“Sure, thanks. Anything is fine.”
“Iced tea?”
“Great.” She turned to DJ. “Okay, so why don’t we start with you telling me what happened and how you’re doing with the lessons that have been sent home for you.”
Does she really want to know, or do I be polite and keep it short? In as few words as possible, DJ filled her in on the accident, the hospital, getting home, and her drained brain. “So I get further behind every day and …” She trailed off into a shrug and took a long drink of her smoothie, using both hands at the wrists to hold the glass.
Debra nodded and spoke words of encouragement throughout DJ’s rundown, then said, “I see. Looks to me like fighting the brain drain will have to be a major focus for us.” She glanced down at her notes. “I think a normal plan of studies is beyond you right now, so let’s decide on an easier track for a week or two, then increase the work load as you are able. But you have to promise me you will try your hardest, or I’ll be all over you like a dog after a flea.” She flashed a smile that made DJ nod in return.
Trying hard seemed beyond her at the moment, but Gran kept saying that things would get better soon. It was just that soon seemed a long time coming.
Chapter • 9
“Can I trust you to do the work on your own?”
DJ stared at her physical therapist, Jody Does she think I’m dumb? Of course I’ll work on my own. I have to be able to use my hands—yesterday.
“I think for DJ the opposite is more true. How much is too much?” Gran laid a hand on DJ’s shoulder as they both looked at the therapist.
“The old adage is to let the pain be your guide.” Jody pushed against DJ’s fingers to determine their strength. “If you find the pain in your hands wakes you up in the night, you’ve overdone it that day. But the more you stretch them, the better. Use the ball, see, and squeeze like this. It helps to have someone else keep pushing your fingers in.” Again she showed DJ how by folding each finger, one at a time, in toward the palm of her hand.
“Now, how’s your ankle?”
“Better. It’s been a week since I hurt it.”
“Good. Soak it in a whirlpool if you can.”
DJ nodded. “I have a Jacuzzi at home.”
“Good. Then put your foot on one of the jets and let the pulsing water massage it. Also, the more you keep your ankle up—and by up I mean higher than your heart—the better. If you can keep the swelling down, it will heal faster.”
All the while Jody was talking, DJ kept putting the backs of her fingers against the tabletop and pushing so that her fingers had to curve in.
“How are you doing with your tutor?”
DJ shrugged. “I’m so far behind I don’t know how I’ll ever catch up.”
“You will. Now, do you have any other questions?”
DJ shook her head.
“Okay, then I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Over the next few days, DJ found it easier and easier to lie back on her bed and fall asleep. When she woke up, she felt groggy and grumpy, so unless someone woke her or called her to meals or she talked on the phone, sleeping felt much better. When she slept, she didn’t have to think or feel at all.
“DJ! Are you sleeping again?” Lindy stood in the doorway to the deck.
“Uh … no. I just closed my eyes for a minute.” DJ blinked and yawned, a dead giveaway.
“Do you hurt? I mean, any more than normal?” Lindy crossed to the lounger and laid the back of her hand on DJ’s forehead.
DJ kept her head still with some effort. Sometimes she just needed to be alone. “Mom, I’m fine, okay?”
“Yeah, right.” Lindy huffed a sigh.
DJ heard her muttering as she returned to the kitchen.
The next few days passed in a blur, and all DJ knew at the end of each day was that she could never see much of an improvement in the way her fingers moved. Stiff and unyielding they stayed, no matter how much she tried bending them.
“I’m coming. I’m coming!” DJ pulled the blanket back up over her ears in response to her mother’s yell up the stairs Thursday morning. If she didn’t open her eyes, she didn’t have to admit morning had come. She drifted back to that land of fuzzy gray.
“Darla Jean Randall, get out of that bed!” Lindy yanked the covers back. Her tone of voice allowed no arguments.
DJ reached for the covers, but her fingers wouldn’t close enough to grasp them. “In a minute, okay? Mom, I am so tired.”
