by Beth Michele
She could walk then.
I blink my way out of the past and dart down the stairs. “You’ve got a lot of purple in those drawers, Hopper,” I tease, and her lips teeter into a slight smile. “Let’s get these on.” I start sliding the panties up her legs when she shakes her head, frowning.
“This is already so humiliating,” she confesses, pressing down on the sides of the chair to slightly lift her upper body, her arms shaking from the effort. I finish with the shorts, then gently clutch her shoulders until she looks at me. I long to see the light in her eyes from before. It’s so dim now I can hardly make it out.
“Evie, you don’t have to be embarrassed. This is me, remember?”
“Yes, I know.” Her blue eyes drill holes through mine. “Exactly. That’s why this is so humiliating.”
I sigh, letting my hands fall away. “What can I do, Evie? Please tell me what I can do?”
“I think… I think I’d like to be alone for a while, okay?” There’s a subtle pleading in her voice. She knows me. I won’t go quietly.
“Evie….”
“Please,” she says again, “the nurse will be here at ten and it has to be close to that now. And Zoey will be home around the time she leaves.”
“Okay,” I agree reluctantly, “can I at least make you something to eat before I go?”
She takes off the brake and wheels the chair backward, and while she may not be able to use her legs right now, it’s as if she’s walking away from me. “I’m really not hungry. But I appreciate it,” she adds.
With a stiff nod, I shove my hands into my pockets, eyeing the door that she’s wordlessly pushing me toward. “So… I’ll be over tomorrow to take you to your therapy, but I’ll check in with you later.” I step up to her and give her a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
Uncertainty plucks at my skin as I leave Evie’s house. I hate the way I’m feeling right now—the nausea crawling up my throat. The impending fucking doom lurking in the shadows.
“Dylan.”
I jerk my head toward the sound of Gran’s voice. She’s standing at the screen door, holding it open for me. Part of me wants to get in my truck and just drive. As much as I love Gran, I’m not up for talking right now.
“Come sit, dear.” I stagger inside and she settles on the couch, patting the spot next to her.
“I’m not in the mood to talk, Gran,” I tell her, my feet firmly planted by the stairs, her gaze weighing heavy on the side of my face.
“You may not want to, but I think you need to, so….”
I slap a hand against my thigh and sit down, when all I want to do is shut the door to my room and block out the world. She wraps her thin fingers around my arm, the sincerity in her eyes muting my frustration.
“How are you holding up?”
“The truth?”
“Hmmm,” she hums, “that’s the only thing there is, Dylan.”
“Then be prepared for a lot of swearing.” I toss her a smirk that she volleys right back to me. “I’m shit, Gran.” I lower an elbow to my knee, my fingers squeezing the skin on my forehead. “Evie might never walk again.”
“I know,” she admits, and I swivel my head to look at her. “After you called me from the hospital the other day, Zoey came by. She needed someone to talk to. That girl was beside herself. In fact, I’ve never seen her like that, not even when that child’s parents passed away. How is Evie?”
“Not good. I mean, she’s all over the place. One minute she’s laughing, the next crying. But then today, I felt like she was pushing me away… and it scares me.” My eyes gravitate to the picture of us on the wall. “I want to take care of her, Gran.”
“I know. But Dylan….” She waits until she has my attention again before she goes on. “I think you also want to save her, but the only thing you can do is give her the means to save herself. And you can give her time. To get used to all of this. Evie doesn’t know whether she’ll ever walk again. I’m sure she’s grieving and has no idea how to handle that. She’s always been so independent, and now that’s been stripped away from her.” She pats my knee. “She’s always been your rock, Dylan, but she can’t be that right now. It’s your turn to be what she needs. And believe it or not, she needs you now more than ever.”
She places a hand on my shoulder. “I know that sounds like a heap of responsibility, and you’ve had plenty of that, but just be there for her, Dylan. Give her what you’ve always given. Your support, your love, but most of all your honesty. You won’t be able to push her, not that you’ve ever been able to, because,” she laughs, “Lord knows that child is stubborn. But let her discover who she is now, and be there to catch her if she falls.”
