“I’m good.” My attempt to reach my feet ended in a cold sweat.
“You can’t even put on your shoes.”
I dropped the sneakers on the floor and crammed my foot into them. The tongues bunched up, and the heel collapsed. I didn’t give a fuck. “See, shoes are on.”
“Grant.” And he said my name in a private way, belonging in quiet moments wrapped in someone’s arms. “Don’t do this to yourself.” I looked up, and he dropped his gaze.
“Do what?”
“I think you know.”
“Obviously not.”
“Maybe you should call before you go back. Or is there a specific reason why you haven’t?”
“I was a little busy. Getting shot at can really make for a rough day.” But the look on Jeff’s face said he already knew.
“You called.”
“I didn’t have to.” Jeff stuck his hands in his pockets, then took them out. They wound up on his hips for a split second like he didn’t know what to do with them. “You said some things when you were out of it.”
“Like what?”
“You said you didn’t know if you’d be able to handle seeing Morgan again.”
My cheeks burned.
“You said something had happened and ‘he’d gone away.’ You kept asking him not to step off the cliff. I tried to get you to tell me what you meant and finally you said regression. I didn’t even know what it meant until I looked it up.”
“Morgan regressed once, a long time ago. He was fine, though.”
“But it’s happened again because he was attacked.” Jeff made it a statement.
“When I left, the nurse wasn’t sure. He was sedated, and it hadn’t worn off yet. Plus he was in shock. He shot a man.” A man he’d lived in fear of for years. The creature of his nightmares. How many times had Morgan cried out in his sleep and I held him until the worst of it went away? Thinking about it then made me realize he never really woke up from those dreams, he just slipped somewhere else until they were over, then went back to sleep.
“It has to be bad, Grant.”
“Did someone call?” I looked around for my cell phone. It was in the bag on the rollaway with my wallet. Dead of course.
“No, no one called, but you said you made Aunt Jenny promise not to put him in a home.”
“The hospital gave her a pamphlet. It was a ‘just in case’ thing.”
“I should have called after I checked in the motel.”
“You were scared.”
My guilt forced me to have to sit on the edge of the bed. “Yeah.”
“What are you going to do if you go back and he hasn’t come out of this”—Jeff waved a hand—“whatever?”
“He came back once before, the nurse was pretty sure we were just seeing a reaction to the sedative they gave him.” It didn’t even sound convincing to me.
“I asked one of the psychiatrists here about regression in autism patients, and he said his experience hasn’t been positive. He also said it can happen anytime, not just with trauma.”
I wadded up the plastic bag with my belongings. “Yeah, well, he doesn’t know Morgan.”
“What if you go back and he stays regressed? What if he’ll never be normal?”
Normal. But then Morgan never was normal. Remarkable maybe. But never normal.
“Then I’ll get specialists, therapists, anyone…” Surely to God someone could help him. If only Lori had been alive but she wasn’t and I doubted even the experts knew her secret.
If Morgan was anything like I feared, I’d become his caregiver for the rest of my life. Loving him, but not mentally, physically, or emotionally able, to deal with the trials to come.
“No one would blame you if you didn’t go back.” Jeff cupped my cheek.
I shook my head. “I promised him I’d come home.” My eyes burned. “I promised him I would put a ring on his finger. I promised to marry him if he would let me.” No tears fell, but the world wavered. “I can’t break my promise.”
Jeff grabbed me by the shoulder and stopped me from falling off the bed. “Breathe, Grant.” He picked up the call button. “I need a nurse in here.”
I shook my head.
“Yes, you do.”
I shoved his hand away, and even though everything exploded in multicolored spots, I forced myself to my feet. A nurse ran in, took one look at me, and ordered me back in the bed.
“I’m going home.”
“Grant…”
“Goddamn it, I’m going home.” Screaming took the last of my strength. I collapsed on the floor. Another nurse was called in, and with Jeff’s help, I wound up lying in the hospital bed with the rails pulled up.
