Trouble Don’t Last Always

by Francis Ray

  Brent arrived exactly at two Monday afternoon. Lilly led him into the study and took a seat beside Adam.

  “I prefer that my student and I get to know each other alone,” Brent said without preamble.

  Lilly was already rising. Adam’s hand on her arm stopped her. “I’d like her to stay.”

  Brent rocked back on his booted heels. “Afraid I’ll let you walk into a wall or one of these fancy chairs?”

  “She stays.” Adam was relatively sure that wouldn’t happen, but he wanted Lilly there just the same.

  Laughter rumbled from a deep chest. “All right, Doc. Let’s get to work and see if I can earn that trust of yours.”

  Adam stood and listened to Brent talk about reference points, naming hallways and corners, landmarks, and positional terminology when all he wanted to do was walk upright like a man. He told him as much.

  “Do you let your patients tell you how to diagnose and treat them?”

  Adam’s tight lips were his answer.

  “Thought not. Let’s talk about clues, any auditory, tactile, kinesthetic sense that will help you determine location, position, or line of direction. You smell anything?”

  “Roses.” As soon as the word was out of his mouth he wanted to call it back. He was sure Lilly wouldn’t understand, but he wasn’t so sure about Brent.

  “Roses, huh? Doc, I’d say your kinesthetic memory is working just fine.”

  “Can we get on with this?” he asked.

  “What do you smell, Lilly?” Brent asked, grinning.

  “I—er, nothing,” she said, a foot away from Adam, and flushed. She wasn’t about to admit she smelled Adam’s citrus cologne, that she had to catch herself a couple of times to keep from leaning closer to the enticing scent.

  Brent grinned. “Imagine that. Two people a foot apart and totally different noses. And might I say, Lilly, that you have a pretty nose.”

  “Are you going to teach or flirt?” Adam asked, annoyed with Brent. He had no right to flirt with Lilly.

  “Teach.” With that, Brent began moving through the house. Adam could do nothing but hold on and trust him not to run into a wall.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The fourth time Brent came, he brought the optical scanner and the read-print program to install on Adam’s computer. Adam was awkward in using the arrow keys instead of the mouse, but after a while he was doing fairly well, since the program “told” him when he went wrong.

  His confidence that he had overcome all his bumps in the road grew until Brent handed him a cane. To Adam’s profound disappointment, he was awkward and off-balance with the black five-foot extension of his arm that came to the middle of his chest.

  “Slow down and think, Doc.”

  “I am,” Adam said impatiently, his right hand clenching the rubber grip of the sturdy aluminum cane.

  “I understand that you were quite a renowned neurosurgeon,” Brent said in a conversational tone.

  “Yes,” Adam answered, his words clipped as he made his way around the sofa and a chair on his way to his destination, the fireplace.

  “Tell me, then, the first time you made an incision, was it as good as the hundredth time?”

  “Of course not.” Adam barely kept himself from snapping the answer.

  “Then how did you learn?” Brent asked mildly.

  Finally Adam reached the fireplace and turned toward Brent. “By not giving up, by practicing every chance I got.”

  “Practice. Ah, yes. Then why on earth did you think the first or second or even the third time you tried to use your cane you would be perfect?”

  Adam rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know; I guess because I was ready to learn.”

  “Good. That’s what I wanted to hear. Learning comes from doing. In this case, by using your cane.” Brent glanced at the silent Lilly. “Could you please get me something to drink? I’m as parched as a tick on a dead dog.”

  “Of course,” she said, rising from sitting on the sofa. Her hands had been clamped so tightly together they ached. Every step Adam took, she took with him. Every defeat he experienced, she experienced with him. “What would you like?”

  “A margarita, but since I’m on duty, anything fruity, and I’ll pretend.”

  “Would you like something, Dr. Wakefield?” She had decided not to call him Adam when guests were present.

  “No.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  “Take your time,” Brent advised.

  Frowning, Lilly said, “All right.”

