by Amy Miles
“What’s the plan for today, Miss Hannah?” He asks, wheeling her toward the elevator.
“Same old routine. I figure I’ll work a bit on my tan. Maybe do a few sprints and then head back to my life of luxury.”
Art grins as he slips past her and presses the elevator button. “Glad to see you in good spirits this morning. I was sure worried about you a while back.”
She nods, thankful that with time her spirits have risen. She knows that she couldn’t have done it on her own. People like Art and the nursing staff have been huge encouragement for her, along with Claire. They have all helped to remind her that she is not the one in control. Hannah has discovered just how different knowing that truth and accepting it truly is.
“Did your special visitor come by last night?”
Hannah’s smile falters slightly. She lowers her gaze to her hands clasped in her lap. “No. Timothy hasn’t been by to see me in over a week.”
“Ah, now. Don’t be fretting none over him. You know that man is working hard. There’s a lot of families still without homes. He’s doing his part. You should be proud of that.”
Hannah’s mouth drops open. She feels stunned but quickly recovers as guilt washes in. “I didn’t mean to imply—”
Art squeezes her shoulder. “Don’t you fret none either, Miss Hannah. I know what you meant. It’s not easy to be in a place like this. Gets mighty lonely at times. It’s good to have a friend to talk to.”
Her smile returns as she waves at Rebecca, one of her favorite day time nurses. She has grown fond of nearly all of the men and women who work here. They come to visit her as often as they can, sometimes sneaking her small bits of chocolate cake or little Styrofoam cups of ice cream to cheer her up.
“It’s not a bad place to be,” she says as Art wheels her into the elevator. “Not a bad place at all.”
The ride to the basement is fast. As the doors slide open, Hannah is greeted with a delightful rush of cool air. “Sure is nice to have that old A/C up and running again,” Art says as he pushes her into the therapy room. She is the first to arrive.
“Your usual?”
She nods and smiles when she realizes he’s already lined her up for the cushioned bench that she has claimed as her own these past few weeks. Lifting her from her chair, he pushes it aside with his foot and lowers her gently. She smiles and draws her hands back from around his shoulders. “Thanks Art. I feel good about today.”
“That’s what you said yesterday, miss.”
Hannah grins. “And I’ll say it again tomorrow.”
Art’s lips part into a stunning smile. “I reckon you will.”
He turns and wheels the chair away, leaving her in peace. It’s what she prefers. Time alone. Not that she doesn’t get enough of that each day. After her parents finally agreed to allow Hannah to remain in North Carolina, her life became less stressful, but it also became a great deal lonelier.
Claire makes every effort to visit as often as she can, but Andrew’s recovery has been slow and taxing for her. With funds low and half their downstairs torn away, Claire has taken it upon herself to do much of the repair work. How she finds the time or energy to do it is beyond Hannah. Each time Claire comes for a visit she looks like she’s near collapse, but her smile is always readily available as she steps through Hannah’s door.
One of her father’s conditions on allowing Hannah to remain was that she be moved to a private room. She had tried to convince him that the added expense was not necessary, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Finally Hannah relented. Though she enjoys being closer in proximity to the nurses station, she does find the afternoon and evening hours to be rather long.
Timothy has come to visit her a couple of times over the past month. His visits are sporadic and short lived, but each time she sees him he always finds a way to make her feel better. Sometimes he bring her small bunches of wild grasses that grow along the sides of the roads. This act touched her deeply, that he would remember a comment she made about how beautiful she found the natural setting of the beach to be. Flowers could never be as beautiful or smell as lovely as those grasses.
Other times he brings her books to read. They are well used with the corners folded and some lines highlighted, but they help her to pass the hours. She was surprised to find that he has such good taste in books, but the one she has cherished the most is Timothy’s Bible. Although she grew up in church and loves spending time in prayer, there has been little downtime in her life over the past couple of years to allow her to just sit and read. She had forgotten how much peace can come from these passages.
Hannah has come to realize that she looks forward to seeing Timothy. She can tell by the way he fidgets that he is uncomfortable when he comes. Sometimes he stands and others he paces, but the worst is when he hovers near the edge of his seat, seeming unsure if he should rise or sink back.
They speak of Iris often since that’s a safe topic. She has returned home and is recovering nicely. According to Timothy, she is back to her old fiery self already. Pastor Justin is healing as well. This news brightened Hannah’s day. She has often wondered how the man was doing. He has yet to stop by to visit personally, though she has had several of the men from the church bring her news of his slow recovery. The pins inserted into his leg cause him a bit of grief, but he’s grateful to be alive. All of the church members seem to feel indebted to her. They say Pastor Justin will be on his feet soon and that she is the first person he wants to see.
Several of the other patients filter into the therapy room over the next half hour. Most of them are older—middle aged and up. At first this fact bothered her. It felt odd to be here, to be reminded daily of her ailment, but she tries not to allow it to get her down. Some days are harder than others.
“Good morning, Miss Betty,” she calls loudly as an elderly woman shuffles past in a light blue hospital gown that is parted in an unseemly fashion. A heavily wrinkled face turns her way and the droop around her lips lift into a smile.
