There was no one.
It was the end of May before Woo’s therapist told him he was ready to try the canes.
Woo grunted. “My big day, huh?”
“Physically you’re ready. We’re going to do it for five minutes, not one minute longer. It will be painful at first, but I believe you’re up to it. Every third day we’ll increase the time by one minute. If Miss Ryan is amenable and you feel you want to try it later in the day, you can attempt it. If it proves to be too tiring, then you’ll stop.”
Was he ready? Maybe physically, but was he ready psychologically? “Let’s get on with it, Arthur,” Woo said through clenched teeth.
Arthur Nelson held out the canes. This was the part he hated the most, fixing the canes on his patient’s arms. The patients expected so much, and as much as he prepared them, they were never ready for that first fall, that realization they weren’t going to literally dance across the room. It was always at this moment that he wished he were in another profession.
The canes were locked in place. All he had to do now was get up. And walk. Try and walk, Woo corrected the thought.
If determination was the only barometer of success, then Peter Woojalesky would succeed, Arthur thought.
“I’m not going to be able to do this,” Woo said, his forehead beading with perspiration.
“You won’t know unless you try, and keep on trying. We discussed this at great length, Peter. It’s not an overnight miracle, as you well know. Remember what I told you. Get a mind-fix on an event you want to participate in later on when you’re well.” Arthur’s tone changed to almost a monotone: “You’re in the courtroom summing up a case you’ve worked on for over a year. Your thumbs are hooked in your vest pockets. Your back is to the prosecution, you’re facing the jury. You’ve got it locked tight, you know you’re going to win. The other side doesn’t have a chance. You prepared, you ate, slept, and drank this case for a year. You were brilliant in your cross-examination, even the judge showed his approval. Now strut! You earned this moment.”
What the hell was Arthur talking about? Woo thought. He’d be lucky if he saw a trial in ten years of family law. Sweat rolled into his eyes and down his cheeks. He shook his grizzled head, seeing his perspiration flick off into nothing. He had his mind-set. He was in a dove-gray tux and he was standing at the front of the church waiting for his bride. Did brides limp? This one did. He leaped over the communion rail and was running, running, and he was goddamn falling, on his face, in front of his bride-to-be.
“Three steps, Peter. That’s good for the first time. I’m very pleased. Get up and we’ll try again. The clock doesn’t tick until you’re on your feet. Let’s pick up where you’re hooking your thumbs in your vest.”
The hell with his vest. He saw her stumble and right herself, and then the heel of her pump caught in the long white dress. He was moving toward the communion rail, shouting words of encouragement as Jasper Landers helped to untangle the hem of the dress from her shoe. Past the communion rail, arms outstretched, his face wreathed in a smile, he said, “I knew you’d make it.”
Arthur clapped his hands. “I knew you could do it, Peter. Well done. Steady now, don’t lose your balance. Let the canes take the weight. How do you feel?”
“Like someone whipped me.”
“Did you win your case?” Arthur asked.
“Hell no! But I got married!” Woo hooted. “The bride stumbled twice, but I was right there to catch her. She didn’t need my help, though.” He hooted again as Arthur bent down to remove his shoes and socks.
“I like my scenario. You are a lawyer. I work very hard on these scenarios,” Arthur grumbled.
“I’m a man first, a lawyer second,” Woo replied. “We both knew I would have won, so what was the point? Neither one of us knew if I could get married.”
“The point,” Arthur said testily, “was you were supposed to strut. I wanted you to strut and win your case.”
“And I wanted to get married. I wore a dove-gray tux. What do you think of that, Arthur?”
“Who was your best man?” Arthur asked sourly.
“You were,” Woo lied.
“Really.” Arthur preened. “Congratulations. Now, let’s get you into the whirlpool where you can relax. Don’t fall asleep, Peter.”
“At my wedding! You must be joking. Go make your phone calls, Arthur. Report my progress, call your next patient, and have a cup of coffee. I made it right before you arrived so it’s fresh. I’d like to be alone for a while.”
