuff. Got out and here I am."
"Wouldn't have thought the Army would have taught you to be so tender."
"Farm taught me. I'm still in the reserves, though. Keeps my hand in. I have a little girl now."
"What's her name?"
"Sunisa. Sunisa Syha-Jackson. My parents wanted to kill me for going back to the traditional ways, but I feel the same way about them changing everything, you know?"
Jake had silver studs in each earlobe, black hair brushing his neck, and a leather bracelet on one arm. He didn't look traditional. But he was as friendly as everyone else she'd met.
"Why'd you come back to North Carolina, after the army?"
"Wanted to live at the beach. But the hospital's better here. Still, I go surfing every other weekend if I can."
"Sounds great," she said, closing her eyes.
"You surf?"
"Never have."
"I'll teach you. I give classes to all the Yankees who come for vacation."
"All right."
He moved on to her good leg, and lifted it. "Rotate your ankle."
She did. "This is my good leg."
"Sure, but it's just lyin' around. You don't want it not to remember how to move, once you're ready to stand on it. You'll flop right onto the floor."
"Ugh."
"How soon will it be?"
She sighed. "Today's the big day." She glanced at the bathroom. "There and back."
He squeezed her foot. "You'll do it."
"I don't know."
The thought exhausted her. Having an assigned physical therapist, long-term, instead of just the guys who did shifts at the hospital, exhausted her. Jake would be coming to Meredith's house. Nearly every day. She'd have to get him something for Christmas if this kept up. Him and Sunisa.
"You celebrate Christmas, Jake?"
He began working on her arms. "Yeah. But we're Buddhist. Gotta go down to Cape Fear for the big celebrations. Yet another reason to live at the beach. Sit up?"
She tried to sit up. "Stomach hurts."
He put his arms around her waist, supporting her back. She found she didn't mind being touched by him, being near him, even though he smelled like cheap cologne and she was only in a flimsy hospital gown.
"Put your hands on my shoulders and try again."
She pulled herself up, and it hurt, but nothing pulled. "Okay."
"And you're not even breathing hard."
"Will it get easier?"
"Of course it will. Faster than you think. You'll forget all this."
&n
bsp; "Never."
He grinned and patted her hand. "I'll be back on Tuesday. Don't slip on the way to the bathroom. There are parts of you I don't want to massage."
"You haven't even seen my tattoo."
He wolf-whistled, and left her alone to contemplate lunch and her great adventure of the afternoon. By the time she saw Meredith, she might have something to brag about.
#
Meredith could tell from the tension in Natalie’s expression she was in some pain. Meredith brought dinner from the cafeteria--French toast with fresh fruit and bacon. She brought it in, feeling apprehensive in the face of Natalie's mood change.
"For dinner?" Natalie asked.
"It's Breakfast Tuesday," Meredith said.
"I never noticed." Natalie picked up her fork, but just sat glumly staring at the toast.
"Television?" Meredith asked. The natural desensitizer when people didn't want to feel anymore.
Natalie nodded.
Meredith turned on the television and found the six o'clock sitcoms on. Natalie nibbled on bacon. Beyond the grayness of her complexion, Natalie's hair was washed and her hospital gown was crisp. The bruises were faded from her face and arms. Except for the shaved part of her head, she looked halfway to healthy.
Meredith kept quiet until the first commercial break, and then asked, "You smell like--strawberries?"
"Yeah. Colleen brought it for me, now that I can do my own sponge baths. Well, I helped. I was sweaty this afternoon. Can you believe it? Sweaty. From lying in bed."
"Well, that's not all you did today, is it? You exerted yourself."
"Barely," Natalie said. She sighed.
Meredith reached for a raspberry on Natalie's plate.
Natalie said, "I just can't believe I can't walk across a room without my entire body hurting. I want to lie in bed for a week. And with enough drugs in my leg to put down a rhinoceros."
"Two weeks ago you were in a coma, you know. You've come pretty far."
"Yes, but three weeks ago," Natalie said.
"What is it?"
"I was just trying to picture where I was three weeks ago. There'd been the beach trip, all planned. All by myself. Solitary. But here I am, with you." Natalie said. She turned and met Meredith's eyes and gave her a genuine smile.
Meredith smiled back. Sharp relief struck her heart at the shedding of Natalie's despair. With it her own despair rose up in her chest. She bit her lip until it hurt. Her thoughts turned inward, to Vincent, and she forgot Natalie was still gazing at her.
"You don't look very good, Merry," Natalie said.
"I just got some bad news, is all. I don't mean for it to affect you."
"It does. I mean, it should. I mean--" Natalie put her hand on her forehead.
Meredith, her thoughts still half-distracted by the morning call from her lawyer, said, "You have enough on your plate without me adding mine."
"I could say the same thing. I've been taking advantage of your kindness for too long. I've been selfish. You probably have bigger problems than being able to walk across to the bathroom or not."
"It's just about my husband, is all." Even saying that made her feel better.
Natalie hesitated, and then reached over and brushed Meredith's arm. "What about him?"
Meredith said, having to clear her throat and restart. "Well, you know he passed away."
"Okay. I didn't know--Okay." Natalie slid her hand down Meredith's arm, past her elbow, and tugged, until Meredith willingly clasped her hand with one of her own. Meredith squeezed. Natalie winced.
"Sorry," Meredith said, letting go.
"No, it's okay." Natalie took her hand again. "I was just--I was surprised. I haven't been held on to so tightly in a long time."
