by RJ Heaton
“Ouch!” My head smarts. I think I whacked it on the metal foot pedal sticking out. Double crap.
“Nikki!” The bedroom door flies open and I see two feet between the wheel chair wheels. Heather, frantic—panicked—and of course hovering. I lift my hand to my head where it clunked hard onto the chair.
“What happened? Are you okay?”
I pull my hand back to assess the sticky blood I feel on my finger tips. “Oh Shit, Nikki you’re bleeding!” She doesn’t even get me pulled up to the bed before she is digging through my hair to check my sore head. “We need to get you to the doctor to have this checked out.”
“No! I’m fine.” I snap, tired of seeing doctors and my bladder getting angrier by the minute.
“Nikki, this could be serious. You have a brain injury that’s trying to heal. We have to take precautions.”
I hadn’t thought about that minor detail, but I feel fine. “It’s probably just a scratch. Do you have any butterfly bandages?”
“In your hair?” Again, she has another good point, but I don’t want to be dragged off to some damn doctor’s office.
“If it doesn’t stop bleeding in a few minutes,” I sigh dejectedly, “then we can go get it looked at, but let’s give it a minute.” Heather seems satisfied … at least for the time being from what I can tell. “Can you please take me to the bathroom?”
When Dr. Mitchell told me this was going to be an uphill battle, what he should have actually said was, “you’ll be embarking on an impossible—mental and physical—trek into the Mojave Desert … with no water”.
After my sister helps me into the restroom, and my bladder resting happily, she talks me into getting cleaned up. “It’ll help make you feel better,” she says softly. The shower does feel good, and it helps my sister forget about the bump I got on my head, but when I get out smelling all fresh and clean, all I want to do is crawl back in bed. Drained from everything, and most of all … lacking the desire to join the rest of the world.
Nine
“Nikki! I let you skip therapy yesterday, but it’s not going to happen today.”
I moan and groan in complaint, “Just let me sleep.”
“You can’t just sleep the rest of your life away.”
“Why not?” I mumble, rolling away from her loud voice.
“Fine play it the hard way. JOE! I need your help.” I hear her bellowing down the hall for her husband, but I don’t really take it too seriously. Well not until, he lifts me out of my bed that is. Heather literally dresses me from head to toe, with me acting like an arrant child the entire time. I was perfectly content doing nothing—in bed.
“Why do you even care?” I bite out.
“Well, for one I don’t want the smell of death warming over looming through my halls, and for two … this is for your own damn good. In ten years, you don’t want me changing your diapers, do you?” I see her shudder at the thought. The idea isn’t one that I find all that tasteful either.
“That’s not a pleasant thought.”
“Exactly what I was thinking,” she tugs hard on the black yoga pants to pull them the rest of the way up. “Good enough.” She heaves.
We really do take the small things for granted. My sister hands me a brush and even though the brushing part isn’t horrible, I haven’t quite figured out how to do a ponytail one-handed. “Can you just put it in a pony for me?” I hate that I have to ask for even the smallest tasks, but this is what I’m stuck with now.
“Your hair is getting longer back here.” It was my sister who had informed me of the chunk of hair they had to shave when I was in the accident. Thankfully it was at the back of my head in one of the thickest parts, so the rest of the hair just hangs over it and hides the scar and bald patch.
“I can’t see back there anyway, so no biggie.” I try to shrug things off as not being a bother, but deep inside everything is destroying me, and at this point … I don’t even care.
The hospital is not my first choice of places to go on an outing to, but that’s where my physical therapy is going to be taking place—everyday—for who knows how long. And not to mention who wouldn’t want to go visit the bubbly personality, Laura? I take a deep breath—prepping myself for the workout. Heather wheels me in; babbling about work and I try to pay enough attention to catch the main points. “Carrie’s picking you up today. She said she has something planned for the afternoon.” Knowing Carrie it will consist of drinking beverages and exhaustion. I love Carrie, but she gets a little too enthusiastic about some things sometimes. I’m not sure if she realizes that I’m not up to partying yet.
