“Well, sure, but he’s my friend. Why wouldn’t I help him?”
“Does he truly want to go out with me or is this your idea?”
“He does want to go out with you. Why don’t you call his number?”
Carol heaved a sigh. “I’m not interested in being his inspiration or focusing on our so-called commonalities. If all we’re going to do is talk about wheelchairs, then I’m not interested.”
“How do you know that’s all he’s interested in? You’re not giving him a chance.” Marisa crossed her arms. “It took guts for him to ask me to help him write the note. He wanted it handwritten. Otherwise, it could have come straight from the computer. He knows how to use one. Just because he’s a quad doesn’t mean he can’t use what little movement he has to type and use a trackpad.”
“I didn’t say he couldn’t use a computer.” Carol finished one bathroom routine and started the second one which included shoving suppositories up her backside. She was well aware how fortunate she was to have full use of her hands and fingers. The quadriplegics needed an aide. Usually, she did her bathroom routines in private, but when Marisa was around, she always wanted to sit and talk.
“So, will you go?”
“Yes, I will.” Carol could hardly turn down a date from a fellow wheelchair user. Besides, she was more abled than he, and if she turned him down, he would be hurt, thinking she thought herself out of his league. “But I’m going to treat him like any other man. If we click, we click. If we don’t, I’ll let him know gently, and hopefully we can stay friends.”
Even though Jason was ruggedly handsome, with sandy brown hair and blue-gray eyes, he still wore the look of the newly injured—both shocked and yet hopeful of a miracle. Carol had been there, done that, hoped and prayed, but after almost a year, she had no more improvements, other than a slight tingling on her behind when she’d been sitting in one position too long.
“I wouldn’t expect anything else.” Marisa leaned over and kissed the top of her head.
Ugh. She hated it. Why did both Ken and Marisa act as if she were a child? And to do it while she was evacuating her bowels? Weird. Carol felt silly sitting there talking about guys with her gloved finger up her rectum.
“I’m very busy with work these days,” Carol said. “When does he want to go out?”
“At your convenience. It’s not like he’s out dancing the night away.” Marisa chuckled.
Yeah. Ha. Ha.
The able-bodied never truly understood. Especially men like Nick who continued to harass her despite her wish to be left alone.
“Cassidy! You have a visitor,” Alexa announced, barging into Carol’s cubicle later that morning.
“Work related or social?” Carol drained the dregs of her cold coffee.
“Definitely not work.” Alexa’s eyebrows jiggled mischievously.
“More flowers?” Carol yawned and wiped her eyes.
“Nope. He wants to see you.”
It was probably Jason. She’d better see him and explain why she hadn’t called him. She would be hurt if she’d gone out of her way to visit someone and they’d ignored her, and she didn’t want to cause him any discomfort.
Besides, who knew? He could turn out to be the love of her life, or at least a wonderful friend.
“I’m a mess though.” She turned her chair toward the cubicle entrance. “I stayed up all night with the India team. Finally got all the bugs fixed and a build going through testing.”
“This won’t take long. Trust me.” Alexa led the way back to the reception area.
“Surprise!” Her entire gang of coworkers shouted when she wheeled to the lobby.
Nick Wolff strutted up to her. He was wearing a pair of red Santa pants, a black stretch tank top, dark glasses and a large, floppy Santa’s hat.
Before Carol could back away, he took her hands and pulled her and her wheelchair toward him.
“Beautiful Carol, this Christmas is going to be for you and me.” His smile was so white it dazzled, and the sparks from his touch flew through her body, accelerating both her heart rate and breathing.
“What are you doing here?” Her voice barely trickled from her mouth.
“Giving you a singing telegram.” He made a signal and someone cranked up the music.
Still holding her gloved hand, Nick swung her around like they were dancing as he belted out the song, “This Christmas,” all about the things he wanted to do with her: hanging mistletoe, trimming the tree, and caroling through the night.