“Do you want a book or magazine?”
“Nope.”
“Something to drink?”
“Nope.”
“All right, I’m going. Hold on to the edge.”
“I know the drill, Arthur,” Woo said, leaning back against the headrest.
He dozed, his grip tight on the edge of the whirlpool.
He was half asleep, the swirling water washing away the pain, leaving room for dreams of wedding cakes, dancing brides, showering rice, and airborne floral bouquets caught by. . .
“Peter, you aren’t supposed to sleep in the bath. You said you understood. What that means to me is I can’t leave you alone anymore.”
Arthur Nelson was a feisty man of sixty-two who was so thin he was stringy. He was exceptionally strong and was always assigned the most difficult cases. He preferred to work with men because he could bully and cajole them into things they didn’t want to do or thought they couldn’t do. He wasn’t married because his job didn’t allow for much free time. When he did have an extra hour or so to call his own, he spent it checking on old patients, charting their progress and wishing them well. He was likable in an odd sort of way, even though he never smiled. He never allowed any of his patients to quit on him. He’d say, “If you give up, if I can’t work with you, I’ll be fired. Where am I going to get a job at the age of sixty-two? This is all I know, all I’m trained for. Do you want me to starve? Just remember, I’ll be on your conscience. They don’t pay me enough to have savings. Do it for me.” And usually they did. Arthur realized that Peter Woojalesky would see through his strategy immediately, which was why he was going to have to come up with something even better than the stories he’d been using for forty years. Woo grimaced. Using his hands, Woo hoisted himself onto the ledge of the bath. Fifteen minutes later he was back in his chair.
“Was I really your best man, Peter, or did you just say that?” Authur asked fretfully.
“Do you think I’d lie about something so important?” He struggled for his best injured look for Arthur’s benefit.
“What’s wrong with my story? I spent over a week on it. I write them up and file them away. You’re supposed to go along with the stories, it’s part of the therapy.” He was still fretting.
“You can’t always be right, Arthur. We learned that in law school. I can try your story when I’ve progressed more. How’s that?”
“You’re probably just saying that to make me feel better. I’ve got your number, Peter, and from now on I’m going to watch you. I’m also going to tell Miss Ryan to keep her eye on you. Is there anything I can get you before I leave, something to drink, a book, or would you like me to turn on the television?”
“I can do these things myself, Arthur, but thanks for offering. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The days and weeks passed slowly, the seasons changing gradually. It was November before Woo was using his canes more than he was using his wheelchair. He still had a long way to go, and two more operations before he would be able to walk with one cane.
A week before Thanksgiving, when he was feeling particularly low and depressed, he dressed and walked across the yard to Jory’s house. She smiled when she opened the door. The dogs barked happily as they circled both canes, sniffing and licking the prongs. “I think I need some cheering up,” he said. “A cup of your flavored coffee might do it.”
“How wonderful of you to walk over here. As a matter of fact I can use some cheering up myself. I was goin
g to come over later on to invite you for Thanksgiving dinner. Do you think Ross and Jasper will come if I ask them?”
“Absolutely. What are you feeling depressed over?”
“My life, my job. I don’t know what I want, Pete, but this job isn’t it That much I do know. I haven’t made any friends since coming back. All I do is work and take care of the dogs. I don’t have time for anything else. I’ve thought about taking a vacation, but I don’t know where to go. I don’t even know if that’s what I really want to do. I was so happy when I came back here, got the job, the dogs, and fixed up the house. I thought it was enough, but it isn’t. But that’s not important. How are you doing? I can’t believe you walked across the yard, up the ramp, across the porch, and you’re sitting here. You’ve made so much progress, Pete. You must be almost ready to go into the office.”
