by Karina Halle
The doctor is watching me carefully, staying silent. Finally he says, his voice gentle, “It’s a small price to pay to have a leg. In time, you’ll feel as good as new. You may walk with a limp, your bones may ache when it gets cold out, but you will live a completely normal life. It feels like so much right now, but you’re lucky, Jessica. This kind of damage…I’m amazed the doctors in London were able to save your leg at all. And they did. And it’s here and it’s healing and it works. You’re going to have to live with those scars, you might have to compromise some of your mobility, but in the end, your leg is yours. Like I said, it’s a small price to pay for all the could have beens.”
The fucking could have beens. I could have also been somewhere else at that time. Goddamn it. I could have been with Paula and Sean and Jo having a pint. I could have said yes and done that but instead I’ve gained this limb and lost so much.
The doctor takes a step toward me, puts his hand on my arm. “Jessica. You’re lucky. I know you don’t want to believe it, but you are. In time you’ll see this. In time, you’ll look back at this moment and wonder why it bothered you at all. It’s just skin, in the end. Just skin.”
It’s not just skin. But he wouldn’t have any fucking idea.
He pats my shoulder quickly then turns his back to me, rattling off a list of instructions on how to care for it. I’m to wash it with antibacterial soap, use unscented lotion, go to more physio sessions, use a splint for the first few days, start using a cane instead of crutches. He goes on and on until he realizes I’m not listening to him.
Then he sighs despondently and goes to the door, calling my sister in. Keir follows.
The two of them hover beside me while he repeats his instructions to them. Christina looks overjoyed, as if she had feared I didn’t have a leg at all, while Keir is watching only me. Even as the doctor points out the damage at the back of my calf, the area that resembles raw ground beef and pink ribbons, Keir keeps his eyes on mine, almost as if he’s willing me to keep the focus on him alone. I gladly oblige.
Later, when my leg is fixed with a bandage and splint, and I’m still on crutches, we head to the road while Christina pulls the car around. I’ve had to pretend for her sake that everything is fine, smiling and nodding and trying to sound as upbeat as she is. It’s exhausting. All I want to do is lie down and cry.
Keir takes my arm, his grip firm and warm around my bicep. He leans into me. “Dinner. Tonight. With me.”
“I can’t go to dinner with you,” I tell him, flabbergasted.
“Why not?”
“Did you not just see what happened?”
“I did. What about it?”
I scoff, trying to find my words. “I just had my cast taken off.”
“All the more reason to celebrate.”
“Celebrate what? You saw what my leg looks like.”
“I saw your Little Mermaid tattoo. She looks just as hot on your leg as she does on the screen.”
I frown at him, not comprehending any of this. “What is your deal? You like going after helpless, crippled girls? Is that your thing?”
His hand immediately drops away and in seconds I’m regretting everything I said. His face becomes hard as stone, this grim, unyielding wall. “My thing?” he repeats slowly, emphasizing each word.
I swallow uneasily, my heart jerking about in my chest. Shit. I’ve pissed him off. And rightfully so. I don’t even see myself as helpless, not really. At least I don’t want to.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “Really. Bad choice of words, I…”
“You think I’m around, that I like you, because I feel sorry for you? Or worse, that I have some kind of sick fetish for damsels in distress? Well, newsflash, little mermaid. The moment I saw you, I not only knew you were one of the strongest people I’ve ever met, but that your strength would put mine to shame. Damsel in distress? Maybe that’s what you fear you are, but I’m telling you you’re not. I’m not attracted to weak girls with tepid hearts and sheltered minds. I want the woman that will wow me, knock me off my feat, make me come after her over and over again just for another second of her time.” He takes a step away from me, hurt and disgust livid on his brow. “I think you have me confused with someone else. I think you have you confused with someone else, too.”
He starts walking away, fast, heading to the taxi stand. Everything inside me drops. If it weren’t for the crutches, I would drop too.
Rain is starting to fall as if on cue.