“I know it seems that way, but sleeping all the time is a strong indication of depression. Mother and I talked it over and we’re pretty sure that’s what’s happening with you. You were doing so well, and now that you are better physically, you sleep more than ever.”
“No, I don’t!” DJ swung her feet over the edge of the bed. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?”
“How late did you study last night?”
DJ flinched. The last time she’d looked at the clock was 8:30, and she was pretty sure she’d fallen asleep shortly after that. She squinted to see the clock. It was 10:30. No wonder her mother was on a rampage.
“Debra will be here in fifteen minutes.”
DJ groaned again. She’d planned on finishing her assignments this morning. “Can’t you call her and …” She glanced at her mother and wisely cut off her request. No, there’d be no calling to cancel, not this late, anyway.
“You already canceled yesterday.”
“All right. I’ll be ready.” DJ heaved herself to her feet and hobbled into her bathroom. When she looked in the mirror, she wished she hadn’t. There were black, puffy circles under her eyes, and what hair she had was in mats and spikes. How long since she’d washed it? Or taken a shower?
“Do you want me to help you?”
“No—I mean no, thank you.” She’d taken to leaving the cap off the toothpaste tube so she could squeeze some on her fat-handled toothbrush.
Lindy humphed from the doorway and spun on her heel. “You have not quite ten minutes.”
DJ stuck her head under the faucet since there was no time for a shower. Oh, for the days when she could shower, including washing her long hair, and dress in ten minutes. Now even applying deodorant was a major effort. So she didn’t. She rubbed her wet head with a towel, brushed her teeth, and pulled over her head one of the big shirts Gran had sewn for her.
Her stomach rumbled at the same time she heard the front doorbell chime. She threw her bedcovers up so it didn’t look so bad; kicking yesterday’s clothes under the bed helped, too.
“Hi, DJ, how are you doing?” Debra Allendra stopped in the doorway, her smile perky as usual.
Just great, can’t you tell? “Fine.” DJ glanced around to see the furrow deepen between her mother’s eyebrows. Lindy had walked the tutor to the bedroom door. Uh-oh, in for it again. DJ gritted her teeth. If only they’d all leave her alone. Her mother was turning into a permanent grouch. If she doesn’t get off my back …
DJ ambled over to her desk and picked up her books to spread them on the bed.
“Would you like something to drink?” Lindy offered.
Yeah, like she’ll bring me something to drink. The day before, Lindy had announced that she and Maria were no longer bringing food and drinks up to DJ’s room. She had to come down for them herself.
“Iced tea would be great. Thank you.” Debra pulled up a chair and set her bag by her feet. “So our time is flying by. Let’s get on with it.”
DJ plunked down on the bed.
“Let’s go over the checklist.” Debra tucked her chin-length dark hair behind her right ear and set her clipboard on her lap. “Did you finish your book report?”
DJ shook her head. “You know how hard it is to turn pages, and when I listen to the audio, I fall asleep.” Not a good answer. Who cares?
“Hmm.” Debra rolled her bottom lip in, then looked up at DJ. “Where were you listening to the tape?”
DJ studied her gloves. “On the bed.” Why can’t I lie and say at the
desk or outside or something?
“Maybe the bed’s part of the problem. Sitting up in a chair might help that. How many hours did you try?”
DJ shrugged.
Debra ran through the rest of her checklist, which had marks in only four of the boxes. She laid the clipboard in front of DJ. “Not too good, huh?”
DJ clamped her teeth. Tracing circles on her duvet took all her attention.
“DJ, do you want to flunk this semester?”
“No, I just can’t study!” With one hand she swept the papers off her bed and watched them flutter to the floor. “Why does everybody have to keep after me like this?”
“Because no matter how badly one is hurt, you have to pick up your life again and keep going. Because people care, and because we all know that the longer you stay down, the longer it will take to get your life back.”
