Intensive Caring

by Bobby Hutchinson

  They took her at her word, each drawing in huge breaths and expelling them with a whoosh.

  “We could get married,” Juliet suggested. “We could just go and get married, Stuart. We’re old enough to get married, aren’t we, Portia?”

  “Yeah, you’re both old enough.” But Portia sensed the overwhelming fear that idea roused in Stuart. “It might not be the best solution, though, because it would make Stuart’s family mad, and everyone needs their family behind them.”

  Stuart began to nod and couldn’t stop. “Yeah, everyone needs their family. We don’t want our family mad at us, right, Juliet?” His head bobbed like a child’s toy. “It might not be the best solution.”

  “Your mother’s mad, anyway, ever since I told her we have sex. Remember, Stuart? She’s mad at me. She won’t change even if we do get married.” No one in the restaurant could help but hear Juliet.

  Portia tried to change the subject. “Will you be able to get a job in Seattle, Stuart?”

  “I dunno. I asked my mom, but she said, she said, ‘That’s not the issue here.’”

  “Have you thought of moving out of your parents’ house, maybe moving into a group home like Juliet?”

  “I did, yeah, I thought and thought and thought about it.” His hands clasped and unclasped, and his distress grew. “But I’m not fit. My mother says I’m not fit. I can’t buy my clothes. I can’t cook. I dunno about banks and stuff like that.”

  “That’s just silly. You can learn. I learned all that stuff.” Juliet blew a raspberry, but Portia heard the real fear in the young man’s voice. Not that Stuart wasn’t capable, but he was lacking self-confidence, and she couldn’t see any way to bolster it. He’d have to acquire it on his own, as everyone did. And however much Juliet wanted marriage, bullying him into it wasn’t the solution.

  “Maybe you’ll just have to go to Seattle, then, Stuart. Maybe you need time to think things through.”

  Portia saw that Stuart was relieved, but she also saw the expression on Juliet’s face. Her sister looked as if she’d just been betrayed by the person she most trusted.

  Juliet gave Stuart a hard shove. “Move. I need to get out.” She scrambled out of the booth and flew out the door.

  Portia caught up with her half a block down the street.

  “You don’t want me to be happy,” Juliet hollered at her, fighting off Portia’s efforts to put an arm around her. “Why’d you say that? You shouldn’t have said that about Stuart going away.”

  “We can’t be happy at someone else’s expense, Jules. If Stuart isn’t ready to take a stand on his own and marry you, then it’s not right to force him.”

  “But I wanna be married to Stuart. I love Stuart.” The declaration was a primal howl that echoed through the quiet evening.

  Portia felt like howling herself. “We can’t always have what we want, honey, not when it involves other people. They have to want it as much as we do.”

  “But Stuart loves me. He says he does all the time.”

  Portia sighed. “Saying and doing are different, Jules. He’s not ready to get married. If he was, he’d stand up to his mother. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is.”

  Juliet was still sobbing, but now she allowed Portia to lead her to the car. Stuart was standing beside it, their subs gathered into a bundle and cradled in his hands.

  “I brought you your sub, Juliet. You didn’t eat your sub,” he said in a conciliatory voice. “Don’t cry, okay? It makes me cry, too, and men aren’t s’posed to cry, right?”

  “Go away, Stuart. I’m mad at you. I don’t want to see you anymore.”

  He started rocking again. “Okay, okay, I’m going, but take your sub, okay? I gotta go home now, anyhow. My mom will really be mad at me. I’ll see you at work tomorrow, okay, Juliet?” He shoved the sandwiches at Portia and then broke into a shambling run down the sidewalk.

  “I hate him now. I love him, but I hate him, too,” Juliet sobbed.

  “Yeah, I’ve felt that way myself at times.” Portia sighed. What woman hadn’t? “Do you want to come and spend the night with me, Jules?” She started the car, visions of eight hours’ sleep vanishing. Juliet would need to talk. And talk and talk and talk.

  But her sister surprised her by shaking her head. “I wanna go home. I wanna be by my own self now.”

