by Avery Ford
“Sure.” Caleb sat back down in his chair and waited for Dr. Sawyer to get settled. The doctor opened a laptop set on his desk and typed in a few commands. When his fingers came to rest, Caleb continued. “I was hospitalized for six months following an accident involving fire. Dr. Rinder instructed me to continue to wear the eye patch I’m wearing now until he, or another ophthalmologist, gave me the go-ahead to take it off.”
“Mm, I see.” Dr. Sawyer typed as he spoke, but he looked over his computer at Caleb to show he was listening. “How long has it been since your last visit to Dr. Rinder?”
“Almost two months,” Caleb replied. “I recently moved to North Carolina, and I’ve been reaching out to specialists alongside the doctors I was seeing in Texas. I’m hoping you’ll tell me I can take the patch off. I’ve been missing my vision. My depth perception is shot.”
“I can imagine.” Dr. Sawyer finished typing something, then stood from his chair and walked around the desk. He leaned close and examined Caleb’s uncovered eye by glance alone. Observation taken, he backed away and held up his index finger. “Follow my finger, please.”
Caleb followed the doctor’s finger with his eye as he moved it back and forth, up and down. When he was finished, Dr. Sawyer mumbled something and took a light from his pocket. He shined it in Caleb’s eye and moved it to different points to see into his eye at different angles.
“Well, the good news is, your uninjured eye appears to be healthy and in good shape. Why don’t you give me a second and we’ll take the patch off and see what we’re working with.
Caleb nodded. Dr. Sawyer drew blackout curtains over the windows of his office and turned off the main lights, flipping on a dimmer light instead. The light was low and unobtrusive.
“We don’t want to overwhelm your injured eye with too much light once we take the patch off,” Dr. Sawyer explained. “Are you experiencing any pain?”
“Not from my eye.” Caleb barked a laugh. “Apart from the no-vision thing, it’s been the least of my worries.”
“Well, that’s promising.” Dr. Sawyer approached. “Would you mind removing your patch for me?”
“Sure.”
Caleb was nervous. He hadn’t dared remove his patch for fear of what he’d find. Regaining his sight was imperative to whatever work he’d do in the future. Carefully, he peeled the eye patch back. His eyelid was closed. Caleb couldn’t bring himself to open it.
“Alright, good. It looks like the scar tissue hasn’t affected your eyelid, which is a positive. There’s no significant gound or other discharge, so it looks like you’re clear of infection. I’m sure the eye duct is fine. Can you open your eye for me now, please?”
Caleb took a deep breath and complied. His eyelid opened slowly, but nothing changed. The world looked the same as it did with his eye patch on.
“How would you describe your vision?” Dr. Sawyer asked. He lifted his finger again, moving it slowly in front of Caleb’s face. Caleb’s gaze followed it.
“Unchanged,” Caleb admitted. “I’m… not seeing anything out of my damaged eye.”
“I want you to look all the way to the left and hold your gaze there,” Dr. Sawyer said. Caleb did. He heard Dr. Sawyer click something, but couldn’t see what it was. “Okay.”
“What was that?” Caleb asked.
“I was testing to see if you had a response to a stimuli that could only be seen by the periphery of your right eye. There was no response.”
“What does that mean?” Caleb asked. He was starting to grow defensive, and he knew he risked losing his temper. Deep inside, he was crumbling all over again. After so long spent recovering, he was supposed to be getting better. How was he supposed to work when he was partially blind? All of the physical labor jobs he was qualified for weren’t going to hire him if he had vision issues.
“I need to run a few more tests,” Dr. Sawyer said. “As soon as I know, I’ll let you know.”
They ran tests for the next forty-five minutes. Dr. Sawyer checked the light sensitivity of his pupils, had him read charts, and used tools that Caleb wasn’t familiar with. In the end, when Dr. Sawyer settled back at his desk and began to type, Caleb had no idea what to expect.
All that he knew was that he couldn’t see.