I threw my arm over my eyes. One of the nurses took my vitals, the other put an O2 monitor on my finger.
“His blood pressure’s a little high,” said one nurse. “I’ll let the doctor know.”
They left, and I yelled at the closed door. “I’m going home no matter what the fuck he says.” I tried to sit up. Jeff wrestled the railing out of the way, and I wound up sagging in his arms crying on his shoulder.
He petted me. “I just don’t want you to go back and find nothing there.”
Nothing. As if Morgan had died and there was an empty space. Only, in some ways, he had. In some ways, it was even worse. If he was lost in his head, what lay in wait for me was something I knew I wasn’t prepared for.
If I’d thought for a second love would have brought Morgan back, I would have been running out the door. But Aunt Jenny was right. If love could fix something like autism, then parents would never have to face it.
“I have to go back.” I barely recognized my voice.
“Not this minute, you don’t. Take a few days. A few weeks. Rest. Think about this.”
Only I didn’t want to think about it, because when I did, the excuses grew.
“I’ve got a spare room in my new place. You can stay there until you decide.”
“No.”
“Grant, please.”
“No. I can’t.”
He made me look at him. “Why?”
“Because I love him.”
********
I had the cab driver drop me off at the end of Morgan’s driveway. I hoped the walk would give me time to get all my thoughts in order, but it was like trying to pick up a thousand toothpicks with my toes. Correction: Fifteen hundred toothpicks, there had been a five after the one.
Aunt Jenny’s car was parked out front. A white van with some sort of medical logo sat beside it. Home supplies, oxygen, lift chairs, and physical therapy transport was written across the back in blue letters, and on the side, windows in white. The front door opened and a black man walked out with Aunt Jenny. He wore jeans and a crisp yellow shirt. They laughed, hugged, and he waved. It wasn’t until he pulled out of the driveway that Aunt Jenny saw me.
Her mouth fell open, and she came running down the steps, and I wound up crushed in her arms. I must have made some sort of sound 'cause she pushed me back and looked me over.
“I’m okay?” I pressed a hand to my side. “Just a little banged up.”
Tears pooled in her eyes. “We thought you weren’t gonna come back.”
“I promised I would. I’m sorry I didn’t call to let you know. But to tell the truth, I thought I wasn’t coming back either. I was scared, Jenny. I didn’t know, I still don’t…”
She shushed me. “You were in the hospital… needed some time to heal. Totally understandable.”
“How’d you know I was in the hospital?”
“Sheriff Parks called the locals there. They couldn’t tell him much; FBI wasn’t sharing info. But that man, Hines, he was on the news. They arrested him. Said there was a shoot-out. Is that what happened to you?”
“Nothing that exciting. It’s a puncture wound. I rolled over on a piece of metal while hiding under a pew.”
“Still gotta hurt. How long were you in the hospital?”
“Got out this morning.”
She looked over my shoulder. “Where’s your truck?”
“I left against doctor’s orders, and he wouldn’t clear me to drive so I took a taxi from the airport. I figured I could go back and get the truck in a couple days. Might have to bum a ride.”
She grinned. “God, Grant. I’m so happy to see you.” She started toward the house.
I stopped her. I needed to ask her. I needed to know before I went in there. But if she told me what I feared, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to walk up those steps. I couldn’t even say for sure I wouldn’t turn around and walk back to the end of the driveway and call the cabbie back.
I think Aunt Jenny knew, because she took me by the elbow and turned me toward the house. I let her lead me like some lost soul through the front door.
“He’s doing really well. Anne thinks it’s because we brought him right home. Goes to PT twice a week, well, three times now since he messed up his ankle.”
I stopped. “How did he hurt his ankle?”
She propped her hands on her hips. “I suspect he tripped over that damn puppy he picked up. Stupid creature is always underfoot.”
“You don’t know?”