DJ raised her hands in the air. “But what if I never get it back? What if my hands never work like they used to? What if I can’t draw or ride? What if my hands always stay this ugly and …” She gritted her teeth against the tears. “I cry all the time and …” She dashed the tears away with the back of one hand. “And I can’t concentrate. I read something, and two minutes later I can’t remember what I read. Like there’s a big hole in my brain that sucks it all in and it just disappears. I hate this!”
“DJ, I—”
“And everyone keeps picking at me. All I want to do is go riding, and I can’t. I can’t do anything I want to do.” She could hear herself screaming but couldn’t seem to stop. “It’s not fair! I try and try and I’m not getting anywhere. Look at my hands. I still can’t even hold my toothbrush.”
The silence of the room screamed back at her.
“And now I’ve been a total idiot and I hate me, too.” DJ threw herself across the bed and buried her face in the pillow. Maybe she would smother and all this would be over with. Everyone could go back to their regular lives and not be all messed up because of hers.
She felt Queenie jump up on the bed and come nuzzle under DJ’s arm so she could lick away the tears. She whimpered deep in her throat, a crying sound that made DJ sob harder.
When she ran out of tears, she pushed herself upright and fumbled for a tissue. Several appeared in her hand as if by magic. She scrubbed her face with them, made a mess of blowing her nose but accomplished it anyway, and finally sat up facing the wall, away from her tutor.
“I … I’m sorry.” Mom’s really going to have plenty to say now. What an idiot I am.
“I’d say this has been building up for quite some time.”
“I guess.”
“Do you feel better?”
DJ took inventory. “I … I guess so.” She did indeed, like maybe she could sit or stand straight instead of feeling as if the universe were pushing her down.
But her nose stung and her eyes burned.
She checked again. Yes, she did feel better. She sniffed and tossed the tissues in the wastebasket before reaching for more.
“Now, why don’t you go wash your face in cool water and come back. You want some iced tea, too?”
“I guess.” DJ limped into the bathroom and stared at the balloon face in the mirror. What a mess. She pushed the lever to Cold and dropped a washcloth under the flow. Using both hands she lifted the soaking cloth and laid her face in it. Water ran down her arms and the front of her clothes. She squeezed the cloth out the best she could and draped it over the rod before drying her face on the towel.
Now if only she didn’t have to face the tutor again. Maybe she could fly out the window or something.
Taking a deep breath and letting it out in a sigh, DJ returned to her bedroom.
Debra stood in front of the framed horse pictures, all DJ’s own drawings and many of them the originals for the DJAM card line. She turned when she heard DJ returning.
“These are all yours?”
DJ nodded. “But it’s not all that I’ve done. There are plenty more in there.” She indicated the cabinet of wide, shallow drawers—enough to be the envy of many art teachers.
“I never had a chance to look so close before to see your signature. You have quite a studio here.”
“I know. My dad and Gran designed this all just for me.”
“They love you a great deal.”
“I know. That’s what makes my being such a brat so much worse.”
“DJ, you are fifteen years old, you’ve had a terrible accident, and for a while life just isn’t going to be the way you thought or planned. From everything I hear, you are one dedicated and determined young woman. But anyone can get depressed when facing the kind of obstacles you are.” Debra shook her head. “I have a feeling that someday parts of this will become funny even. But right now, I know, not much seems funny to you. And the concentration thing? It’s not unusual with head injuries. I know you don’t want to hear me say that things could be so much worse, but really they could. Your mind will get its act back together, your hands will heal, and according to the doctor’s report, they haven’t even mentioned long-term disability. That’s good, too.” Debra tucked her hair behind her ear. “Your hands will work right again, and your mind will work right again. Please be patient with yourself. And let’s keep you out of depression if we can.”
DJ studied her gloved hands. God, please make Debra right. I know I’m not doing good, but it is so hard.
“D-do you like cards?” DJ had to clear her throat to get the words past the frog that tried to croak in her throat.