“Wait,” I call out faintly, and when he doesn’t stop, I say it louder. “Wait! Keir, please!”
He stops. Doesn’t turn around.
“I’m sorry!” I yell after him. “That’s not what I think of you. I’m just…I just don’t know what you see in me.”
The rain gets heavier in the seconds that pass between us. The sound of it falling on the pavement fills the air.
He turns around slightly. “I see a woman that you don’t see.”
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. My heart feels like it’s got scar tissue too, overly sensitive and bruised. I want to fix this, immediately, more than anything.
“Then help me see her too,” I tell him, just as Christina’s car pulls up. I gesture to it. “Please.”
He shakes his head. It feels like a part of me dies.
“I’ll take a cab home,” he says. “It’s easier this way. But I’ll come get you at six.”
I almost laugh. “What?”
“For dinner,” he says gruffly. Then he turns and starts striding off again.
***
When six rolls around, I’m still a bit beside myself. I’ve skipped dinner with Christina and Lee, and taken the time to do what I can to make myself feel beautiful.
It doesn’t exactly work—there’s only so much I can do. But I take a long bath, relishing the fact that I don’t have to have a garbage bag wrapped around my leg. Then I do a deep exfoliant to get off all the dead skin, plus a close shave. I finish off with heaps of moisturizer and some vitamin E oil in a vain attempt to stop the scarring.
I think a lot about what Keir said. The truth is, I don’t want to be a damsel in distress. And I thought I’d been doing a good job of it, but it’s only been superficial so far. I’ve done it for my sister more than anything, to keep her from worrying about me, her protector, the only family she has left. I’m supposed to be nothing but strong in her presence.
But deep down, this is all shaking me up. Maybe it’s not even because of my leg. Maybe my leg is just the scapegoat, something more manageable to focus on instead of Lewis Smith.
Lewis Smith. Even the thought of his name makes my blood run cold. It seems so silly to be focused on the cosmetic aspects of my leg when the real damage isn’t external but internal. There is scar tissue of the skin, but what about scar tissue of the soul? When I really let myself think about it, I can barely see the surface.
But Keir does. At least he wants to. He couldn’t give a shit about my leg, he wants to know how the real me is doing. He wants to see my strength rise up from all of this.
I don’t want to disappoint him.
I dry my hair in loose waves, and put on light eye makeup and red lipstick since he wouldn’t stop staring at my lips the other night. Thank you, Stila liquid lipstick. Vibrant and kiss-proof, too.
My splint is black and entirely unfashionable, but I pair it with a black knee-length dress anyway, with spaghetti straps that show off my chest and shoulders. Then I grab a leather jacket to toughen up the look and negate all the effort by slipping on Birkenstocks. Hey, no one told me that my foot would have swelled up since being in that cast, and adjustable shoes are a godsend. I could barely even get my foot in my shoe when I left the hospital.
“You look gorgeous,” Christina says to me from the TV area as I ease myself down the stairs.
Even Lee looks over and says, “Nice job.”
“Thanks,” I say with a cheesy smile when I reach the bottom and do a little sashay. “I matched my dress to my splint. Much
easier than matching my dress to the cast. White isn’t exactly my color.”
“So who is this guy again?” Lee asks. Not that he’s really interested, his focus is already back on the footy match.
“Keir,” Christina reminds him. “And he’s a nice guy. Older. But I approve.”
“He’s thirty-eight,” I tell her.
She shrugs and sits down on the couch beside Lee with a bowl of popcorn and a beer. “He’s got grey hair.”
“Grey hairs,” I say defensively. “As in just a few, as in George Clooney back in his ER days. And anyway, Lee would too if he didn’t dye his hair. Don’t look so surprised, I’ve seen that Just for Men box in the bathroom.”
Before they can react, the doorbell rings. Saved by the bell, speaking of another nineties show.
“That’s him,” I say, working my way down the hall. “Don’t wait up.”
“I won’t,” Lee shouts.