  Portia felt relieved, but guilty, as well. Juliet didn’t say a word on the way back to the group home. She’d stopped crying by the time they arrived, and Portia gave her a hug before she got out of the car.

  “Phone and let me know how you are, okay, Jules?”

  “You’re never there when I phone. I phoned and phoned you until it was late last night and you weren’t there. Where were you, Portia?”

  “I was with Nelson.”

  “At his house?”

  “Yeah, at his house.”

  Juliet thought that over. “Were you sleeping with him?”

  Portia sighed anew. She’d long ago made a pact with Juliet that they would be totally honest with each other, but at moments like this the promise was tough to stick to. “Yes, I was.”

  “Are you in love with Nelson?”

  Honesty just got tougher and tougher around Juliet.

  Portia groped for words.

  “I …”

  Was she in love with Nelson? The fact that she couldn’t just deny it outright surprised her. “I’m not sure. It’s too soon to tell.”

  “Does he have a mother?”

  “Yeah, he does, but she doesn’t live here. I think she’s in Florida.”

  “Does she think you’re a slut for sleeping with Nelson?”

  “I’ve never met her, Jules.” She could see where this conversation was leading. “Look, what Stuart’s mother thinks of you isn’t really important, any more than what Nelson’s mother thinks of me. It’s what we think of ourselves that matters. And what Stuart thinks of himself. And at the moment, I don’t think he’s strong enough to go against his mother’s wishes.”

  Juliet nodded. “I know. But it still hurts in here.” She put a hand flat on her chest. “And I have to go to the bathroom, too. So I’ll leave now.” She eyed the sandwiches on the seat. “Are you going to eat your submarine, Portia, or can I have it?”

  “You take it. I’m not very hungry anymore.” That her sister was thinking of her stomach again was a good sign.

  Juliet gathered up the sandwiches and got out. She turned just before she went into the house and blew a forlorn kiss to Portia, and at that instant Portia caught a glimpse of her aura. The bright colors that normally surrounded Juliet were dull, shot through with gray and brown—visible signals of her distress.

  Feeling as if she’d just gone ten rounds in a heavyweight boxing match, Portia drove home. Her heart ached for her sister. She had an overwhelming urge to drive to Stuart’s house and spell out in vivid detail to the young man’s mother exactly what damage she’d inflicted on her son’s confidence and self-esteem with her overprotective, prissy attitudes and beliefs. For a perfectly normal person to have a healthy sense of self-worth was tough enough. For the mentally challenged, to whom so much of the world must seem an indecipherable puzzle, self-worth was hard-won. And from the sounds of it, Stuart hadn’t had a fighting chance.

  But antagonizing Mrs. Mays wouldn’t help Juliet. And it wouldn’t help Stuart, either. He had to somehow gain a sense of self-worth on his own. Then, and only then, would he be able to follow his heart.

  Maybe if he spent time in Seattle he’d miss Juliet enough that he’d take control of his life. Maybe he’d even get brave enough to stand up to his mother.

  And maybe, Portia thought as she pulled into her driveway, she oughta start writing romantic fairy tales. Stuart just wasn’t very courageous, and going to Seattle wouldn’t likely change that fact.

  At this moment the only positive thing Portia could think of regarding Juliet and Stuart was that her sister had obviously given up on the idea of getting pregnant so that she and Stuart could ge
t married.

  Now, that idea had all the makings of a true disaster. Portia shuddered at the mere notion, although she well understood the feelings that had given birth to it. Love was an all-consuming and complex emotion, where too often the ends seemed to justify the means.

  Inadvertently, her thoughts went to Nelson, and she wondered uneasily what the future held for the two of them.

  One day at a time, she reminded herself.

  Just take it one day at a time.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  AT LAST NELSON WAS ABLE to abandon the wheelchair and graduate to crutches. Regaining mobility had become a full-time job, one to which he devoted time, energy and every ounce of determination he possessed.

  “Most people need to be pushed to exercise,” Charlie grumbled at him one rainy morning. “You’re the only one who has therapists warning you to take it easy.”