The physical therapy room has a front desk like a regular gym. The difference now is when the nurses bring you in, you don’t have to sign in, but outsiders have to sign the sheet. I sign the sheet, and the girl at the desk calls for a nurse to take me in.
“Are you ok here?” I nod at my sister indicating that she can leave.
A young nurse pushes me back to the changing room and I dig out the awful swimsuit the hospital had provided. “I’m Tiffany, I’m an LPN that helps mainly in the therapy center. Is this your first time here?” I really am in no mood for small talk, but I grudgingly answer her question. It’s a struggle for her to help me in my suit, but finally after a little help from me, we get the darn thing on. She seems, so … bubbly, as she wheels me to the pool side. I used to be that happy. I think to myself.
Laura is nowhere in sight. Tiffany takes it upon herself to wait with me, not that I need a babysitter, but maybe she thinks I’ll roll over the side and drown. Now that’s a novel idea. After a few minutes of waiting, a very attractive, young guy—I’d guess in his mid to late twenties—makes straight for us. “Hi. Are you Nikki Cooper?” Tiffany surprisingly answers for me, “Yes, she is.” Her body language clearly evident that she likes him, “do you need help with her?” She is now talking about me like I’m some object in the room. This must’ve been her main reason for hanging by the pool with me.
He confidently shrugs her off and takes the handles of the wheelchair, “Nope we’re good, thanks.”
He wheels my chair closer to the poolside harness contraption and starts to bring the harness down, unexpectedly, “hold up. Where’s Laura?”
“Oh, sorry how rude of me. She’s not here. I’m Ethan and I’ll be helping you with your therapy today.”
For the first time since he came over to me, he stops and looks me in the eyes. For a moment, my breath hitches. Damn—if I were fifteen years younger, I’d be all over this guy. He is absolutely hot, and crap did I just hear him right? “You’re helping me today?” The realization hits hard—this young, attractive guy is going to see this saggy old lady in a god-awful, ugly swimsuit. Embarrassed—mortified, crap … talk about self-conscious.
“Is that okay?”
“Are you just an assistant?” He laughs, tossing his head back. His care-free, charismatic persona is truly sexy. I swallow hard. Holy cow, I think I have finally lost my marbles. I’m checking out a guy almost half my age.
“I get that a lot, but believe it or not … I’m a full fledged Physical Therapist.”
“Oh,” is all I’m able to say, as I realize he is not just a nit-wit. He’s actually an educated guy … adding another plus mark on his check off list. Hot … check, smart … check.
“I was reading your chart and I see Laura was working with you on a few different passive movements. We will do a few of those again, but I have a few other exercises I’d like to try. Are you up for that?” I nod in agreement. Right now, I would agree to anything Ethan would have me do. I’d be putty in his hands.
Getting into the pool with me, his white T-shirt dampens and clings to his body. When he stands, my eyes skim down over his sculpted abs and stop to stare. “Are you ready?” My eyes fly back up and I meet his mischievous grin … telling me I was caught looking—awkward. I turn my head to hide my blushing cheeks.
“What would you like me to do?” I ask, trying to nonchalantly redirect
my training on different thoughts. My ability to hide my reactions to how attractive he is, seem to be futile. This attractive guy is making me heat up in places—forbidden. I feel guilty. Instantly, I look down at my left hand, remembering the ring Sean had been so proud of picking out for me.
Ethan is staring at me with kind understanding eyes—keeping silent. “Sorry,” I say, not really knowing why I am apologizing except for the fact I’m keeping him waiting while more pieces of me crumble away.
PT is different today, in more ways than one.