“My arms are out, Gran. But already it feels like she’s slipping through my fingers.”
DAY SIX OF physical therapy. Oh joy. I can’t wait to be frustrated to the point of tears again today. If I’m being honest with myself, though, that’s not why they’re falling down my cheeks right now.
It’s the rejection that was in Dylan’s voice when I told him I wanted the nurse to take me to rehab the other day. It’s the memory of his crumpled face when I told him I wanted some time alone. The absolute horror in his eyes when he saw me crawling on the ground. The way he so tenderly slipped my underwear up my legs as if he could hurt me. He’d never hurt me. But I’m already hurting him.
“Evie, you okay?” Trey asks as he stretches me. Trey is my assigned physical therapist. I have to wonder if this is supposed to motivate me to come here. At around six foot one, with inky black hair and deep blue eyes, he’s definitely nice to look at. Of course, I’m not interested. Nor am I interested in sharing any of myself with him. I already have a counselor to see as a part of rehab and I barely want to speak to her.
“I’m fine.” I dab my tears with the back of my hand. “Just tired.”
“Okay.” He accepts my words but his eyes say he doesn’t believe me. Not that I care. I just want to get this over with so I can go home.
It’s a strange sensation—lying on my back as he twists my lower body this way and that. Beginning with the joints around my hip, he moves my right leg outward and then inward, lifting it slightly so it can cross over my left leg. Then he rotates to my other leg, repeating the same process. From what he’s been telling me, these motion exercises help to maintain my lower body muscle.
“How does that feel?” he asks, and I’m sure my puzzled expression is what’s causing the dip in his smile.
“You mean, from the little I can feel?”
“Ah, it’s good to know I’m dealing with a smartass,” he smirks, “helps in my approach.”
“Ha ha.” And then my stomach takes a dive because that’s what Dills calls me and it sounds wrong coming from someone else’s mouth. Regardless, I ignore the comment and give him an answer. “It’s as if I’m being stuck with pins, sort of like a voodoo doll, I guess.”
“Well, my apologies in advance then,” he winks and I glare at him, “because we’ll be doing this every day. Also, the exercises we’re doing for your upper body will really help you learn to maneuver yourself in and out of that wheelchair over time. Maybe at some point down the road, we’ll even be able to get you up on those handrails and then in the pool for some aqua therapy. Who knows, if all goes well, maybe you can even graduate to the harness suspended over the treadmill?”
His enthusiasm makes me want to vomit.
“Gee, I’d jump up and down right now, but, well,” I gesture to my legs, “you know.”
He takes both my hands and pulls me up to a sitting position. “By the way, I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news, but did the doctor tell you about the pressure sores?” He lets go of me and I wince.
“Sores?”
“From sitting in the chair so much. Obviously, not now, but you’ll need to have someone check your,” he pauses, “behind. There are foam or gel seat cushions you can get that will help. Anyway, It’s really not somet
hing you need to think about yet. But just wanted to give you a heads up.”
“Yeah, thanks a lot. Something else to look forward to,” I add under my breath.
“What’s that?” The chair meets my back and he lifts me under the arms with his massive hands and settles me into it.
“Nothing,” I grumble, unlocking the brake and wheeling myself toward the door. Zoey’s big head peeks into the room.
“See you tomorrow, Sunshine.”
“Holy shit.” Zoey walks next to me and the double doors open automatically as we get closer. “I need to bring you here on a regular basis. He’s hot. Sorry,” she lets out an exaggerated cough, “so how did it go?”
“Fine. Tiring actually.” I yawn and gulp a blast of the cool, early evening air. “I just want to go home and lie down.”
“Oh.” I think I hear disappointment in her voice. “I thought I’d take you out to eat. A juicy cheeseburger?”