  Adam listened to the fading sound of Lilly’s shoes on the area rugs, then the hollow sound indicating she was on the hardwood floor in the hallway. “Now that you’ve gotten rid of Lilly, what’s next?”

  “Figured you were smart from the first. And to answer your question: what’s next is that you begin to learn.”

  “I thought that’s what I was doing already. Was it necessary for her to leave?”

  “Yes. Whether you like to admit it or not, she’s a distraction. You tense up when she’s in the room.”

  “That’s ridiculous. I want her here.”

  “Exactly, and you have high expectations of yourself when she’s looking. You don’t want to flounder or fall or bump into furniture. You want to be the self-assured man you’ve always been. Just like you learned to be that man, you must learn again.”

  “I told you I’m willing to learn.” Brent would try the patience of a saint, and Adam had never been a saint.

  “I know what you said, but I’m watching what you’re doing and it’s piss-poor.” Brent crossed to him. “To teach you, I must have your complete concentration. To learn, you must have the same concentration. I don’t have it with Lilly here. From the beginning, I told you that I preferred to work without an audience because the student works best that way. It wasn’t a whim.”

  “Here’s your drink.”

  Brent took the glass from Lilly and sipped the fruity concoction of pineapple and orange juice, then handed it back. “Delicious. Dr. Wakefield, are you sure Lilly can’t get anything for you?”

  Adam arched a brow. He didn’t think it was by accident that Brent had addressed him professionally for the first time. He’d wanted to remind Adam that he was the expert here. Not Adam. And as irritating as it might be, Brent was right. Adam had had Jonathan check on the outspoken man, and he was the best. “Lilly.”

  “Yes?”

  He heard her move across the room, smelled the light scent of roses. “Brent feels I’m too macho when you’re watching. So I guess you have the rest of the afternoon off. But don’t you dare read The Third Watch without me.”

  First came worry that she wouldn’t be there if he needed her; then, as what he had said sank in, a smile worked itself across her face. He wouldn’t, as he had put it, be macho if he only cared for her professionally. Her heart sang.

  “If I did, I’d be too scared to go to sleep tonight. If you gentlemen will excuse me, I have some phone calls to make. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

  As soon as Adam heard the last faint sound of her shoes he said, “Now that she’s gone we can start. Or do I get my knuckles rapped?”

  “Good one, Doc. I’m strict, but when I turn you loose, I could set you down in the middle of Times Square and you wouldn’t hesitate to orientate yourself and find where you need to go.”

  Adam shook his head and reluctantly grinned. “You certainly don’t lack self-confidence.”

  “Neither do you,” Brent said. “Once you have the cane down pat, you might consider a guide dog.”

  “A guide dog takes too long to train. Besides, when my sight returns, I won’t need him.”

  “Logical, but what if your sight doesn’t return?”

  Adam’s jaw hardened. “It will.” “Then let’s get started.”

  Assured she’d have privacy for a while, Lilly placed a call to her lawyer. His secretary put her through to him immediately. “Hello, Mrs. Crawford.”

  “Evening, Mr. Powell.
How is the investigation going?”

  His impatient sigh echoed clearly through the line. “Nothing new. I told you I’d call if there was.”

  She barely kept from biting her lip or bowing her head. “Yes, but I was hoping he might change his mind about going to court.”

  “Unfortunately, no.”

  “You still can’t find anyone to testify against him?” she asked, half-sitting on the stool at the counter.

  “To everyone I’ve spoken with, across gender and race lines, Myron Crawford is a kind, generous man who loves his family and never let a friend down.”

  “What about Rafe?” Her one chance was finding her stepson. He’d suffered more than she had at Myron’s hands.

  “No luck on locating him. But I’m not sure he’d help our case.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “People here characterize him as a smart but undisciplined and ungrateful troublemaker who left the day of graduation and almost broke his father’s and grandmother’s hearts,” the lawyer told her. “The same people all say Shayla is a sweet young woman who is devoted to her father. By the way, she’s going to testify for her father.”