Laura from the very first day had always been abrupt, hard, and a bit cold. Ethan couldn’t be anymore opposite of that—gentle, kind and compassionate. I almost choke when he grabs my leg for the first time. His gentle hands caressing my calve so softly, and confidently—nothing ginger about it. I cringe thinking about how horrid my scar looks—flaming-angry, red and raised in an uneven ugly pattern. The sensation of his hands smolder my self-consciousness as it sends a volt of electricity humming through my veins, giving my dying soul a kick start. For the first time since May 1st, I care … I care how hairy my legs are. Instinctively, I want to pull my leg away. My personal hygiene hasn’t been what I would call on my top priority list lately. However, even if I had the capability of moving my leg on my own … did I really want to pull it away? I like him touching me. He would probably be mortified if he knew this thirty-eight year old woman is enjoying his touch a little too much. I’ll just keep this feeling all to myself.
Carrie shows up a few minutes before we get done and I can see that look in her eyes. “Well, hello.” She makes no point in being discreet as she looks Ethan up and down. He’s trying to help me get out of the pool with the lift and my best friend is oogling him. “You’re my dear friend’s therapist?”
Ethan lifts his lips into a big killer smile. I’m not sure if Carrie is as affected, but my heart sure skips a beat.
“How old are you?” She never has been able to hold her tongue. Ethan’s smile never fades, and when he turns his head directly facing me, I see the lone dimple on his right cheek. Damn he’s adorable.
“Isn’t there some rule about asking a person their age?” He teases.
“Only for women, honey,” Carrie counters.
“Well, I guess in that case—I’m twenty-seven.”
I See Carrie doing the math in her head. “Hmm, so do you like older women?”
My heart really does skip a beat. I think actually, I might have just had a heart attack. How on earth could she come out and ask him that?
His face slightly pinks, but without a beat, “Why, are you looking?”
“After seeing you, I kind of wish I was, but nope” She points to herself, “this awesome lady is already taken, but my friend here …” Carrie redirects her finger pointing it right at me.
“Carrie!” I snap. I look at Ethan, my brows furrowed, “I’m so sorry for my friend’s behavior.”
“It’s alright.” He takes my towel from a chair and gently wraps it around me. Accidently, he grazes my thigh and my breath hitches from the contact. For a split second, we both freeze and lock eyes. Then slowly he lowers me into my wheelchair. Leaning over me slightly to adjust my towel, he softly says, “I do like older women.” I think he’s just trying to flatter me, but my stomach does a quick flip and a fluttering shake that I haven’t felt for years—spur to life.
My young eager nurse, Tiffany arrives to help me back in my clothes, but before she pushes me into the dressing room, she tries again with Ethan. “Some of us are going out to Ernie’s tonight for a round of pool and some beer. It would be really nice if you wanted to join us.”
This girl is starting to get on my nerves already. I watch her jaw open and close as she brutalizes her slice of gum. Gum smacking is so annoying. Ethan rings the corner of his wet shirt out and wraps a towel around his trim waist. His eyes flash to mine watching him as I sit way too curious as to what he’ll say to his invitation. He looks back to Tiffany, “sorry I have other plans.”
I don’t know why I feel relieved that he turned her down. I flash a quick smile at Carrie, and see her disapprovingly glaring at my nurse. Something has ignited inside of me; I feel like a spark of hope might be growing—my life hasn’t ended after all.
Ten
“Somebody has been seriously holding out on me.” I roll my eyes at Carrie. The woman can drive me absolutely bonkers sometimes, but man I love her.
“I have not been holding out on you.”
“Oh, come on. That guy is perfectly droolable.” I blink long. Okay, maybe not blink but rather close my eyes remembering how droolable he really is. “Awww is somebody swooning?”
My eyes flash open, “I’m not swooning,” I bark and then smile. “Maybe, just drooling.”
“No shit—he’s yummy!”
I punch Carrie in the arm playfully, as she pulls out of the parking lot. “He’s also just a young pup.”
“So … what’s your point?”
“My point? My point is … he wouldn’t want some used-up, half-broken, old woman like me. He wants some tight, fit, bouncy girl.” My mind instantly thinks of Sean exchanging me for just that—young, tight and perky …. If my husband of twenty years didn’t like me the way I am, then why would anyone else? My moment of high just plummeted.