The living room had been cleaned up, and there was a new coat of paint on the walls. The couch had been replaced. I couldn’t remember how badly it was damaged, but the dining room table was there. One chair was missing.
In the kitchen, all the pots and pans were back in their place. More new paint. Even part of the doorframe leading to the back porch had been redone. No blood stains, no sign of any of the terrible things that had happened.
I knew without asking, Morgan had done the work. It screamed the care and love he’d put into the house. A person, who only accepted perfection, who took care of the smallest detail to the best of his ability.
My heart fluttered in my chest.
“He still hasn’t talked.”
I turned.
Jenny squeezed my arm. “The specialist thinks it’s just a matter of time. He said to think of Morgan’s progress as a slow reboot. He was quiet for a while after Lori died, then started talking again like nothing happen. So don’t worry too much.”
“So, he’s okay.”
“He’s doing everything else on his own but…”
“What?”
“Part of him is still missing.” The hope growing inside me shriveled. “Personally, I think it’s because he’s been waiting for that part to come home.” Jenny took an object out of the pocket of her overalls. I almost didn’t recognize the ring box. It seemed so small in the palm of my hand. I nodded and slipped it into my jeans pocket.
I didn’t see the puppy until it ran through the back door, tongue hanging out the side, tail wagging a million miles an hour. Jenny scooped it up before it could latch onto the ankle of my jeans.
“When he starts talking, first thing I’m gonna ask him is why the hell he got a dog?”
I laughed, and she glanced at me. “Now, c’mon. He’s out back working on something.” With the puppy tucked under her arm, she led me to the back porch.
“What?”
“I have no clue. Not his normal thing. You know, glass. This is wood. And it’s big. Gave me a list to give to Berry, and they delivered the first load two days after he got out of the hospital.”
We walked down the back steps and into the yard. Morgan rocked long slow movements, following the planer in his hands, as he stroked a length of wood set between two sawhorses. Curling flakes covered the ground. Other pieces were set off to the side. The curve in them was deeper like rib bones.
Sweat glistened on his tanned skin, and his jeans hung low enough to reveal he’d dressed in his preferred way. Every muscle in his shoulders and arms contracted with the push of the instrument in his hand.
“He does this all day long, nonstop. Still haven’t a clue as to what he’s supposed to be building.”
“A boat,” I said.
“Yeah,” Jenny snorted. “Well, if I didn’t come and check on him, he’d starve to death. Starts at sunrise, doesn’t quit till he can’t see.” She shook her head. “Why the hell is he building a boat?”
I scratched the puppy behind the ears. “Because a dog isn’t a hobby.” She gave me a look, and I added. “Long story, I’ll tell you later.”
“Well, maybe you can get him to eat more regularly. Damn jeans are about to fall off. Then he’ll be mooning the neighbors.”
She was right, and it made me smile. Jenny laughed. “Not everyone wants to see his ass, Grant.”
Over and over again, Morgan shaped the wood. Sometimes stopping to test the angle with a caress of his hand. His gaze was in that far off place where the sunlight spilled its secrets. Nothing existed for him except the tool he held, and the focus of his attention. My fear returned, but I stomped it down.
“Hey, boy,” Aunt Jenny said. “Look what the cat dragged in.” He continued to work. “Morgan.” Aunt Jenny made one of those ear-piercing whistles and he looked up. His shoulder jerked and his hand tossed thoughts. Then he stood straighter and the veil of blond curls hiding his eyes parted.
The man I loved met my gaze.
Morgan stumbled on his way around the bench, hopping on one leg in my direction.
“Crutches, Morgan,” Jenny said as she tried to control the wiggling ball of fur in her arms. “Doctor keeps telling you to use the damn crutches.”
He didn’t make it halfway before I had him in my arms. His good leg wrapped around my waist the one in the cast hung by my knee.
His mouth met mine, his tongue pushed in. Either he’d eaten something sweet recently or I’d forgotten just how good he tasted.
Behind me, the screen door shut, and it was just him and me standing in the sunshine, dappled in colored pieces of light.
