by Rachel Lee
Today Mikey appeared to be in a fairly good mood. Ashley had the greatest admiration for his mother, Marian Landau, whose patience never seemed to flag. It couldn’t be easy for her to drive him in every day and then sit beside him throughout the school day. She could have chosen homeschooling, but she had told Ashley that she wanted him to have social interactions.
“They might not all be good ones,” Marian had said. “I know how cruel kids can be. But I also know how nice they can be, and I don’t want him raised in isolation. Sooner or later he’ll have to deal with the rest of the world.”
So far this year, not a single student had been cruel to Mikey. Some hung back, as if uncomfortable, but a few routinely made an effort to speak to him, or to ask him to join their groups when they split into them.
A fund-raiser was being planned to get Mikey a better wheelchair, an electric one he’d be able to control with puffs on a straw. Dang, those things were expensive, Ashley thought as she called her excited and slightly rowdy group to order. But then so were service dogs, and Cadell Marcus was already trying to solve that problem. She spent a moment’s hope that Zane would actually call Cadell and offer some advice.
“Okay,” she said when everyone was settled and looking at her, “there’s an apple rule. The rule is simple. If we get all of our morning’s work done before lunch, everyone gets an apple. If you guys cut up and waste time...uh-oh.”
Giggles ran through the room. She smiled and plunged into the morning’s math lesson. The introduction to fractions always caused some confusion, but today she had apples and a small paring knife to help her. Given the times, she’d had to get permission to bring that knife, small as it was. She couldn’t help remembering her own childhood, when every boy had carried a pocketknife. No more. The zero-tolerance policy that had begun sweeping the nation a couple of decades ago had finally reached this little town. Considering how many of her students lived on ranches, at home they very likely carried their pocketknives and used much more dangerous implements.
An awful lot of her students, girls and boys alike, would be going hunting this fall with their parents. In fact, one of her lessons at this time of year was about hunting safety and laws. Sometimes she was able to get the game warden, Desi Jenks, to come in and give a talk.
But fractions required her whole attention, even with slicing an apple into halves, quarters and thirds. It was difficult for kids, for some reason, to see it for real and then transfer it to symbols on paper. That always took a while.
Eventually she had the pleasure of seeing understanding begin to dawn.
By the end of the day, however, despite recesses to let them run off energy, her kids were getting antsy. Their response to weariness was not to fall asleep, but to need something new to do. When she dismissed them, they tore out of the room like a stampeding herd.
But Mikey and his mom remained. They always did, to avoid the crush. Ashley pulled her chair over to chat with them a bit.
“How’s it going, Mikey?” she asked. “Do you hate fractions, too?”
He smiled shyly. “They’re easy.”
“Well, glory be,” Ashley said, clapping her hands together. “Someone gets it.”
Mikey laughed.
Marian spoke. “Cadell is trying to get us a service dog. I think I mentioned that. Well, he’s trying to train one for us.”
“I can hardly wait,” Mikey piped up.
“But...” Marian hesitated. “The dog can come to school with him?”
“Of course. Just let me know before you bring him so I can lay the ground rules.” She looked at Mikey. “You are going to make so many kids jealous, being able to bring your dog to school.”
As soon as she said it, she wished she could take the words back. She was sure Marian didn’t find anything about Mikey’s situation enviable. She was relieved that Mikey didn’t take it wrong. He laughed. “Yup. I’m special.”
“You sure are.” Ashley looked at Marian and saw the shadows in the woman’s eyes, the unguarded moment when her entire face sagged. Their eyes met, understanding passed, then Marian put on her cheerful face again.
“Time to go, Mikey.”
Ashley walked them to the front door and waved them goodbye before returning to her classroom to gather up her own items. Lesson planner, papers to grade and some books she used for planning.
A teacher’s day was never done, but she didn’t mind it in the least. Nothing could compare with watching a child conquer a difficult subject or idea. Nothing could compare with the child’s moment of triumph when understanding dawned.
The fractions, however, were going to take a little longer. She laughed to herself and headed out with her jacket and backpack.
As she was leaving, she ran into the seriously pregnant Julie Archer, the kindergarten teacher. “Coffee this weekend?” Julie asked. “Connie and Marisa have already said yes.”
“You sure we won’t be meeting in the waiting room at the hospital?”
“I wish!” Julie smiled. “Nobody told me the last month would be the longest. Nobody.”
“Why scare you?” Ashley asked. “Besides, since I’ve never been pregnant, I couldn’t possibly have told you.”
“The other girls could have,” Julie retorted. “Lucky Marisa, she was early. So, Saturday. Around two?”
“Unless something comes up, absolutely.”
By the time she arrived home, Ashley was beginning to feel her own fatigue from the day. Those fourth graders kept her on her toes. They were bright and inquisitive, and heaven help her if she ever misspoke or inadvertently contradicted herself. Which, she reminded herself, meant they were paying attention.
But it wasn’t a job that gave her a chance to let her guard down and relax, and today she’d had lunchroom duty as well.
She glanced toward Zane’s house. His van was still in the driveway, but otherwise the place looked unoccupied. Well, he wanted to be left alone, and she guessed he was getting what he wanted.