“We need to get your self-esteem built back up, and I have the perfect start—spa day.” I roll my eyes at her, but maybe she has a point.
“Do they wax legs?”
“Honey, they will wax anything.”
The thought of that makes me cringe for a second. “Bring it on.”
Carrie’s plot to bring my self-loathing pitiful state of mind back to reality indeed helped. I went for the full package; head to toe—polished, and shined up. I feel a bit spunky with my bright hot pink toes and fingers to match.
“I love those highlights with your auburn hair. Good choice for spring.”
I smile at her for the compliment, “thanks, you were right I needed that.”
“I know,” she says, and then bounces her head from shoulder to shoulder like a teenage girl. She is absolutely crazy, and I am so glad she is my best friend. She turns her head to me and winks. “Oh yeah, do you mind if we drop by the Whole Food Market before I drop you off at home?”
“Fine with me, actually it sounds more than fine. I have been dying for a piece of spanikopita for the last two days. They make the best in town!”
Carrie and I aren’t the best at maneuvering me in and out of the car yet, but it makes for a good laugh. Once, we finally get to the store, I agree to hold the basket while she pushes me around. I wouldn’t want to picture her trying to handle me and a cart. “I bet that PT boy could give you a good pushin’. I’m talking a. Nice. Long. Spin.” She emphasizes on the long.
“Carrie,” I laugh. “Although, I bet he does have some …” I stop mid-sentence. My jaw dropping.
“… Stamina,” Carrie continues, not noticing why I stopped speaking.
Joking gone—Sean and Sarah stand hand in hand when we round the corner. I haven’t seen him, my husband, since that horrible night of the car accident.
“Nikki,” he gasps. I don’t know why he drops her hand. It’s not like the cats not out of the bag. “How are you … umm, doing?”
The bitter taste of betrayal coats my tongue. I don’t think I could tame my words even if I wanted, “I’m great! Can’t you tell by the wheelchair?”
“Yeah, about that …”
“About what Sean? About the fact that I may never walk again, or wait maybe … how about the fact that Lance is dead!”
“I didn’t make you leave.” His voice edgy, growing louder.
That’s the push right over my line. “You didn’t make me leave? Was I supposed to just jump in and have a little ménage trios?”
“For Christ sake Nikki, do you have to yell so loud?”
I look around and notice we’ve caught the attention of a few passerby’s. “Now you’re embarrassed?”
Sarah is slinking back, but I don’t even care. This little twit was just holding hands with my husband. She just moved into my home. What right does she think she has? “One word, Sean—Alimony.” I look up at Carrie, “Can we get out of here?”
“Dang skippy.” Carrie turns us around, but, of course, she has to get the last word in, “Asshole.”
I’m not feeling quite as cheery when we pull up to my sisters. “You have therapy again tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
Carrie wiggles her eyebrows mischievously, “can I come?”
“You’re insatiable,” I shake my head at my dear friend.
“Hmm … maybe, but I’m married and off limits—but soon you won’t be. I think it would be rather fun watching that young stud muffin giving you a workout.”
“He probably won’t even be there. Usually, I have a nasty bag named Laura. That was probably the first and last time I’ll ever see him.” Secretly, I am hoping my words aren’t true. Ethan is a whole lot better to look at than my prior therapist.
“Fine, but if he’s back tomorrow, you better call me.”
“Not a chance in hell. I don’t think I’m ready to be humiliated again.”
“Someone has to help nudge you along.”
I’m thankful that Joe’s outside only seconds after we pull up. I don’t feel up to my friend, the matchmaker, egging me on at the moment. I’m still upset about seeing Sean, even though I know that Carrie is just trying to help me forget.
***
Heather has decided to make spaghetti for dinner tonight, and when I hear that her family recipe comes from a can … there is no way I can stay in my room and hide. There is a limit to my self-pity-party. I can not eat spaghetti sauce from a can. I have my limitations. Giving directions and lending a hand—literally one hand—with dinner, I rescued Joe and myself.