Everyone in the lobby sang along, clapping their hands and swaying to the beat. The music jingled through her body and somehow, she felt light and free. Either that, or she was hallucinating from the lack of sleep.
The stark beige-colored lobby turned into a vision of snowflakes, pine forests, gingerbread houses and twinkling lights. Why, she could almost smell the hot chocolate and hear the crunching of the snow under her tires.
Carol twirled around in her chair with one hand and held onto Nick’s big paw with the other. She shouldn’t allow him to serenade her, especially in front of her coworkers, but one glance at the swooning females standing on the sidelines convinced her that for now, she’d play it up and let Nick flirt or mock her, whichever it was, and pretend she enjoyed it thoroughly.
She lost herself in the song, and before long, she’d joined in the chorus, wishing everyone a very special Christmas—this Christmas. A switch flipped in her heart and somehow, the upcoming Christmas holidays didn’t seem as dark and dreaded. If only she could walk by Christmas, life would be perfect. Was that too much to ask?
She glanced up at the handsome Santa holding her hands. He seemed different, like he actually cared. Had he actually said he was the one who ordered the singing telegram? Maybe he was only delivering a message from someone else. That was more likely. He was the hired help—the entertainer for hire.
She swung around when the music ended, and bowed along with Nick, accepting the applause of her coworkers. When she looked up, the front door opened and Marisa walked in with Jason.
On his lap was a bundle of flowers.
Eleven
Nick held onto Carol’s hand as she glanced toward the doorway. It was the same guy in the wheelchair who had been at the toy drive making mooneyes at Carol.
As far as Nick could remember, Carol’s sister had introduced the guy, and he was a former firefighter. Now, he’d shown up with a bouquet of flowers.
Nick hadn’t pegged Carol as a woman who liked flowers. She seemed too macho and tough for that, but she let go of his hand and wheeled toward the guy in the wheelchair.
“Jason, did you send me that singing telegram?” She gestured toward Nick as if he were a piece of furniture.
“I, uh, well …” Jason stuttered. His hand flopped over the flowers, but he was unable to close his grip to pick them up. “Brought you some flowers.”
Slimeball. Nick narrowed his eyes at the douche canoe. So he was in a wheelchair. So he was a hero who climbed into burning buildings. But he was a liar. The singing telegram was one hundred percent Nick’s idea.
“These are lovely,” Carol squealed like one of the silly women who spent their lives trying out for reality shows. “Thank you, but you shouldn’t have. The one you sent me yesterday is still fresh and lovely.”
“Wanted you to have another one.”
Even the douchebag’s voice was deep and booming like the typical cartoon hero. Sheesh.
“I’m so sorry I haven’t gotten back to you on the date,” Carol said. “I’ve been so busy with work.”
Date? The guy in the wheelchair was a fast worker. He’d already asked her on a date?
Nick unplugged his boom box and wrapped up the wire, taking his time to vacate the lobby so he could eavesdrop.
“It’s okay,” Jason said in his annoyingly deep voice. “Whenever is good for you. I’ve got plenty of time on my hands.”
Da, da, dum. Stupid joke.
Nick’s jaw dropped when Carol la
ughed.
“Great. How about we go to lunch? I pulled an all-nighter and we’re waiting for the test results.” She sidled her chair close to Jason’s and picked the bouquet off his lap.
Not once did she even glance at Nick’s direction. It was as if he were nothing more than the deliverer of a singing telegram.
Nick had no choice but to take his boom box and sneak toward the door. He was halfway out when Carol called out.
“Wait. Let me get the tip.” She turned to Marisa. “Lend me a twenty?”
This was not happening.
For a split second, he thought about letting the glass door close on her face and hightailing for the parking lot. But Nick Wolff was not a man to turn tail and run.
He froze, holding the door open, and she pulled up alongside of him.
“Here you go.” She stuffed a bill in the waistband of his red Santa pants.
“I don’t want it.” Nick bent over to whisper. “The singing telegram was—”
He didn’t finish. A squall of female screams surrounded him as the onlookers waved greenbacks at him.