  Lilly closed her eyes. There are never those as blind as those who will not see. Myron and Shayla only let you see what benefited them in the long run. “You couldn’t find anyone to testify for me?”

  “So far I haven’t,” the lawyer slowly told her. His tone didn’t indicate that he held out much hope that things would change in their favor. “You can always change the reason for your petition for divorce and skip going to court.”

  Her eyes snapped open. They gleamed with anger. “No! I backed down enough from Myron.”

  “You may lose.”

  202

  “But the bottom line is that I wouldn’t have backed down and I’ll still have my divorce.” Too angry to sit, she slid off the stool and began to pace the length of the cord.

  “But it’ll cost more emotionally and financially. His lawyer is going to come after you, and it won’t be nice,” he warned.

  She suddenly realized that her mother’s reputation and what people thought Lilly’s was would be the lawyer’s key weapons. Her mother might have been loose, but Lilly wasn’t. Myron was the only man she’d ever slept with, but no one knew that other than Myron. How long would she have to live under her mother’s shadow and shame? “I imagine he will,” she finally said.

  “You also have to consider that if you lose, you’ll have to pay court costs and his lawyer’s fee. Hutchinson is a crafty and shrewd devil. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s already come up with a figure that’s way over the usual amount because his case looks unbeatable,” Powell warned. “Whatever the amount, you’d have no recourse but to pay.”

  She stopped and leaned her head against the base of the curved cabinet at the end of the counter. She’d put back every extra cent she earned. She’d bought nothing that wasn’t a necessity. She had more money now than she ever had in her life. Being poor didn’t scare her; backing down from Myron again did. “We go to court.”

  “All right.” His tone didn’t inspire confidence.

  “Good-bye, Mr. Powell.” Lilly bowed her head and wrapped her hands around her waist. Would she ever be free?

  “Was that your lawyer?”

  Lilly spun around sharply. “You move quietly.”

  He came closer. “And you’re being evasive.”

  How could he know her better than anyone ever had, even Mother Crawford? The thought comforted and frightened her. “Myron is going to fight the grounds of my divorce petition,” she said and explained that finding her stepson, Rafe, was her only chance of winning the case. “If I lose I have to pay court costs and his lawyer’s fee.” She couldn’t tell him about her mother’s reputation. That was one shame she couldn’t bring herself to tell anyone. “I think my lawyer would rather I reword my petition and not go to court.”

  “Why don’t you?”

  Her shoulders stiffened. Brown eyes blazed. “Because I couldn’t look myself in the mirror if I did. He cheated me out of six years, almost destroyed my self-respect, stole my dreams. He’s not taking anything else.”

  Adam’s hand unerringly reached out to cup her chin. “I’m proud of you.” Then his hand was gone, leaving her feeling bereft. “If you need money, any amount of money, let me know. And before you get huffy, consider it a loan.”

  She had been about to. A man shouldn’t be able to read a woman so well. “Thanks for the offer, but I want to do it on my own.”

  “All right. Just remember, I got your back.”

  She grinned. “Slang from the eminent Dr. Wakefield?”

  “I’m a man of many different talents.” He reached for her hand and briefly squeezed it before releasing it and turning toward the door leading out of the kitchen. “Let’s go for a walk so I can practice and show off to Brent.”

  Lilly walked beside him. “I think you like him.”

  Adam paused and stepped around the settee against the wall in the hall. “Why would I like an arrogant, overbearing, opinionated man?”

  “Maybe because he reminds you of someone very close to you?” Lilly said, going through the front door Adam opened for her.

  “Why, Lilly, I thought you liked Jonathan.”

  Laughing, they went down the front steps together.

  Brent proved to be as good as he prophesied. After three weeks, Adam could go through the main rooms of the house without help or difficulty. Reference points and landmarks, those initially irritating terms, enabled him to move freely, avoid objects, and find what he wanted. To celebrate he invited Jonathan to dinner.