“By the first of the year. For a little while each day. The insurance company is going to give me a customized vehicle to drive. It’s part of the settlement. Ross pushed them against the wall, and they’re giving me two hundred thousand and the van. It’s enough. We’ll settle next week. It was my idea to settle. Ross wanted to hold out and go to court. I think this is fair. I can still work. Family law won’t require me being in court, and by court I mean trials. I think I can make a decent living even if I’m in a wheelchair. It was an accident, and even if the insurance company is paying, I can’t gouge them. The settlement is fair. How’s yours going?”
“With what they gave me for my car and the rest, came out of it with fifty-three thousand. That’s not shabby. I expected ten thousand at the most. I feel sinfully rich. I’m going into the office to sign the papers tomorrow. I thought I’d ask Ross and his father to Thanksgiving dinner then. It will be nice, don’t you think? All of us around the same table, giving thanks.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, what are you going to do with your money? You should think about investing it and making it work for you, giving you income. I know this is none of my business, but how are you handling the income from the Landers Building?”
Jory snorted. “What income? Mrs. Landers hasn’t paid a dime in rental. I sent her two reminder letters, but she ignored both of them. Ross told me to evict her, but I can’t do that.”
“Does Jasper know?”
“No. I knew this building . . . the gift of it, was going to be a problem. I didn’t want it. I still don’t want it. I don’t think Jasper wants anything to do with it. I really don’t know what to do. It’s a year now, and she should have paid sixty thousand dollars in rent. My original intention was to simply let the rent accumulate. Ross must be paying the utilities, and that’s not fair to Ross. I certainly don’t have that kind of money to shell out every month.” Jory rubbed at her temples. “Every time I think about it, I get a headache. I just want it to go away.”
“I can write a letter for you, if you think it will help. Or you can hire an outside attorney to do it for you. You should do something, Jory. Sixty thousand dollars is an awful lot of money.”
Jory stretched her neck muscles. “I know,” she said wearily. “What bothers me the most is I’m obligated to Ross now, and I hate the feeling.”
“What about the taxes?” Woo asked.
“Pete, I don’t know. I assume Ross has paid them. I never wanted that damn building,” Jory said vehemently.
“Where do the bills go?”
“I have no idea. For a while there I didn’t exactly have all my ducks in a row. Ross took over. Maybe they go to Justine, maybe he had them diverted to . . . wherever.”
“I can call a friend of mine and dictate the letter for you. I think a letter from me on Landers and Woojalesky stationery will carry about as much weight as the ones you’ve written. You’re within your rights to give her ten days to pay up the back rent or eviction will be the next step. It’s your decision.”
“If you were me, what would you do, Pete?”
“Business is business, Jory. She wouldn’t get away with it if she was paying rent to a corporation or another landlord. You either pay or you move. That’s the law. Extenuating circumstance normally would be taken into consideration, but not in this case. She’s raking in fistfuls of money, so she can afford the rent. This is a spite case. Do you want me to call my friend Brian Kelly?”
“Yes,” Jory said miserably.
Ten minutes later Woo said, “It’s done. Brian will type up the letter today. It will go out in the mail tomorrow, certified. Mrs. Landers will have ten days to respond with her check. That will bring it to December first. Brian will give her two extra days to allow for the mail. If she ignores the letter and doesn’t pay up, he’ll get in touch with the sheriffs office, and within twenty-four hours she’ll be on the street. It’s called taking charge of your affairs. I think she’ll pay up.”
“I don’t,” Jory said sourly. “Jasper is going to be upset. I imagine Ross will be too. What if it gets into the papers? Jasper lives in fear of scandal.”
Woo laughed. “That was the old Jasper. The new Jasper seems to be going out of his way to right old wrongs, taking life by the tail and swinging that—whatever it is he managed to get hold of—overhead. He’ll cheer you on. You said yourself Ross told you to evict her. They’re on your side, honey.”
Honey. “More coffee, Pete?” she said, her head lowered over the pot. Honey.