  “Yeah, well maybe those folks don’t have as much incentive as I do for getting back on their feet,” Nelson said. “It’s the middle of November. If I’m gonna drive in next summer’s races, I’ve gotta get these damn muscles working.”

  Getting back on the circuit wasn’t the only reason he had for fully recovering his strength, but his main objective wasn’t one he was about to confide to Charlie. He fantasized constantly about being able to make love to Portia with no holds barred, wild and free and unhampered by his injuries.

  Three weeks had gone by since that night they’d first made love. Not more than three days had passed since without their making love again, but his desire for her wasn’t diminished in the least. If anything, it was stronger than in the beginning, which constantly amazed him. Just thinking about her now brought a rush of powerful sexual energy, which he channeled into the task at hand.

  Charlie hooked more weights to Nelson’s ankles and stood back, a disapproving look on her face. “You’ve only been out of the wheelchair for three days. You’re going at this rehab stuff way too hard, boss.”

  Right at this moment, Nelson thought so, too, but he wasn’t about to admit it.

  “That hip is gonna give you hell. It’ll keep you from sleepin’ tonight after this much of a workout,” she predicted in her whispery voice.

  “You were the one who told me the initials for physical therapy also stood for pain and torture,” he puffed, face screwed into a grimace as he raised the weights and lowered them. Every muscle in his legs was screaming, and he didn’t have to wait until bedtime for the hip to hurt. It already felt as if some sadistic son of a bitch was probing the joint with hot needles and electric shock. And his armpits hurt like fury from the damn crutches. Nobody had said how tough getting around on crutches would be. But they were a hell of an improvement over the wheelchair, he reminded himself with a shudder. He’d come to despise that chair and the helplessness it represented. He lowered the weights one last time and knew he’d reached the limits of his endurance.

  “How about making us a sandwich, Charlie? I’m gonna shower and then I could stand some lunch.” He had a ton of paperwork to sort through this afternoon before he met Portia. She wouldn’t be done her shift at St. Joe’s until four, and then they were picking up Juliet and taking her out to dinner.

  “You want ham on rye? Or tuna on whole wheat?”

  “Ham.” He grinned at her. “And then maybe a coupla tuna as a chaser—I’m starving.”

  He grabbed the crutches and headed for the shower, reflecting on the past three weeks. After that first memorable night, he’d half expected Portia to run. He wasn’t certain why. Maybe it had to do with how elusive she’d been at the start. He still was never quite sure she’d go out with him again.

  There was also the lovemaking itself. For the first time in his life, his partner had had to do all the physical stuff. He’d never felt as vulnerable and insecure about himself as he had that night, and he’d never experienced such erotic intensity. He still couldn’t bring himself to believe that the sex was as explosive for her as it was for him.

  The day after they’d first made love, he’d gotten tickets to Les Misérables, hardly daring to hope that she’d accompany him, but she had. And she’d made it clear that she wanted to go to bed with him again. Probably not quite as much as he wanted to take her there, he mused with a wry grin.

  They’d grown more comfortable with each other during the past several weeks. He’d even confided how it felt to have her do all the work during lovemaking. She’d laughed and warned him that he wasn’t going to get away with it much longer, no matter how much he liked it.

  Best of all, for three solid weeks he’d hardly thought about Huntington’s. Whether Portia was beside him or not, he slept peacefully and awakened each morning without the emotional heaviness he’d become accustomed to, the fear that each new day meant being one day closer to the disease.

  Instead, his waking thoughts had been of Portia, and the mornings she was there beside him were blissful.

  He whistled as he showered. Charlie had lunch on the table by the time he was dressed, and Nelson ate his way through a stack of sandwiches. His appetite was back, and he’d started to regain the weight he’d lost since his accident. He downed a glass of grapefruit juice and was reaching for one of the oatmeal cookies Charlie had arranged on a small plate when he noticed she wasn’t eating.

  “You not feeling well?” He knew she wasn’t on a diet. One of the things he really liked about her was that she never appeared to worry about what she weighed. Charlie and Portia were the only two women he’d ever met who seemed free of weight phobia.