“I love cards. Why?”
“Because I’d like to give you a set. Pull out the third drawer.”
Debra did and found packets of DJ’s and Amy’s cards in perfect order, ready to be shipped out. The young woman took up a package that was a mixture of photos and drawings. She untied the gift bow and looked at each card, smiling, nodding, and shaking her head.
“These are wonderful. Who is Amy Yamamoto?”
“My best friend. She shoots photos, I draw.” At least I used to. DJ flexed her fingers and tried to clench them into a fist. “We needed to make some money, so …”
“Can I buy some?”
“I want to give you a packet.”
“I know, but can I buy more? These would make great presents.”
“I guess.”
“Good.” Debra chose another mixed pack and then one of each of the others. After looking from one pack to the other, she turned to look at DJ. “Have you ever thought of letting groups sell these for fund-raisers?”
DJ nodded.
“Good. Let me talk to my women’s group. We’re always looking for ways to make money, and if we can help a business owned by women, so much the better, especially very young women.” She put the packets in her bag, counted out her money, and laid it on DJ’s desk. “Now, let’s get back to work. Since I didn’t realize you were having memory trouble when I made these assignments, I’ll revise the list before I come again. For now, I recommend that you study at your desk, sitting in your chair, to help you concentrate. No music or TV going during study time, and work in short bursts rather than long stretches. Taking deep breaths, like ten in a row, will help get more oxygen to your brain and help you think better. Get up and move around frequently.” She leaned forward and touched DJ’s arm. DJ looked into her teacher’s eyes.
“And most important, you have to think up. Understand?”
DJ nodded.
“Good. Now, let’s get to work on what we have.”
By the time Debra left, DJ felt that maybe schoolwork wasn’t the worst thing on the planet. At least she didn’t have to do algebra this year.
Debra had just driven out of the yard when the doorbell rang again. Since DJ was downstairs, she answered it. “Bridget! Come in.” She stepped back and motioned her coach, trainer, friend, employer—all of the above at various times in DJ’s life—into the house.
“Hey, I like the new hairdo. Do you think short-short would look good on me?” Bridget gave DJ a hug and stepped back
to look at her.
“A rumor has made it to my attention, and I decided I had better come investigate.”
DJ felt the flinch that started in her foot and worked itself to the tender tips of her fingers. “A rumor?” The frog had hopped back into her throat.
Bridget nodded, her blue eyes serious, although a slight crinkle at the outer edges told of her hours in the sun and an incipient smile.
“Come on out to the deck. Maria will bring us iced tea.”
“I see you are walking well again.”
“Umm … I guess.” What rumor? What did—or didn’t—I do now?
Chapter • 10
“Is it all right if I steal away your daughter?” Bridget had tracked Lindy down in the kitchen.
Lindy nodded. “I guess, if you promise to bring her back.”
“Eventually.” Bridget finished the last swallow of her iced tea and nodded to DJ. “Come along, ma petite. I have something to show you.”
Wish I dared to say no. All I want is a nap. Why am I so tired all the time? “Okay.” You did not argue with Bridget. DJ had learned that long ago. And you didn’t make excuses, either. That was a lesson she’d learned not so long ago.
“So how are you—really?” Bridget shifted gears and checked the traffic both ways while waiting for DJ to answer.
You mean after I just spent an hour screaming at my tutor, or do you mean in general? DJ almost said “Fine,” but Bridget could pick up on a lie faster than DJ’s mother could. By the time DJ had argued every side of the question, all without saying a word, a sigh escaped.
“Not good?”
“No, I mean yes.” Though DJ had conquered the fingernail-biting habit that had plagued her for years, right now she would have given anything to be able to chew her cuticles. That is, if she would ever have cuticles and fingernails again. She curled and flexed her fingers, using the movement both as a distraction and because she knew it would help—eventually.
“Let me guess. You are scared you will not be able to ride again.” Bridget glanced at DJ for confirmation.
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