“Can I book you? Do you have a card?”
“You can sing me a telegram any day.”
“Hey, sexy Santa, how about autographing my chest?”
“My bootie.”
“Ha, ha, I’m a big tipper.”
Trapped by the swarm of women trying to get his attention, Nick could only watch helplessly as Carol disappeared back into the lobby, where presumably she would head to lunch with the flower boy who claimed credit for Nick’s performance.
Chair or no chair. Nick wasn’t going to lose now. If the dude could only use his head, then so could Nick.
Besides, how awkward could it get with Carol holding the guy’s head in the right position the entire time?
Of course his mind was in the gutter, but that was the way they treated him, like he was a gutter ball down the alley.
Suddenly, the women around him made him sick. Did they really think he’d do them all? Like he was a common whore?
Nick crumpled the bill Carol gave him and threw it on the floor as he extricated himself from the horny horde.
Fortunately, their boss stepped into the lobby, and they all scattered back to their cubicles.
Picking up whatever shred of dignity he had left, Nick dragged his boom box. The wire had unwrapped and trailed between his legs. He wasn’t going to let Carol get away without a fight, but it meant putting on his best “Sam” behavior—being gallant, loyal, and sweet.
Yuck!
“You’re not coming with us.” Carol pinned her sister in the bathroom with her wheelchair. “Promise me.”
Every time Marisa made a move to get around her, Carol blocked her from exiting.
“Who’s going to take care of him?” Marisa countered.
Carol wiggled her fingers. “News flash! I still have all ten fingers and control of my upper body. We’ll sit side by side and I’ll help him.”
“There’s nothing more mortifying than being dependent on your date,” Marisa exclaimed. “Be sensible. You’ll make him feel worse.”
“Worse than what? Having no feeling below his neck?”
“Nipple area.” Marisa pointed to her own boobs. “He can feel up to the line on his pecs.”
“That’s too much information. Sheesh.” Carol gritted her teeth. “Did you set this up, or is he really interested in going out with me?”
“Both. Listen, Jason’s an awesome guy. He was injured six months ago, and he’s made great strides. At first, he couldn’t even lift his arm. Now, he has bicep functionality and some wrist movement. He’s an incomplete, so he’s hoping he will regain even more.”
“I’m an incomplete, too. Nothing’s changed for half a year.” Carol turned her chair toward the door. “Please, don’t hover over us. If Jason wants to eat, I’ll help him. If not, we’ll have a chat and he can take a box home. Let’s try and make this as normal as we can.”
“Okay, but I still need to drive his van. You can come with us, can’t you?”
“Yes, if you can fit my chair in there.” Carol was able to transfer herself from her chair to a regular seat, but Jason would have to stay in his electric chair and have it secured with a tie-down system of hooks and belts. “Promise you won’t hang around us and make this more awkward.”
“I promise,” Marisa said. “Let me text Sherelle to meet us there. I’ll have lunch with her, and you and Jason can take your time.”
Carol took her sister’s hand and squeezed it. “Thanks, Marisa. This is my first date since the accident.”
“It’s about time!” She bumped her hip on Carol’s shoulder. “Do you think he’s cute?”
“Jason Boyd, cute? Naw. He’s all man and I don’t think he’d want to be called cute.” Carol raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure you’re not the one with the hots for him?”
“Oh no. He’s my patient. I could never …”
Twelve
Cooper’s Hangout was a roadside diner at the crossroads of two state routes nestled under huge stands of redwoods. It was as much a biker hangout as it was a techie nerd joint, serving burgers, beer, and barbecue, as well as organic salads, sprouts, flatbread sandwiches, and creative omelets and scrambles.
The parking lot was a mixture of luxury cars, Harley motorcycles, and electric vehicles. Fortunately, Marisa found a disabled parking spot near the door. However, a few bikers had parked on the striped area, and Jason had a tight squeeze getting off from his ramp.
“I ought to knock down those bikes,” Carol fumed, after transferring to her wheelchair. “What part of no parking in handicapped parking do they not get?”