“I will,” Christina shouts louder. And I believe them both.
I open the door and see Keir standing on the steps. He’s wearing a black blazer, a white shirt unbuttoned to the collarbone, and dark jeans. Casual yet smoking hot.
“Hi,” I tell him, realizing that’s my standard greeting to him. That, coupled with a shit-eating grin that I can’t control in his presence. I know I should be warier of the situation considering we ended things earlier with a yelling match in the rain, but the sight of him brings nothing but light to my body.
“Hi,” he says right back. His eyes rake up and down my body. “You look gorgeous.”
“Thank you,” I tell him, closing the door behind me and hoping Lee and Christina heard that.
“I mean it,” he says. “If I knew how to paint, I’d paint you in a second.”
“Splint and all?”
“Splint and all,” he says. He gestures his head to the cab that’s idling in the street. “I got a cab here. I’m in the process of getting a car. Should have handled it weeks ago, but I’m picky.”
“Let me guess,” I tell him as I head toward it. It’s much easier to use the crutches now without the weight of the cast. “You’re looking for a fixer upper.”
“You got it,” he says as he opens the door for me.
The cab takes us out of the city, heading east toward the water. “Where are we going?” I ask him, craning my neck to watch the city center disappear in the back window.
“I know of the best spot,” he says vaguely.
“Am I underdressed? Overdressed?” I ask, not knowing if I thought of our night out correctly or not.
“You mean to me or to the restaurant?” he asks, twisting in his seat to face me. His hand is resting on the middle seat just inches from mine, and the sharp, fresh scent of his cologne fills my nose, bringing me a strange sense of peace.
“The restaurant,” I say hesitantly.
“You’re perfectly fine,” he says.
“You, then.”
His lips twitch and his gaze settles on my body again, skirting over my arms, my collarbone, up my neck to my mouth. “You’re not naked. You’re not even in my Guns N’ Roses t-shirt. That means you’re overdressed, little red.”
I flush and look away, feeling as awkward as a damn teenager when he says lines like that. Frankly, I’ve never really been around men who say what’s on their mind in that kind of manner. I thought they were pushy, or smarmy, or both. But Keir is neither of those things. He’s just not afraid to tell me what he thinks and what he wants.
I should borrow a page or two from his book.
Soon the cab is pulling up to the waterfront just outside of the Leith docks, and Keir is leading me along the road toward a café of sorts, the water gently lapping against the high wall to one side of us, tanker ships in the distance. We stop outside of Hong’s Fish and Chips.
“This is it,” he says rather proudly.
“What?” I stare up at the white sign with red lettering, at the tired looking counter where an Asian woman is frying something on the stove. “This is it?”
“You’re not a snob, Jessica. Don’t pretend to be one. They do a great fish, fried in gluten-free panko batter. The owner has Celiac disease and saw a market for it.”
The minute I hear that, I’m ashamed to even think that a place like this couldn’t be for me. In fact, good ol’ fish and chips is something I haven’t had in years.
Keir goes up to the window and orders the cod for us both and then joins me, handing me a paper cup.
“What’s this for?” I ask him.
He grins at me and pulls out a flask from his jacket pocket. “Whisky. Can’t have fish and chips without it.”
We get the meals, the woman behind the counter so incredibly nice and throwing in some extra pieces for me when she remarks how skinny I am, and Keir leads me along the road and toward a nearby park carved out between the houses and the water. We manage to find a mound of grass before it drops off into a stretch of beach, buffeted by the eastern breakwater, and sort ourselves out there.
“Are you sure this is okay?” Keir asks for the millionth time. “There are tables and chairs back there if it’s easier.”
“It’s fine,” I tell him, taking my newspaper wrapped meal from his hands, the hot grease already burning my fingers. “I’m sitting down already. Besides, I’m not a damsel in distress.”
He grows quiet, the only noise coming from the packet of salad cream he’s squeezing onto the tartar sauce. “I’m sorry about that. About earlier.”