Hannah has watched Betty Fitzpatrick graduate from painful steps with a walker and now to a shuffle with her cane. She was among the lucky ones who was already a patient of the hospital when the hurricane hit. She fell two weeks prior on her front doorstep when she tripped over her cat and has a new hip to show for it. Hannah watches her therapist Bill help her along, all the while keeping a good distance between them.
Two other men work alongside Bill Newbry, a silent man with wide rimmed black glasses that like to slip down his nose. He has only ever said two words to Hannah, but he waves from time to time. Hannah has a sneaking suspicion that he’s shy around women, because she only sees him work with men if he can help it.
She lifts her gaze at the sound of Art’s voice out in the hall. Hannah looks back over her shoulder and sees him standing with his arms crossed over his scrubs and is surprised to see his face set with a deep scowl. I’ve never seen him look like that before.
The door opens and a young man steps in behind Art. His bright blue eyes give the room a cursory glance. He pauses as he finds her staring and she blushes, instantly turning away. From the corner of her eye she watches as Art shows him around. The best she can tell, he isn’t listening to a word Art is saying.
Why isn’t he wearing scrubs too? She glances at him again, noting how tight the white shirt is stretched across his broad chest. His jeans hang on his hips and drape over his shoes in a very casual manner. Maybe he’s checking out the place for a family member?
“Your dad sent you down here to help and I can use it. We’re shorthanded all around, so whether you like it or not, you’re stuck here, so I’m putting you to work. Now that lovely lady right over there could use your help,” Hannah hears Art say to the young man but she dares not glance up. Heat licks at her cheeks as she feels his gaze fall on her.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Draven says.
“Oh, no,” Art says. She focuses hard on the floor as she hears Art clap him on the back and steer him di
rectly past her. She breathes out a sigh of relief. “I’m talking about Miss Betty here. She needs to do two more laps around the room before she’s done. Make sure you stick close by her in case she gets tired. Let her rest if she needs it. We don’t want her falling again.”
Hannah catches the scent of the young man’s cologne as he passes and breathes deep. It smells clean and fresh, so unlike the musk that her father likes to wear.
“Betty, I’d like for you to meet our newest volunteer. This is Draven Young, and he’ll be here if you need him,” Art calls as he leans in close to the older woman.
Hannah smirks behind her hand as she hears the man’s groan. It’s obvious that he doesn’t want to be here and judging by what Art said, it sounds like there’s a very good reason for that.
When she glances up as Betty shuffles past she finds Draven’s attention fixed on her. She offers him a smile and looks away again. Focus. She scolds. You’re here to get better, not gawk at a cute guy.
Returning her attention to her feet, Hannah concentrates on her left big toe. She stares at it until her eyes begin to water and her jaw aches from gritting her teeth. She sighs and shakes her head.
“Hey Art?” She looks up at the young man’s call. He stands several feet away from Betty, his nose curled with disgust. Art’s posture is rigid as he approaches. She can tell he’s working hard to be polite. “I think Betty here forgot to mention that she needed a toilet.”
Art’s expression softens as he reaches out and takes the woman by the arm, waiting for her to look at him. “Alright now, Miss Betty. Let’s get you cleaned up and then I’ll have Bill take you on up to your room.”
Hannah feels sorry for the woman as she nods and slowly allows Art to guide her to the bathroom on the far side of the room. She glances at the young man and is startled to see him looking back.
“It doesn’t look like you’ve made it too far,” he observes, walking closer to her.
She laughs and shakes her head. “Yeah, I know. I set such high goals for myself everyday hoping that today will be the day, but so far I’m averaging a big fat zero on the success meter.”
“Well, surely your goal can’t be that hard.” She can hear the slight confusion in his voice as he grabs a chair and sinks down beside her, straddling it backwards.
“You would think,” she muses, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “but it’s easy to take for granted the simple things in life.”
“Well, if Betty can make it around this room I’d say you should be able to sprint it.”
She blushes as his gaze falls over her casts. They are new to her, far smaller and less constricting than her previous body cast. The casts now only cover from ankle to upper thigh. A normal person would gain a great deal of mobility from this, but she isn’t normal any more.
“I wish I could, but that’s not really an option anymore.” She offers him a smile, knowing by the narrowing of his gaze that he must sense a bit of hopelessness seeping into her voice. Not wanting to upset him, or herself, Hannah decides to shift the topic. “My name’s Hannah, by the way. Did I hear Art call you Draven?”
“Yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck. “My parents thought they were being clever by picking something unusual.”
Hannah tilts her head to the side and smiles. “I like it. I think it suits you.”
He seems pleased with her response. “So, you come here often?”
“Every day. Same time. Same spot. I’ve claimed it as my own, I guess. No one else seems to want it.”
Draven leans back and surveys the cushion. “Seems pretty nice to me. I can see why you chose it.”
“Oh,” she flushes and looks away, “it’s not about the comfort. I like the light.”