“To the brim. The house is toasty these days. It used to be pretty drafty here in the kitchen.” He wondered why she was suddenly so busy, opening and closing drawers, moving things on the counter, shuffling the papers on the table. He remembered the feel of her lips, the comforting hug. He wondered if she was remembering it too. “Am I making you feel uncomfortable? I can leave,” Woo said, setting his coffee cup down on the table.
“No. Yes . . . kind of. I was thinking . . . don’t leave. I have a leg of lamb in the oven. You’re welcome to stay for dinner if you like.”
“Mint jelly and those little potatoes?” Woo asked wistfully.
“The potatoes aren’t exactly little. They were sort of big and I cut them into pieces. Carrots too. I made bread early this morning. I’ll take the butter out of the refrigerator so it’s soft.” She was talking too much, aware of Woo’s intense gaze. What was he thinking? All she had to do was ask. She gave voice to her thought.
“Do you want me to lie, or will the truth do?” Woo asked quietly.
At the sudden sexual tension, something in Jory’s stomach jumped. upward. She felt her heart take on an extra beat as a warm flush crept up to her neck.
“What were you thinking?” he asked, noticing her discomfort.
Her ears felt as warm as Woo’s looked. She found her voice, the words startling her. “Probably the same thing you’re thinking.”
Woo ran his hands through his hair. It felt like it was on fire.
“I sure as hell wasn’t thinking about the oven temperatures and your chopped-up potatoes. Or carrots.”
“I wasn’t either. I did give a passing thought to the fact the lamb might burn if we—”
Woo leaned over and turned the oven off.
“It’s been a very long time. I, ah . . . I’m not . . . agile,” Jory said, looking everywhere but at Woo, her hands massaging her hip.
“If it’s agility you’re looking for, I guess I better turn the oven back on,” he said, reaching out one long arm.
Jory’s arm shot out to grasp his. She shook her head. “I’m not looking for agility. I’m not even looking for a lot of . . . of energy. The fire’s nice. My comforter is on the couch because I slept downstairs last night. It’s difficult going up and down the steps.”
“I can’t manage steps at all,” Woo said.
“I know.”
Woo stared at Jory. He thought he’d never seen a prettier young woman or a nicer one. He wanted to ask, Why me? She smiled then and there was no reason to ask.
“Do you think you can get down on the floor?” Jory asked breathlessly.
“Hell yes,” Woo said just as
breathlessly. “I think if we keep this up, we’re going to talk ourselves out of whatever it is we’re thinking of doing.”
“Then I think we should march into the living room and . . . do it.”
“That’s what I was going to say, but you beat me to it. However, I’m not the marching type. You march and I’ll shuffle.”
Jory marched.
Woo shuffled.
They did it.
“I think,” Jory whispered in Woo’s ear, “this will definitely go into my memory book. If you like,” she teased, “I can sew up a sampler for you with the time and date.”
Woo groaned as he nestled her more comfortably into the crook of his arm. In his life he had never felt what he was feeling now. He forgot about his handicap, forgot about everything except the girl lying next to him. He should be saying something to her, something that would let her know how he felt, but the words wouldn’t come. A sigh escaped him when Jory burrowed deeper into the nest his arm created. “It’s all right not to talk, to just feel, isn’t it?” Woo whispered against her sweet-smelling hair.
“Oh, yes.”
A lifetime passed, and she gave an involuntary shiver.
“Are you cold?” Woo whispered. He shifted his upper body weight until she was stretched out next to him. He liked the feel of her nakedness against his own, loved the feel of her warm skin against his hands. He wanted her again.
His mouth was gentle, his touch delicate, as he explored and caressed. He could feel passion quicken within her, and he calmed her with his touch and soothed her with words known only to lovers.
He was gentle with her, so gentle, evoking in her a golden warmth that spread through her loins and tingled her toes. His movements were familiar, reassuring, his touch on her naked breasts light and lingering.
He gentled her with a sure touch and a soft voice, quieting her whimper with his mouth and yet evoking moans of passion with his caress. When passion flamed again, it burned as pure as the fire that warmed them.
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