Inside she started a small pot of coffee for herself, hoping to find a little energy for the work ahead. Her students had done a lot of math problems for homework last night, plus today’s worksheets, and she needed to grade them all. The quicker the response, the better the students learned.
Then there was dinner. She looked in her pantry, then in her fridge and nearly groaned. There was food, but not one thing looked appealing to her. Besides, for some reason she didn’t feel like cooking. What she wanted to do was pull a box or can off the shelf, or a dinner tray from the freezer, and be done with it.
Her fault for not following her program of cooking on weekends and freezing meals for herself. She’d let it slide, and now she was going to pay. Even a search to the very back of her freezer didn’t yield a container of stew or lasagna.
She finally poured a cup of coffee for herself and sat at her kitchen table, drumming her fingers on the wood, thinking. She was more efficient than this. Usually. But lately she seemed to have been letting things slide, like her meals.
And when you let things slide, as she told her students, you got yourself into the last-minute woes. Now, tired or not, she needed to cook.
Mentally throwing her hands up, wondering what had been getting into her lately, she went back to the pantry and started rooting for ingredients. She prided herself on efficiency, so what was going on?
She found some yellow rice and remembered the thick slices of ham she’d bought to cook for breakfast. Some of that cut into the rice would make a meal along with veggies. Saved.
She was just pulling her rice cooker out from under the counter when she heard a knock at her door. It didn’t sound like the usual tap-tap. The raps were spaced farther apart. Curious, she went to open the door.
Nell, Zane’s golden retriever, was standing there, wagging her tail with a rawhide bone in her mouth.
She must have used that to knock on the door. Wow.
Then she looked past Nell and saw Zane in his wheelchair at the end of her sidewalk.
“Check her saddlebag,” Zane said. “Your pie plate is in there.”
“Oh, thank you! You could have just called me to come and get it.” But she looked down at the dog and smiled. “However, I do like your errand girl.” Bending, she dared to give Nell a quick pat before lifting the flap on the saddlebag and pulling out the glass dish.
She straightened. “So she knocks on doors, too?”
“Yup. The pie is great. I still have nearly half of it in my fridge, but I’m not sure it will survive until morning. Thank you.”
“Glad you enjoyed it.” Then awkwardness hit her. Ordinarily she would have invited him in for a cup of coffee. But there was no way he could get up the three steps to her porch. Her house was as inaccessible to him as a fortress. Discomfort commingled with sadness washed through her. This was awful.
He gave a whistle, and Nell turned and trotted back to him.
Ashley decided to just be frank about her awkwardness. “I’m sorry I can’t invite you in for coffee, but I don’t know how you could get up here.”
He smiled faintly. “That’s what I have arms for. Anyway, I only wanted to bring back the pie plate. My mother guarded hers like a dragon with a hoard of gold. If a neighbor didn’t bring one back soon enough, she’d go over to hunt for it.”
Ashley had to laugh. “I’m not quite that attached.” He started to wheel away when impulse took her by surprise and she said, “I was just about to start making my dinner. Yellow rice with ham, broccoli on the side. Would you like some?”
He froze. She watched it happen. He didn’t even look at her, but he was no longer moving. Oh, God, he’d warned her he wanted to be alone, and now she’d ignored him. After this, he might never want to talk to her again, and she would have only herself to blame for that.
Or he could just bite her head off right now and leave her in a quivering mess. God, what was wrong with her? He’d been perfectly clear, and she’d just been perfectly stupid.
Then he astonished her. He turned his head and looked at her. She braced for the scolding. Instead, he said, “I’d like that, if you don’t mind.”
Then he rolled away along the sidewalk and up his ramp.
She didn’t move for a minute or so while he entered his house, with Nell’s assistance for the door, and disappeared.
She had heard that right, hadn’t she? He’d like her to bring over dinner?
Back inside, she changed out of her wool skirt and sweater into jeans and a blue flannel shirt. Okay, then. If she was going to cook for two, she was going to do it over there. If that was too big a trespass, she wanted to know it now.
She had never been into playing mind games. While she felt bad for all Zane had been through, that didn’t mean she was going to let him run hot and cold like a kitchen tap. Either he wanted real company, or he didn’t. If he expected her to just bring over a plate of food, she wasn’t about to do that. She was part of the package.
She jammed most of what she needed into her rice maker and a paper bag to carry the rest of it next door, then looked at the fresh pot of coffee she’d just made. Dang, she wanted another cup of coffee. There’d been none since this morning.
Well, she seemed to remember he had a coffeemaker on his counter. If not, she’d come back for hers. For now, she switched it off.
She had the odd feeling she was about to enter a boxing ring. Well, time would tell.
* * *
Zane wondered what had possessed him. Asking her to bring dinner over? The next thing he knew, she’d probably be delivering food to him and trying to help him in ways he didn’t want to be helped.
Independence mattered to him. Yeah, he needed some assistance, like the bar over the bed that helped him transfer to and from his wheelchair. The shower seat and security bars. The dog, his wonderful Nell.