“God, I missed you.” I petted his face, and he peppered my cheeks in kisses. “I’m sorry I didn’t call. I should have. I was scared. I thought… I thought…” I shook my head. “Forgive me.”
He kissed me again, and I lowered him to the ground. His thigh rode over the lump in my pocket. His left eyebrow went up, and he snapped his fingers.
“I promised you I’d be back to do this.” I got down on one knee. My side protested. Morgan gave me a worried look. “It’s nothing. Nothing important. Not right now.” I took the box out of my pocket. My hands shook so hard I couldn’t get a grip on the top. Morgan held my wrists. “It’s okay if you don’t want to. I know it’s asking a lot. But I wanted…” He took the ring out of the box and turned it over and over in his fingers. The sun caught the edge, searing it in lines of white.
I put the box on the ground and held his hand. Then I took the ring. I didn’t put it on his finger until he met my gaze again. “Morgan Kade, will you marry me?”
No beach in the world could have compared to his smile. He kissed me again, this time long, slow, exploring my mouth while he mapped my face with his fingertips. When we broke apart, he held me and then one word caressed my cheek. “Yes.”
Chapter Ten
Surrounded by grass so green it looked painted, half of Durstrand, and about a thousand cud chewing bovine, Morgan and I exchanged rings and vows. The rumor mill saved us the need for sending out invitations to anyone local. Although I did mail out one, but wasn’t surprised to hear nothing back.
Not that it mattered, with the number of people who chattered about going, one less person wouldn’t be noticed. As the numbers grew, Toolies was out of the question, so was Morgan’s house, Aunt Jenny’s, and the rec center.
Then we thought we had it beat when Reverend sent a personal invitation to use the church.
The only problem with the rumor mill is details like dates, and times and even names get mixed up.
Reverend Harvey apparently planned on solving that issue by announcing to everyone the right day and time at Sunday morning service. Morgan and I went, mostly to show our appreciation. That was how Reverend Harvey found out I was not in fact marrying Candace Jones on June the eighth, and he
turned the Sunday morning service into a lecture about the sanctity of marriage.
He was about three sentences in when Berry stood up in the middle of it all and asked him if he needed a bottle and a nap. No one laughed, but the good Reverend turned ten shades of red and the service took a quick left turn.
Morgan and I left him to his preaching, followed by at least half the church and reconvened at Toolies. There Mr. Newman informed we were to utilize his drive-in theater. The cows insisted.
The cows. How can you say no to cows? Especially when they’re being sacrificed in your honor.
Somewhere between our second hamburger and the wedding cake, I’d spilled punch on my white jacket. Morgan’s was black. Thank God he’d gotten the white pants and mine were black, or I would have looked like I’d taken a shot to the leg.
“It doesn’t show that bad.” Morgan dabbed at the stain some more. It was useless.
“Put some baking soda on it, dear.” Mrs. White leaned on her cane and examined the blotch. “Cold water and baking soda.”
“Vinegar.” That from her friend. Dorothy, I think. She always wore her hair in a big blue beehive. I made the mistake of commenting on the color once, apparently Dorothy is a bit color blind.
Mrs. White huffed at her friend. “Nonsense, that’ll just make him smell like a pickle. Baking soda, at the most, some peroxide.”
Robert from Jenny’s garage stopped. His cheeks bulged, and green icing coated his lips. He had a plate in his hand with at least three more untouched pieces of cake. “They got stuff at the dollar store that will take it out.” Bits of crumbs sprayed the air landing on his shirt.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I said.
Dorothy glared at both of them, and what started as advice turned into an all-out argument. Morgan pulled me away. We walked through clouds of smoke billowing from the open grill. Hotdogs, steaks, hamburgers. If my ribs didn’t already feel like they were going to split, I would have eaten something else. As it was, I was close to having to undo the top button of my pants or risk it popping off and shooting someone’s eye out.
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