Scars

by Dale Mayer

  Hoping to stop him from gathering up the courage, she turned her attention to Sean. He was busy sketching. She marveled at the surety of his strokes, the absolute knowledge that his hand needed to place those marks where they needed to go.

  Fascinating. She didn’t have an artistic bone in her body. It was mesmerizing to watch it unfold in front of her. Sean had collected an assortment of observers from Jon to a little redhead boy with crutches to a set of twins wearing a series of leg braces. She had no idea what was going on with them, but they had a stoic look on their faces as if this wasn’t anything new. And given the odd bend to their spines and legs, she suspected they’d had several corrective surgeries already with many more to come. It hurt her to realize what they were going through and likely not understanding how long and arduous the road ahead was going to be. Maybe that was a good thing.

  “Daniel and David, give the man some room to work.” A different nurse than they’d met last time walked toward them. She had a smile on her face but she was older, more reserved. She appeared to be okay with their presence, but she wasn’t exactly rushing toward them enthusiastically.

  She caught the woman’s eyes, saw her gaze narrow speculatively, and Robin dropped her gaze to the floors. Adapting to the children was one thing. Adapting to curious adults was something else altogether.

  But…she’d be damned if she’d keep hiding. She shoved a steel rod down her spine, straightened up, and stared back at the nurse. In the face of her own assertiveness, the nurse shifted her gaze away from Robin’s face. Damn right.

  Instead, the nurse nudged the twins back out of the way, not that they’d been in the way, and moved them toward the other end of the room. Robin let her gaze follow them, noting the fatigue in their arms, the droop to their shoulders by the time they made their way to their beds.

  “Will you show me your face?”

  Out of the blue, she felt like she’d been sideswiped by Jon’s question.

  Sean spoke up before she had a chance to answer. “It’s not polite to ask something like that, Jon. If she wanted people to see it, she’d wear her hair differently so as not to hide it.”

  “I know…but…”

  Sean, his voice firm, said, “No. Not right now. She’ll let you see it only when she’s ready.”

  “Scars are cool,” Jon said.

  “Some scars are cool. Some scars are tough.”

  Jon, his attention caught by the odd tone of Sean’s voice, stared at him speculatively. “Do you have scars?”

  “Sure.” As if knowing what was coming, Robin watched Sean lift his hand off the paper and hold it out for Jon to see the shiny white marks along the back of his hand, the abnormally crooked fingers and thick knuckles.

  “Neat.” Jon studied them carefully. “Those don’t look bad.”

  “Not now they don’t. At the time, they were pretty ugly.”

  “What happened?” piped up Jon, his gaze never leaving Sean’s hand.

  “It’s a long story. But the short version is one should never play with chicken wire.”

  Robin caught her breath. What could he have been doing with chicken wire to get marks like that? Or had he only said that to give Jon an answer he’d understand?

  She glanced up to find Sean watching her, laughter in his eyes, inviting her to join in.

  It was impossible to ignore it. She smiled back.

  “You look like you’re doing much better today.”

  She wrinkled up her nose at him. “The sky hasn’t fallen down. The building hasn’t collapsed. The children haven’t run screaming…” She managed to swallow the word yet. “So far, so good.”

  *

  Sean studied her for a long moment, then he picked up his pencil and turned his attention back to the image he was creating. “Well, I’m proud of you.”

  She gave a half laugh. “Why, because I haven’t bolted yet?”

  “Actually – yes. That is a good sign. You also spoke to Jon. Who knows, maybe in a day or two you’ll be comfortable enough to interact more with them.”

  “Maybe with Jon.” She glanced around and realized thankfully that Jon had gone over to play with his friends. “It’s easy to remember his name.”

  Sean, shading the shirt of one child, paused. There’d been a wash of emotion caught up in her voice.

  “That accident that caused such damage to my face…”

  He looked at her, saw the wet eyes, and waited.

  “My baby brother was killed in that car accident. There was fifteen years between us. He’d have been close to Jon’s age at the time he died. His name was also Jonathon.”

  “Ah hell.” He put the pencil down and reached out to squeeze her shoulders gently. “I’m sorry, Robin. Did Jenna know?”

  Robin flashed him a teary look and nodded.

  “Of course she did.”