But most of that meant he could still look after himself in ways that mattered. He could cook on a counter that was at chest height, although it wasn’t the easiest thing. He could do most everything one way or another with a little adaptation.
But he really did have a problem with PTSD. Why it had all blown up on him after he lost the use of his legs, he didn’t know. He’d survived a lot of years going in and out of danger and war with few apparent problems. Then, wham! It was almost like once the focus was broken he became broken.
Unfortunately, when the shift had occurred in him, he’d found triggers everywhere, things that could throw him back in time. Sounds, smells, even some voices. And sometimes he couldn’t figure out any reason for it to hit him. Those instances were the worst of all, because he had no idea what to avoid. Sometimes he didn’t even have a flashback, just a surging, almost uncontrollable rage.
So he’d come here to wrestle with it by himself. He knew there was a group here he could join, but he wasn’t yet ready to do that again. It would be good for him, but the move had disturbed him in strange ways and he felt a need to settle in first.
Wondering at himself, he wheeled to the kitchen and began the complicated process of making coffee. He had to lock his chair in place and pull himself up on his elbows to fill the pot and put the grounds in the basket. Practice had made it easier, but it was a crazy dance all the same. Still, he’d have had to live without coffee and a lot of other things if he hadn’t learned to pull himself up.
Once the pot was turned on, he settled back into his chair. Then came the knock at the door. He unlocked his chair and rolled out to greet Ashley, thinking that he needed to get new knobs for the door. Nell could operate the lever kind, but the round knobs just picked up a lot of tooth marks.
But for now, he turned the knob himself and allowed Nell to do the rest of the work as he backed away to make space for Ashley to enter. She had her arms full.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Dinner,” she said cheerfully. “I’m cooking it here, because I am not running back and forth with plates of food. I mean, really.”
Nell closed the door, then the two of them followed Ashley into the kitchen.
“Oh, good, coffee,” Ashley said. “I’ve been jonesing for a cup all day. Can I pour you one when it’s ready?”
He could do it for himself, but for once he bit the irritable retort back. “Sure. Thanks. I didn’t mean for you to go to all this trouble, Ashley.”
“Maybe not,” she answered as she unpacked her bag and the rice maker. “I seem to remember asking you. My idea. Not a problem.”
She hunted around to find what was available. Kitchen utensils had been left there since his parents’ time, and he was reasonably certain that Carol had included them in her cleaning.
Out came a wood cutting board, a chef’s knife, some small bowls, a measuring cup and a microwave dish.
“I am so grateful for microwaves,” she said as she bustled about. “I’d starve to death if I couldn’t thaw and cook in one. That’ll do for the broccoli. But first the yellow rice.” She lifted a yellow bag. “Personal recipe.”
He had to chuckle a little in spite of himself. “I think I’ve had that recipe before.”
“Probably. Someone stole it from me and put it on supermarket shelves everywhere.”
She dumped the contents into the round rice cooker, then began to dice a thick slab of ham. “Meals in minutes, that’s me,” she remarked.
Soon she swept the ham into the cooker with the edge of the knife, added the water, plugged it in and pushed a button. “Maybe twenty minutes on that,” she announced.
Then she headed for his refrigerator. “I hope you have butter.”
“I do.”
“Good, I like it on my broccoli.”
After putting the frozen broccoli in the microwave
dish and dotting it with butter, she pulled a spice container out of her brown bag and sprinkled it on the veggies.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Mustard powder. It makes the taste milder, and anyway, it’s good.”
He backed away until he was beside the table, watching her whirl around his kitchen with practiced ease. It had been a long while since he’d enjoyed the sight of a woman cooking, and she seemed to like it. She shortly proved him right.
“It’s always better to cook for someone else,” she said. “Cooking for one is so boring. I make a lasagna, put most of it in my freezer in meal-size containers and then eat it forever. I also do that with other foods that freeze as well to try to give myself some variety. But... I slipped up the last few weeks, so tonight I cook. Nothing fancy, but if I’m going to do it, it’s nicer to share.”
He was sitting there like a lump, he realized. At least he could try to make conversation. “So you don’t like to cook?”
“Not for just me. Sometimes I cook for my friends, which is fun. A bunch of us gals get together regularly and take turns. Not doing that this weekend, though. I guess we’re meeting for coffee.”
It almost sounded like an alien world to him. Meeting friends for coffee. How many times had making coffee meant freeze-dried crystals and water warmed over canned heat? When he had the crystals and dared to make even a small flame.
Finally she brought two mugs of coffee to the table. “Black?” she asked.
“Nothing else.” After all these years, he wouldn’t know what to make of any other kind.
She handed him a mug then took the seat across from him. “I’ll clean up after.”
“I can do that,” he said quickly.
“Sure, if you want. It means I get to hang around longer waiting for my rice cooker.”
His eyes popped to her face, and he realized she was teasing him. Teasing him. The fact that he hadn’t recognized it immediately, the fact that it had been so long since anyone had teased him when it had been a routine part of his life in uniform...well, he really had put himself in a long, dark tunnel. And maybe not all of it was necessary.