“Based on the information I was told by Dr. Rinder and the observations I’ve made today, I think we need to reassess your treatment plan.” Dr. Sawyer looked at Caleb over his laptop. “Mr. Anders, I won’t lie to you, there is an eighty percent chance that you’ll never recover the vision in your eye. I need to run a few more tests to be certain, but my leading hypothesis is that there is significant scar damage done to your cornea that is irreversible. There are surgical procedures that can be done to restore vision, but…”
Caleb didn’t need to hear anymore. He pursed his lips and set his eye patch back into place.
So he was going to be partially blind for the rest of his life.
The loss weighed on him heavily.
“So that’s it?”
“There are still tests to be done, but that will need to be executed in the lab. I’d like to schedule a few follow-ups to reassess the situation. If what I’m guessing is the case, there’s a list you can be put on for corneal transplants. If you can get one, some or all of your vision may return, provided there are no other underlying issues.”
More surgery. Caleb was sick of being sliced into. Sick of hospitals. All he wanted was a little good news, but there was none to be had. His vision was shot and Henry was leaving. There was no hope.
“Thanks for your time, doctor,” Caleb said stiffly. It wasn’t right to take out his frustration on the doctor when there was no one to blame but himself, but Caleb was reeling. “What kind of treatment plan are you thinking of?”
“Once a month follow-ups for the next four months. After that, we’ll reassess based on the results and the patterns I see.”
Caleb nodded, going through the motions. More appointments. More medical bills. There was no way out.
“Great.”
“The receptionist will assist you with scheduling time. I’ll send the requests to her now, so she’ll know what kind of appointments you’ll need.” Dr. Sawyer typed in a command, then closed his laptop. “I look forward to seeing you next month.”
Caleb couldn’t say he felt the same way.
Caleb
Caleb spent the night in Durham and hitched a ride back to Blue Mountain the next morning. He’d been lucky enough to catch a ride there with one of Mrs. Turner’s granddaughters who was heading to Duke University, and Mrs. Turner arranged his ride back. It seemed as though she had connections all over North Carolina.
It was afternoon by the time Caleb returned home. He let himself in and kicked off his shoes, and as he removed his jacket, Henry came in from the living room.
“How did it go?” Henry asked.
Caleb frowned. He didn’t want to answer.
“Caleb?”
“The doctor said I’m likely never going to get vision back in that eye. There’s scar damage done to the cornea that they can’t fix and that won’t heal, so I’m supposed to go in for all these tests and assessments to make sure it’s the only issue. Once that’s determined, I can go on a waiting list for corneal transplant surgery.”
Saying it made him feel weak and reminded him how incomplete he was. He’d failed himself. Without his sight, his future was looking bleaker than ever. Bringing stray dogs to the police department wasn’t going to pay his medical bills or put food on the table.
“Caleb…” Henry dropped a hand on his shoulder tenderly. “I’m sorry. I know how badly you wanted the results to be different. Is there anything that I can do?”
Caleb’s nasty side flared up, and he wanted to spit out a scathing answer. Was Henry an ophthalmologist? Did he knew of any recent deaths who had signed up for organ donation? How the hell was he going to ‘help’ when Caleb’s problems were so severe?
But Caleb managed to bite his tongue. H
enry didn’t deserve to be treated with disrespect, even if it felt like he was marginalizing Caleb’s issues. Henry’s tone made what he said sound a lot like pity, and Caleb wasn’t looking for any of that. He’d pitied himself for far too long.
“No.”
The conversation was over, but Caleb couldn’t shake the crawling irritation of being pitied out from beneath his skin.
Henry followed him around the house like a shadow as the day continued, and Caleb found himself on the verge of snapping more than once. Whenever he tried to do something, Henry stepped in and took over. The man even picked up his socks from the living room and threw them in the basket in his room.
Caleb couldn’t take the special treatment.
“Henry,” he said heavily as Henry came back down the stairs. “You need to stop.”
“What do you mean?” Henry asked.
“Following me around? Taking over when I try to do anything remotely strenuous? You need to stop it now.”