“How about a juicy cheeseburger to go?” I force out a smile and she nods as we approach her car. Realizing I had my cell phone set to mute, I reach for it but it slips from my hand, falling to the ground. Two teenage girls passing by whisper to one another before one of them swipes it from the concrete.
“Here you go.” She places it in my hand and I look up at her in appreciation.
“Thank you.”
“Sure thing.” She sends me a sympathetic smile that makes me want to wretch all over her cute, strappy sandals.
“I hate how people see me now.”
“How do people see you?” Zoey asks, and I didn’t even realize I said the words aloud.
“They don’t.”
It’s ironic actually. When I was growing up, kids would look at me because they thought I was odd. As I grew older, they stared when they thought I was pretty, I guess. I was never comfortable with that sort of attention. And now, well, I long for that over the lingering pity stares, the overbearing smiles, or the hushed whispers of curiosity. I blink back tears as a memory surfaces.
“I wanted you to know that I’ve always seen you. That’s not a bad thing, is it?”
“No, Dylan. It’s the very best thing.”
Not anymore it’s not. Because now the chair overshadows the girl.
“Evie, I—”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” There’s a finality in my tone and Zoey sighs, checking the rearview mirror as she backs out of the space and exits the parking lot.
I push away what hurts too much to think about as we head onto the highway, now busy with rush hour traffic.
After a few minutes of silence, the cars come to a standstill and Zoey shifts to face me. “So, you okay?”
“Fine.”
“Because,” she huffs out a breath, “because already, you’re not yourself.”
“And just who exactly would you like me to be?” I stare off into the distance at brake lights and rows of cars. I know who she’s looking for, but that girl is under the rubble of who she used to be, and I don’t know how to pull her out.
“I hate that chair and everything it stands for, everything it’s taken away from me. I hate the fact that my muscles are restless, that I can’t run. That you had to put the peanut butter on a lower shelf so I could reach it. So, guess what? If you’re looking for happy-go-lucky Evie, she’s on vacation.”
“I don’t know that I’m looking for that Evie.” Another minute goes by before she adds, “Maybe I’m looking for the Evie who fights, the Evie who’s alive.”
“Well, sis, I don’t know what to tell you. This is the only Evie I’ve got right now.”
MY CELL PHONE pings from the side table. A reminder that today is the day we’re meeting with Braden’s dad to sign all the paperwork for the sale of the diner. I thought I’d be more excited about it, but I’m just—not.
I slept like shit. My head hurts from thinking about Evie all night. Fuck, who am I kidding? I haven’t stopped thinking about her since she pushed me out the door last week. Not only that, but she’s barely let me near her since, always making excuses about why we can’t spend time together.
“Dylan!” Jordy yells up the stairs, “Don’t forget we’re meeting with Braden’s dad today at four to sign the papers.”
With a groan, I stumble out of bed and into the hallway. “Yeah, I got it.”
“Oh, man, you look like hell. How ya doing?” he asks, shouldering the strap from a briefcase that I’ve never seen him carry before in his life.
I scratch at the stubble on my jaw. “Exactly how I look.”
His stance is awkward, his tone sympathetic. “How’s Evie?”
“Not great,” I admit, “it’s all starting to set in and I’m really worried about her.” My heart dips inside my chest. What I don’t say is that I’m really worried about us, too.
“I’m sorry, Dylan. One day at a time, though, you know? I can’t imagine what she’s going through. Oh,” he snaps a finger in front of his face, “before I forget. Wanda went to drop off some flowers for Evie, but she wasn’t home so she left them here. If you could bring them over when you get a chance, that would be great.”
“Sure.” I open the linen closet and grab a towel. “I’ll see you later.”
“Hey, Dylan,” he calls back, and I walk to the top step until he comes into view again. “Keep your chin up. It’s going to get better. It will.”
“Thanks.”
Pretty easy words. Simple concept. I’m just not sure about the execution.
As usual, my brain won’t let me have a moment of peace. Jordy’s words consume me as the scalding water streams over my aching muscles. I only wish it could wash away the unease that’s building in my chest. In all the years I’ve known Evie, there’s never been this level of discomfort between us. This awkwardness that pricks my skin, making me want to scratch at it like a bad rash. I can’t fucking stand it.