“You have nothing to be sorry about.”
He sighs, drawing his knees up and resting his elbows on them. “I shouldn’t have gotten mad. You didn’t deserve that. I know this isn’t easy for you and I shouldn’t belittle you or pretend to know what you’re going through. I don’t. Every feeling you have is completely valid.”
And my feelings for you? I think. Are those valid? Do I even know what they are?
We sit in silence for a few minutes, watching the gulls wheel overhead, taking in the breeze coming off the shore, sharp and bracing. It tousles my hair across my face and Keir reaches over and gently tucks it behind my ears. I close my eyes to his touch, the feel of his rough fingertips across my cheekbones.
Kiss me.
It’s a terrifying thought but it’s the truth. I want his hand to slip lower, to cup my jaw and hold me in place, then I want him to put his lips on mine. I want to know what kissing him is like, if it will make me come alive.
But he slowly takes his hand away and goes back to dipping his chips in the tartar sauce, his eyes roaming the sea where boats travel to and fro.
I do the same, wondering what it would be like to just climb aboard one of those ships and see where it takes me. The idea of getting away, of escaping, becomes more enticing with each day.
“What are you thinking?” he asks me, his voice low, as if he’s afraid to intrude on my thoughts.
I nod at the boats. “What it would be like to get away.”
“Where would you go?”
I shrug, smiling at the possibility. “I don’t know. Anywhere. It doesn’t matter.” Then reality slaps me in the face, hovering over me like a dark cloud. “I want to start anew, you know? I tried to do this so many times before and I feel like I never got it right. When I left my parents and my sister, I was trying to do the same. Escape. Distance myself from the house I grew up in, the person it made me become. But the life I made for myself didn’t feel like living. I was going to school, I had a job waitressing, I had some boyfriends but they didn’t last. None of it felt…genuine. Real.”
I take a deep breath and sneak a look at Keir. He’s watching me intently.
“I know what you mean,” he says. “So then you came here.”
“My mother died and I couldn’t leave my sister alone,” I tell him. “I mean, she had Lee, but they weren’t married yet. They’ve been together since she was nineteen. She fell in love with practically the first Scotsman she saw, but I hadn’t met him. I didn’t trust her without my mother there
. I moved for emotional support but I stayed because I felt I owed her.”
“Why?”
The golden question. “It’s nothing I want to get into. But let’s just say I’m the older sister and it’s my job.”
He nods slowly at that. “How did your mother die?” he asks quietly.
Another deep breath. “Suicide.”
His face crumbles softly. “I’m so sorry.”
I look back to the sea. “Yeah.” I press my lips together, trying to put it together in words. “I wasn’t surprised, to be honest. I think that’s what hurt the most. Knowing that it was a possibility. Meanwhile I stayed in Canada trying to distance myself from all of that, and I wasn’t there for her when she died. Christina had to carry that burden.”
Tears start to prick at the corners of my eyes, the back of my throat growing thick and warm. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.
“Jesus,” he says, leaning toward me, his hand on mine as he stares at me intently. “Jessica, you know that it isn’t your fault. Nothing is. Not your mother, not your leg…not whatever happened to your sister.”
I look at him sharply. “Who says anything happened to my sister?”
His brow furrows. “You don’t have to say anything for me to know that there’s a reason you’re so protective of her.” His eyes hold mine and I can’t look anywhere else but at him. “You can tell me in time or not at all, it doesn’t matter. I don’t need to know. But I need you to know that this guilt you’re carrying around is going to drown you in the end.”
I swallow thickly. “And how would you know about guilt?”
He looks pained for a moment and I know I’ve struck a nerve. What I witnessed the other night, his nightmare, the way he ran around his room like he was a trapped animal, that’s just the tip of the iceberg.
“I know more than most people,” he says. “It’s something I carry with me every moment of every day.”
“So you can give advice but not take it yourself?” I whisper, my eyes breaking away, trailing down the width of his nose, to his lips, where they settle.