  She shook her head, glancing up at him from under her lashes. “I need to talk to you, Nelson.”

  Charlie hardly ever used his name. She called him “boss,” or “honey” or “sweetie.” This must be serious.

  “Go ahead. I’m listening.”

  “There’s, um… I’ve, uh, I’ve realized that, uh, I guess, well, the fact is, I’ve—oh hell.” Her face was flushed and her eyes were downcast. She was clutching her coffee mug so tight her knuckles were white.

  Warning bells went off in Nelson’s head and horror filled him, along with a strong premonition that she was about to tell him she’d fallen in love with him. God, how would he handle this without hurting her?

  “See, I know this job is almost over. You’ll be getting your casts off and driving yourself soon. You’re already on crutches. You don’t really need me anymore.”

  It was true. In another week, two at the most, he planned to be independent.

  “I’ve enjoyed working for you more than I ever enjoyed a job before.” Charlie’s fluttery little voice was choked with emotion, and Nelson wished with every fiber of his being that he were somewhere else. He hated having to tell women that whatever it was they felt for him, he didn’t feel the same.

  “See, I loved the chauffeur part of it, driving you around in that big car. And it dawned on me, how I felt about…”

  Here it came. Nelson’s throat was dry, and the sandwiches weren’t sitting well in his gut.

  “…about driving. I’ve always loved driving, and I wondered…do you think there’s any chance maybe—” her already soft voice dropped so low he had to lean forward to hear it “—maybe I could start my own business? There must be lots of people around in wheelchairs who need a service that provides transportation and a driver with medical knowledge.”

  His ego needed a moment to recover. He swallowed and then said feebly, “Business? You want to start your own business?”

  “I knew I shouldn’t have even mentioned it. I knew it was crazy. What do I know about starting a business?” Her face crumpled and tears trickled out of her blue eyes. “Forget I ever said anything. It’s a stupid idea. I don’t have much money. There’s no way I could.”

  “But it’s not crazy, not at all. Hey, Charlie, please don’t cry. It’s just—I didn’t have any idea what you were going to ask me. It’s a surprise, that’s all.” He thought for a moment. “Y’know, you might really be on to something here.”

&
nbsp; The tears stopped. She sniffled, blew her nose, gave him a wary look.

  “Really?”

  “I’d have to do some market research, but when I called around for cars that could handle wheelchairs, the only ones available were those taxicabs with the bubble tops. The limo companies said they’d send a strong driver who’d transfer me from my chair into the limo, but I’d never have chanced that—I’m not exactly ninety pounds. Besides, getting picked up and put down is humiliating.”

  “You had your limo adapted for your chair. What’re you going to do with it now?”

  “I hadn’t really thought about it.”

  “Would you—d’ya think you might sell it?” She gulped and whispered, “To me?”

  “Absolutely. You’d have to get a business license and probably upgrade your driver’s license, but I’ll find out exactly what you need. As for the limo, we’ll work something out, like a lease to buy, so you can pay as you go.”

  “You’d do that for me? Oh, Nelson, gosh, thanks. Thank you.” She leaped up and enveloped him in a hug that came close to breaking his ribs.

  “I’ll get on it right away. You need to find a name for your company.”

  “I’ve tried. I can’t come up with one that sounds good. If you were starting the business, what would you call it?”

  Nelson thought for a moment. “Low Rider.” The words had stuck in Nelson’s mind, and he’d made a point of searching out War, the group who had first used them.

  He punched the song into the remote CD player.

  “Low Rider Limo Service. Take a little trip with me. Oh, I love it. It’s perfect,” Charlie breathed. “Nelson, you’re brilliant.”

  “Not me. But I’ll pass along the compliment to Cedric.”

  “He’s a sweet guy, isn’t he?” Charlie had driven Nelson, Cedric and Gordon out to the track the week before for the ride Nelson had promised them in his race car. The elation on Cedric’s face afterward had made Nelson feel humble. It had been such a small thing to him, but to Cedric it had been a once-in-a-lifetime experience.