  Lilly wanted the occasion to be a memorable one. She pored over recipe books and checked twice with Odette and Eleanor about Adam’s favorite foods before settling on honey-glazed ham as the main course. The slices would be big enough for Adam to find and cut without difficulty, and there was little likelihood of the meat falling off his fork. She chose baby asparagus and roasted red bliss potatoes for the same reason.

  Dessert had to be special. No matter how much Adam teased her about her high-cholesterol, calorie-laden cooking, he usually asked for seconds and often thirds.

  Grinning, Lilly sat back in her chair at the table in the breakfast nook, listening to the faint strains of music. Beethoven again. Adam usually played after lunch. Twice a week, on Tuesday and Friday, she’d join him then or after supper for her lessons. She was still learning to “sight” her keys. Adam was patient but firm. He intended her to learn to play the piano. She understood it was his way of saying he was sorry, but it was also to give her confidence.

  Lilly went back to flipping through the cookbooks. Odette had at least a dozen and had admitted ruefully to Lilly when she called that she didn’t use any of them. She cooked from scratch. The more Lilly flipped, the more she realized she wasn’t going to find the answer for a dessert. She didn’t want a mishap. Perhaps she should take Odette’s rule and cook from scratch a dessert she was familiar with.

  Her hand clutched the hardbound book. There was only one that she considered fancy enough to fit the occasion. The dessert she wanted to prepare had been taught to her by Mother Crawford and handed down through four generations of Crawford women, although Lilly didn’t consider herself a Crawford woman. The last time she had cooked the pie had been at Myron’s insistence two weeks before Mother Crawford’s death. Just thinking of Myron angered her.

  Closing the book, Lilly went outside. Still restless, she started walking. The sight of the rosebushes in bloom stopped her. They were Mother Crawford’s favorite. The kind woman had given Lilly more love than anyone else before or since. Thinking back, she recalled what Mother Crawford had said when she was teaching Lilly the recipe.

  “This is given to only one Crawford woman in each generation to hand down to the next. It’s an honor and a trust. You make sure you know who you’re giving it to.” Then she had looked Lilly straight in the eye and said, “I never taught anyone else this an
d I don’t aim to. Crawford or no, I would have picked you.”

  At the time Lilly hadn’t thought anything of her words except her happiness that Mother Crawford had that much trust in her and that, for once, she wasn’t standing in line behind Carol, Myron’s first wife.

  Mother Crawford had given the family recipe to her, Lilly. She had loved her and had faith in her. Turning, Lilly went back to the kitchen. She knew what she wanted to prepare for dessert, a family recipe based on love and trust.

  “Show time.”

  Adam opened the door to his bedroom and walked into the hall. Lilly had offered to accompany him to dinner, but he wanted to do it by himself. It wasn’t pride that ruled his decision but his increasing need to regain as much of his independence as possible. He wore a white shirt, a gray silk tie, and a herringbone two-button suit for the occasion. Now all he had to do was get downstairs.

  From experience, he knew navigating the hallway wouldn’t be much of a problem. He’d practiced numerous times by himself without a mishap. With the cane repeatedly making an arch above the floor, he made his way to the top of the stairs. Here things would get a little trickier, but nothing, Brent had assured Adam, he couldn’t handle. He’d gone up and down several times, but never without Brent being there to guide and warn him.

  “Pretend I’m there,” Brent had said.

  Adam anchored the cane to the back of the first step and moved up diagonally with it, then drew in a fortifying breath and stepped into nothingness. As always, his heart rate increased; his palms dampened.

  When his foot settled on the stair beside his cane, he breathed a sigh of relief, then immediately repeated the process. Brent had warned Adam of the fear that could paralyze a person. That was one lesson Adam already knew.

  “How long have you been there?”

  “Just since the last few stairs,” his mother said, stepping to the right side of him at the bottom of the stairs. “Do you want to take my arm?”

  “Thanks.” His hand closed around her upper forearm. “Has Jonathan made it yet?”

  “You know I make it a practice never to be late for surgery or a meal,” Jonathan said, his voice followed by his distinctive laughter coming from directly in front of Adam. “Thanks for the invitation.”