“Breakfast is ready.” Gran’s singsong voice floats up from the kitchen. The smell of bacon and pancakes does too, though neither help increase my appetite or mood.
I throw on whatever clothes I can find, knowing that later I’ll have to make more of an effort. Even though it’s only Braden’s dad we’re meeting with later, I want to at least look presentable. I laugh, but the sound vibrates bitterly in my chest. This is something I want to celebrate with Evie, but just as I’m being freed, she’s been restrained.
The vision of her crawling on the floor is too much and I close my eyes. My own legs nearly gave out on me. My heart almost stopped beating. This seems like a cruel joke and I keep waiting for the punch line. But it never comes.
“There you are,” Gran says as I find my way to the kitchen. She sets a plate on the table, piling it with bacon and a short stack of pancakes before plodding to the fridge. “Have something to eat,” she calls over her shoulder, “and don’t tell me you’re not hungry.”
“Okay, okay,” I chuckle, “I’m eating.” I munch on some bacon then douse my pancakes with maple syrup. Gran fills her own plate and sits across from me, smiling as I chew.
“I like when you eat,” she grins, folding a piece of pancake into her mouth with her fork. “You look tired. You didn’t sleep?”
“Not well.” I make a circular motion with my finger around my head. “Too much going on up here.”
“So, tell me,” she prods, setting her fork down after another bite, “what will you do today? Besides the big meeting.”
“I’m finally taking Evie to her therapy and hoping we can spend some time together after the meeting. Other than that,” I shrug, breaking a piece of bacon in half, “I have no idea. Maybe hit the gym.”
“Okay, good.”
We eat quietly for a few more minutes, Gran reading the paper as I stare idly off into space. Every few minutes, though, I glance at my watch. It’s only ten thirty but I’m counting the hours until two—until I can see Evie.
“That hit the spot.” Gran removes her glasses and rubs her eyes before placing them back on her face. “I’m going grocer
y shopping. Anything you need?”
“No, Gran. Thanks.” I wipe my mouth with the napkin then drop it on my plate. “I’ll take care of dish duty.”
“Thanks, dear.” Pushing her chair back, she steps forward and kisses my cheek. “I’ll see you later. Please tell Evie I’m thinking of her.”
“I will.”
Once Gran leaves, I wander up to the sink and scrub the dishes clean. I pause with the sponge in my hand, the image of Evie dancing on my birthday in the corner of my mind. With my free hand, I rub the heel of my palm against my chest, desperately trying to do something, anything, to minimize the crushing pain there.
Frustrated, I throw the sponge into the dish drainer, then stomp over to the bay window that faces Evie’s house. My eyes move from her room back to the driveway when something occurs to me and I check my watch. It’s eleven, yet the driveway is devoid of cars. Zoey is at work, but the nurse was supposed to be there by now. Worry knocks hard against my chest, propelling my feet quickly out the door and across the street. Instead of wasting time, I lift up the flowerbed on the porch and snatch the spare key, inserting it into the lock. The moment it clicks, I call out for her.
“Evie?”
The living room is empty as is the kitchen.
“Evie!” I yell this time, a booming in my chest each second there’s no answer.
Something makes me turn around, and when I do, I spot her wheelchair just outside the bathroom. I breathe out a slow sigh of relief, then sprint down the hall.
“Evie?” I peek through the door and what I find shatters my heart into a million fragments, as if someone has physically lifted me up and thrown me against the wall. It’s an excruciating, agonizing pain. Only it’s not in my limbs, it’s in my chest.
The sight of Evie on the ground, on her stomach. Soft cries racking her body. Palms flat on the tile, underwear bunched around her knees. The self-catheter the hospital provided is beside her, urine covering the floor. I open my mouth to speak her name, but no sound comes out. I try to move my legs, but they’re rooted to the floor. So I try again.