Henry stopped halfway down the stairs and frowned. “I know you had a rough day yesterday, and I’m trying to be helpful. I could see on your face how upset you were, and I know your mood isn’t getting any better. All I’m trying to do is take some of the pressure off your shoulders.”
“Only there’s no pressure to take off,” Caleb shot back, maybe a little more sharply than he would have liked. “I had a doctor’s appointment. I came back. I got some bad news. Nothing else has changed. I’m exactly the same man I was when you moved into this house, and you’ve never been inclined to wash your own dishes or pick up your own socks before today.”
Henry’s frown soured, and Caleb knew he was taking offense. “It’s called being a decent human being. If you’d tell me what I can do to help you get into a better mood, I’d be busy doing that instead of trying to make your life around the house easier.”
“So I can do what?” Caleb asked. He was stirring the pot, and he knew it, but a guilty part of him felt it was necessary. A man like Henry, who had such a bright future ahead of him, deserved a man just as handsome and balanced as he was. Caleb’s morale was low, and he had no idea if it would ever recover. His looks would slowly improve with time, but he’d never be the stunning specimen of a man he’d once been. Henry deserved more. “Sit around on the couch and watch daytime television? Curl up in a ball and think about how shitty my life is now that I’ve lost half my vision? Maybe I can go take a walk around town so all of Blue Mountain can gossip about me in front of my face.” He laughed bitterly. “I guess it doesn’t matter, since I won’t be able to see half of them anyway.”
Henry lifted his shoulders and clenched his fists, and Caleb knew he’d struck a nerve. The selfish desire to keep Henry close needed to be repressed. Caleb was torn between wanting to keep Henry close and never let him go, and pushing him away forever. Right now, pushing him away was the preferable choice. It wasn’t fair to shackle Henry to him, and it wasn’t fair to himself to love a man who was going to leave him, anyway. Maybe a fight was what they needed. They’d been too soft on each other and too eager to fall in love despite their agreement that what they shared was no-strings. If Henry was angry at him, he’d leave. He’d make the choice that Caleb was too much of a coward to make.
“I’m only trying to help you, Caleb! What the hell has gotten into you all of a sudden?”
“Maybe it’s the work you do around the house,” Caleb said in a low voice. “You’re not doing it right. I can see why Pritchard was so angry all the time. I can’t imagine two years of this shit.”
Henry’s gentle eyes widened and his brows knit together with fury Caleb had never seen in him before. His hands shook. “You fucking take that back, Caleb Anders.”
“Why would I?”
Henry’s eyes flashed with anger. He didn’t fire back with a response. Instead, he turned and stormed up the stairs. The bedroom door slammed. Caleb backed away from the stairs and headed into the living room only to hear Henry storm out again several minutes later. He stomped down the stairs, a duffle bag slung over his shoulder. Henry stopped in the doorway to the living room, face contorted with rage.
“You know what, Caleb?” he asked. Caleb looked up at him from where he sat on the couch. “I don’t give a shit about your scars. All I wanted was to be there for you, to help you. But if you want to keep beating yourself up because of the choices you made, you can do that on your own. I’m not going to stand by and be your emotional punching bag — I had enough of that when I was with Pritchard. And you know what the most idiotic part of it is? You can still be part of the world you left. There are supplementary positions. There are all kinds of things you can do. Your life isn’t over unless you say it is. And my life isn’t over, either. I’m leaving for the night. I can’t stand to be here while you behave like a child. You’re better than this.”
Caleb watched him, stunned. What a change it had been. Henry, once shy and quiet, was asserting himself.
He was growing. So why couldn’t Caleb?
Henry stormed out of the house and slammed the door behind him, leaving Caleb alone with his thoughts.
It wasn’t until later in the day that Caleb found the small stuffed sparrow left discarded on his bed.