She raises her hand and points to the window before her. It is small and rectangular, allowing a narrow shaft of light to filter in. It falls just over her feet. She often imagines that someday she will sit here long enough that she will begin to feel the warmth of the sun beating down on her.
Turning her upper body towards Draven, she notices that Art is backing out of the restroom. Betty is draped in a new hospital gown. “So what brings you here?”
“I’m doing community service.”
“Really?”
When Draven smiles, Hannah realizes that the rigid planes of his face have softened. It’s a nice look for him. More relaxed. She has a feeling that Draven spends far too much time smiling for all the wrong reasons. “Nah. Not really. At least it’s nothing court mandated, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Hannah laughs. “You don’t seem like the sort to get mixed up in stuff like that.”
She notices a slight tightening of his eyes at the corners when she says that, but his smile never falters. “I’ve had my moments,” is all he says.
“Haven’t we all?”
Draven regards her and silently nods. A shadow falls over his shoulder and she looks up to find Art standing over him. “This guy bothering you, Miss Hannah?”
“No,” she shakes her head, “he’s just keeping me company.”
Although she’s only been here for an hour, Hannah has begun to feel weariness tugging at her. “Would you mind taking me back to my room, Art? I’m feeling pretty tired today.”
He retrieves the wheel chair as Draven rises. “It was nice to meet you, Hannah.”
She raises her arms and allows Art to lift her off the bench and then sinks into the wheelchair. “It was nice to meet you too. Maybe I’ll see you around.”
Placing her hands on the wheels, Hannah pushed her chair toward the door. This is her usual routine. Even though she will be bone tired when she arrives back at her room, she remains determined to be as independent as possible. Art has learned that this is her preference and he has obliged, but Hannah isn’t the least bit fooled. She knows that he has nurses stationed and on guard in case she needs help along the way.
As she waits for the elevator to arrive she hears Draven ask what’s wrong with her. She closes her eyes as Art says, “There ain’t nothing wrong with her. Her legs just need to remember, that’s all.”
FOURTEEN
Friendship
Timothy paces outside Hannah’s empty hospital room, unsure if he should wait around or leave. The temptation to flee is nearly as strong as his need to see her. He’d made her a promise to return the following day and that was over a week ago. He hangs his head with guilt, his hands wringing tightly around the bunch of wild grasses he picked from the dunes near her aunt’s house as a gift. He knows how much she misses the sea.
I should have come sooner.
He has been working too many hours. Timothy can feel the strain of the past few weeks wearing him thin. His muscles are in a constant state of protest as he moves from work site to work site, all while trying to sneak in a few extra hours each day to help with the church reconstruction. It’s a slow process, but he’s pleased to see people pitching in.
The problem is that he feels pulled in far too many directions at once and knows that he’s not able to give his best to any one venture. Least of all to Hannah.
It’s not really that, though, is it? He glances down the hall and watches as a nurse makes her morning rounds. I’ve been trying to keep myself at a distance, but it’s not working out too well. I can’t stop worrying about her, wondering if she’s alone or in pain.
Ever since Hannah’s grim diagnosis, Timothy has been riddled with guilt, knowing that even though she made her own decision to enter that church he should have done more to stop her. Should have dove in after her and pulled her out. Done something other than just wait around and pray.
That should have been enough, he thinks but knows that it wasn’t. Ever since Abby passed he hasn’t been too good with the whole blind faith thing. Maybe he never will be.
“Timothy?” He turns at the sound of Hannah’s voice and can feel himself already beginning to smile. “It’s so good to see you. I’ve been worried that you’re overworking yourself. ”
&nb
sp; There it is. That unconditional acceptance that she excels at. Never before has he met a woman who can so easily look past her own needs to those around her. It’s a special gift, one that he deeply admires but sometimes—most times—it only reminds him of how underserving he truly is.
“There you are.” His smile feels a bit forced as she slowly wheels herself toward him. He’s glad to see that she’s taken to dressing again. The pale blue hospital gowns only made her look sickly, but with her hair pulled back and her cheeks boasting a rosy tint, he can almost imagine that none of the horrors she has dealt with the past few weeks ever existed. Almost…
“How are you?” she asks as she rolls to a stop before him and places her hands in her lap, smoothing out the wrinkles in her beige linen pants. She has regained a bit of color since he last saw her. It looks like she has put on some of the weight she lost as well. Although he can’t say that she looks good, she does look better.
Better? As if that makes it all right.
A smirk tugs at the corners of her lips and he realizes that she’s still waiting for him to answer. “Good. Busy but good. I’m sorry I haven’t had time to come see you until now.”
She waves off his apology with a warm smile that makes his stomach clench. Does she have any idea how beautiful she is when she smiles? Timothy thinks she doesn’t.
“You’ve been busy. I understand that. A lot of people need you right now.” The way she trails off almost makes him wonder if she’d like to add herself to that comment but she doesn’t. Instead, she lowers her gaze, and he notices the slight tremor in her fingers. He dips low before her.
“I brought you these. Thought you might need a refresher.”
“They are beautiful.” She places the bundle across her lap. “Will you help me put them in the vase?”