“Happens all the time.” Jason maneuvered his chair between the offending motorcycles. “They think the striped area is exempt. I had a guy once who refused to move his motorcycle, until I threatened to lower my ramp right onto his wheels."
Marisa was still at the controls of the van, so she retracted the ramp which barely missed one of the Harleys.
“We should call the police and get these guys ticketed.” Carol took her phone out of her purse and snapped a few pictures, including the license plates of the offending bikes. She called the police, and the dispatcher said she’d send an officer. Satisfied, Carol put her phone away and beamed at Jason. “Let this be an educable moment to the bikers.”
“Sure, I agree,” Jason said. “When I was a firefighter, I never understood the people who parked in front of a hydrant.”
“Inconsiderate and rude. Okay, let’s put that unpleasantness behind us.” Carol reached over and patted Jason’s chair. “Time to get a table.”
“After you.” Jason gestured for her to go first up the long ramp which doubled up on itself outside the rustic cabin that was elevated several steps up on a wooden deck.
“You go first.” Carol didn’t like the thought of showing off her arm strength in front of a man who had to use a joystick to control his electronic wheelchair.
“I insist, ladies first,” Jason said in a gallant voice. His angular face twitched, and his eyes crinkled with amusement. “I would race you if I thought you had a shot of beating me.”
“Oh yeah? You’re on.” Carol propelled herself up the ramp, except it wasn’t wide enough for two wheelchairs.
A wolf-whistle sounded behind her. “Nice triceps.”
Carol felt her face heat and her cheeks crinkle with a smile. No one had catcalled her after the accident or even tried to flirt with her. She pushed herself harder and turned to watch him easily keep up with her in his electric wheelchair.
“I bet you can do tricks in that thing,” she said, eyeing the joystick.
“Spins, u-turns, backwards, but no wheelies.” He winked as he drew even with her on the deck.
“They have open seating here,” Marisa said, coming to Jason’s side. “Let me get a table that’s wheelchair accessible.”
Carol craned her neck and spotted a table under an awning that had the blue and white whe
elchair sign. Unfortunately, it was taken by a large group of rowdy bikers.
“I bet it’s the same bikers who stuffed their bikes in the handicapped spot.” Carol surged toward the table.
“Wait,” Jason said. “There’s another table that looks wide enough for us.”
She paid him no attention. Now that she was relegated to life in a wheelchair, she wasn’t going to let any able-bodied person walk over her—even if he was a rough-looking biker wearing patches and a bandana.
“Carol.” Jason’s wheelchair whizzed at a higher pitch, catching up to her. “Let it go. Can we have a nice lunch without turning this into a crusade?”
Carol stopped her chair in its tracks. Marisa had already “saved” the other table, which didn’t have a wheelchair sign. She’d moved the regular diner chairs aside, and it was a perfect location on the corner of the deck.
“Sure thing.” Carol tamped down her frustration. She’d been concerned about Jason not getting a place wide enough for his chair. She, of course, could simply transfer to a regular chair and fold up her chair, but in the spirit of togetherness, she decided to stay in her chair also. “After all, we already have reserved seats.”
“We sure do.” Jason chuckled, sunlight glinting off his white teeth.
Gosh. He really was handsome, and Carol could totally picture him in his bunker pants, boots, and fireman’s hat. Since his spinal injury was recent, his muscles hadn’t completely atrophied. He had to have had an active life before. Had she seen him on any of the calendars her friends pinned up in their kitchens?
Marisa set up a sippy cup with a straw on one of Jason’s armrests and angled the straw toward him. The cup was empty, and presumably would be filled with whatever liquid refreshment Jason ordered.
She then fussed over Jason, smoothing his shirt, checking his position in the chair, and dabbed his face with a napkin before taking off his sunglasses.
“This is perfect,” Marisa said, handing Carol the menus. “Are you two going to be okay? Shall I get a server to take your order?”
“We’re good,” Jason said. “Thanks for driving.”
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