Henry
“You don’t look so well, dear.” Mrs. Turner remarked as she stopped by Henry’s table. Henry was slouched over the booth table, arms folded and chin resting in the gap between them. His duffle bag took up the space on the bench at his side. The few things he owned were inside of it, as well as a few changes of clothes. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“I wish I could,” Henry mumbled. “But I can’t. It involves someone else, and I have too much respect for them to bring it up with other people.”
“Oh hon.” Mrs. Turner placed a reassuring hand on his back and rubbed. “You’re a good boy, Henry Weston. Don’t let whatever’s got you down eat you up. You’re too good a boy to let a little squabble get you down. What do you say to some breakfast? You can’t just have coffee.”
Money was starting to run low. Norman was asking him to come in less and less, and Henry was certain it was because business was so slow during the stormy season. The snow kept the citizens of Blue Mountain inside, and that wasn’t any good for a business already struggling. In the summer business would pick up, but by the summer, Henry would be long gone.
“I can’t really afford much more than that right now. I’ve got a lot to worry about this month, and—”
“Nonsense.” Mrs. Turner waved him off. “This is my diner, and what I say goes. Let me make you up some breakfast, free of charge. You look like you could use a little cheer.”
Henry lifted his head and smiled at her wearily. Mrs. Turner tutted, shook her head, and whisked away into the kitchen. After what he’d been through yesterday, with the added expense of staying the night in a motel room, it was nice to know that there were still friendly faces out there. Henry had been determined not to return home – he couldn’t bear to face his parents or the looks of disappointment they’d no doubt throw his way. He’d just wanted to be alone to work through his feelings – even calling Beth was out of the question. He’d become stronger in the past month and he knew that he needed to deal with this situation on his own.
Caleb had been horrible to him. Henry knew that he was stressed out from the results, but that didn’t give him license to lash out. Henry had been content to drop his gaze and take the abuse for years, and he’d been willing to tolerate it at the beginning of their acquaintanceship, but he was sick of it now. The future was too bright for him to tolerate any more abuse. Leaving Pritchard had been the turning point. Henry was not going to fall back into the same trap.
Henry tried not to think of the fact that so much of that self-respect was rooted in Caleb himself.
Mrs. Turner returned in no more than ten minutes with a steaming plate of full breakfast. Henry’s eyes widened as he looked the plate over. Two fried eggs, toast strips, bacon, sausage, and beans were arranged on
it.
“This is way too much,” he protested. “I’d feel bad not paying for something like this.”
“Nonsense.” Mrs. Turner crossed her arms over her chest, refusing to back down. “You’re a growing boy, and it looks like you need your strength today. Keep your chin up, Henry. Whatever’s keeping you down won’t be keeping you down forever. I have confidence that you’re going to rise up on top.”
Henry smiled. He was sure that Mrs. Turner somehow knew what was happening, but he appreciated how discreet she was being. The woman had ears everywhere. If there was something happening in town, it was her business.
“Thank you.”
“Just telling you the truth, hon.” She brushed her hands on her apron. “Now, I’ve got to get back in there. Can you believe that Meredith called in sick this morning? The nerve of that girl. I happen to know for a fact that last night was Krista Johnson’s twenty-first birthday party. She’s sick alright, but not because of any virus or bacteria. Makes me shake my head…” Mumbling to herself, Mrs. Turner headed back into the kitchen and left Henry to his breakfast.
He ate slowly, savoring each bite. What would Caleb be eating for breakfast that morning, he wondered. Would he eat breakfast at all?
Stop thinking about him.
It was easier said than done.
When Henry finished eating breakfast, he got up from his booth and tried to square away the bill for his coffee at the front counter. The waitress at the cash refused to take his money.
“Mrs. Turner’s orders,” she said. “You’re not supposed to pay a cent.”
There was no time to argue. Henry’s shift at Rustic Treasures was starting in fifteen minutes, and he liked getting there early so Norman could fill him in on what needed to be done around the shop on that particular day. Sometimes it was as simple as cleaning. Other times, Henry did small detail work or easy repairs on antiques they’d acquired. Other times, he spent hours researching and appraising alongside Norman.