A tear rolled down Meredith's cheek. She impatiently brushed it away. She wasn't even thinking of Vincent at all, not since Natalie took her hand. The despair, though, remained, coiled up and heavy in her chest, and somehow Natalie's presence made her feel even more lonely.
"I'm sorry. Whatever it is, I'm so sorry, Merry."
Meredith half-bent and half-raised Natalie's hand so that she could press her forehead against the clasped fingers. She inhaled deeply, fighting back the crying. Natalie's grip was strong. Meredith let herself draw on the strength. She got control of herself and lifted her chin to give Natalie a watery smile.
Natalie smiled back, meeting her eyes with a solid, compassionate gaze.
"I think I'm in the wrong room," Meredith said, drawling for effect. "I heard you was a lawyer."
# #
Chapter Ten
Natalie woke up to her own pain and the memory of the previous night, and Meredith's tears.
Her mother had never clung, wanting instead to spare her from the pain of her death. Everyone spared Natalie. Patrick, her closest ally, never revealed much--he'd only told her about Roland under great duress. She'd seen it bother him to have to burden her.
She'd been left with people's petty complaints. Co-workers hoping for sympathy because a boyfriend hadn't called or the traffic was bad. She became bitter because people didn't connect with her. So long as she could connect with the jury, she felt alive.
She didn't offer much of herself. She just channeled victims through her own emptiness. It worked.
Jake came with the wheelchair. "Big day."
"They're all big days here."
Jake nodded.
Natalie couldn't get herself into her own wheelchair, even though she'd become quite adept at sliding herself inches side to side or front to back on the bed. She put her arms around his strong shoulders and let herself be lifted. Once in the chair, she felt better, though it hurt to hold her neck up. Two weeks in bed made her muscles lose all purpose.
"Is it normal to lose so much mobility, even with a fabulous physical therapist?"
"Yes ma'am. It's completely typical to be pathetic."
Natalie let her head loll to the side. So this is why people sagged in wheelchairs. She blushed. Her hand twitched. The instinct to cross herself ran through her, but the strength wasn't there.
She gripped the wheelchair arms.
Jake parked her out on the sidewalk under the awning. She got her first view of Tarpley.
The world in front of her wasn't remarkable--a parking lot, a ring of trees beyond it. Pavement. Sidewalks. The awning itself was dark green. The hospital signs were grim.
She breathed deeply. Her chest burned in protest.
She'd never been a fan of the outdoors. She'd only been camping once in Girl Scouts and she'd gone home crying in the middle of the night.
Here she was in the wilderness.
"How far is the beach?" she asked.
Jake stood beside her. He had one hand on the handlebar, just behind her shoulder, and he was slouching companionably. She was glad he was there. Even having met him only a few times, he'd healed her--she could feel herself healing in his presence--and now she looked forward to his easy, friendly smile as if he were a drug.
"It's about an hour by car that way." He pointed in a direction she assumed was east. "But by wheels..." He looked her up and down. "Better start rolling."
"Maybe I could hitchhike."
Jake giggled. "I just pictured you, chair and all, strapped into the back of a pick-up truck, like some old rocking chair."
She rolled her eyes.
"Want me to do your makeup?"
"Makeup?"
"It's just--This is your first big day out. You're a little pale. And blotchy. I don't know if you've looked at yourself recently."
"Recently. You mean since--"
"I mean since," he said.
She’d seen in the mirror in the bathroom. She'd looked sixty years old, stooped, and feeble.
"Do I look haggard?" she asked.
"Sort of like a zombie. But--You're clean, your clothes look okay. Sometimes women like to 'put their face on.'" He made air quotes. "A right of passage. Makes them feel whole again. I'm speaking as a therapist here, not as Mr
. Black."
She glanced down at her leg.
"Forget I said anything."
"Jake, I didn't mean it like--" From emotional leech to depressed drama queen already. This was a slippery slope.
A horn honked.
A van with a handicap access symbol painted on its side rolled up. A driver got out. He yanked open the bay doors, and began to lower the ramp.
"Only one in the county," Jake said. "Cost your insurance $200 every time you use it. Though I don't expect you will much, except for coming back for your surgery. Be right back." Jake darted inside.
Natalie glanced at the driver. He unlocked the brake on her wheelchair and pushed her onto the ramp.
"Is this safe?" she asked.
He snorted and pushed her in. The tilt of her chair made her wince, but she managed not to yelp. Once inside the van, he locked her wheels.
"Over here," Jake said.
Natalie glanced back toward the van door. The hospital entrance lay before her. Demure concrete and brick with a red cross on a white background near the sliding glass doors. Her home for two weeks. And in front of her home stood Jake, who was holding a gift basket.
Natalie raised her eyebrows.
"For you, my dear," Jake said.
He stood at chest-height. So the terrifying ramp hadn't taken her as high as she thought. She snorted and took the basket. There was soap and body oil and chocolate and Tylenol-3.
"The chocolate's for Merry, for putting up with your white ass."
"What do I get?" The driver asked.
Jake stepped out of Natalie's line of sight. She cautiously leaned forward to see around the van door just in time to see Jake tuck a ten dollar bill into the driver's shirt pocket.
"Drive slowly," Jake said. "She's never been to Tarpley."
"Absolutely true," Natalie said.
The driver frowned at Jake. "What's with the accent?"
"She's from Charlotte."
The driver looked askance at her. Natalie retreated back into the van. Jake appeared in the doorway again. He leaned in and took her hands. "See you soon, Nat."
"Thank you, Jake." His name caught in her throat. Tears stung her eyes.
Jake winked.
The driver got into his seat. "What was that? You two going to the big Pride rally? Tweedledee and Tweedledum?"