  Damn Jenna anyway. As if Robin didn’t have enough to get over. An asshole boyfriend, multiple surgeries that took so much out of her she didn’t care to have even one more. She’d travelled this road alone plus carried the survivor’s guilt of being the only one left alive.

  He dropped his hand and checked his watch. They’d been here an hour already. He wasn’t going to have any pictures if he didn’t get back to it. “I’m so sorry,”

  She gave a brief nod but her head was still down and only her sniffles could be heard. She’d gone back inside.

  Where no one else could go.

  And that was starting to piss him off.

  “Hey you,” he said, his voice sharp, telling. “Stay out here. No more hiding.”

  “I wasn’t trying to hide.” She shrugged and the words burst out. “Why does he do this to me? He doesn’t even look like Jonathon, but…there’s something about him…”

  “Sorry about that, but we have another hour and then it’s time to go.” He motioned to the kids around the room. “The reason we’re here early is they have something else going on this afternoon. So this is almost over. Stay present.”

  “I am,” she snapped, “I thought I was doing a fine job of it, too.”

  He grinned. “Much better.” And it was. He’d rather have a female snapping at him than crying any time.

  He watched approvingly as she straightened up and with her one good eye glared at him. “Wait. Don’t move. Just stay like that.”

  Ignoring her snort, he flipped to a clean page and started sketching. She shifted slightly. He snapped out, “Don’t move. No slumping. Stay straight and glare at me.”

  “That last part won’t be hard,” she said, aggravation in her tone, the set of her shoulders. “But I’m not a model. I can’t just freeze in place.”

  “Try,” he urged. “There’s just something about the way you were sitting. It caught my eye.”

  His arm and hand moved at a desperate pace, trying to catch that elusive bit of imagery that he’d seen for a fraction of a moment.

  There. Just as suddenly as he’d started, he stopped.

  And stared.

  “Let me see.” Robin leaned forward to look and gasped. “Oh my!”

  Chapter 16

  Robin stared at the simple rendition of her sitting with her head slightly to the side and her nose upturned slightly. He’d captured her profile in what appeared to be just a few strokes. A few extra thin lines appeared to add shading. It was stunningly simple. Incredibly dramatic.

  From the corner of her eye, she watched a slight tremor shake his hand that held the pencil. She let her gaze roam up his arm to where the edge of his t-shirt stopped. The t-shirt that hid the incredible damage to his shoulder. He might be a great artist, but he had physical difficulties in actually drawing.

  No. She stopped considering it. He could draw, but not for long. If he drew on a regular basis, then the muscles would slowly build in strength and endurance. She hurt thinking about the ache he had to be experiencing. She sat back, her arm massaging her own shoulder. “It’s very good. You’re very good.”

  His lips quirked. “Thank
you.”

  Yet his tone was dismissive. “No, I mean it.” She reached out as if to touch her image but held back from making contact. “You really are talented.” She looked up to study his face, noting the self-mockery. “You don’t believe it, do you?”

  He shrugged. “Sometimes I seem to be able to make something decent. Often I can’t. I gave up out of sheer frustration. A lack of control is often the death of an artist, and sometimes,” he shrugged and lowered his voice. “Sometimes my arm gives out completely.”

  She nodded. It was as she had suspected. “Still, it’s something that you could strengthen and improve on.”

  His lips quirked. He tossed the pencil down. “If I cared enough.”

  “How could you not?” she exclaimed. “This,” she wafted her hand toward the image, “is a gift.”

  “A common gift,” he said, derision in his tone. “Many people draw.”

  “Not like you do.” There was no way he could be lumped in with all the other artists in the world. He’d managed to capture the very essence of her – not just her, but the emotions coursing through her. The frozenness to her face, her smile on lockdown at all times. And the look in her eyes…that glare, but also what he’d pulled out from behind it.

  She sat back studying that one aspect, then said in quiet tones, “You’re very perceptive.”

  Silence.

  “In what way?”

  She made a strangled sound, took a deep breath, and said, “The fear in her eyes.”

  “Whose eyes?” he asked calmly.

  Robin closed her eyes. After a long moment, she admitted, “My eyes.”

  He smiled at her gently.

  “Am I really that obvious?” She turned to stare at him, almost hating him at that moment. “Is that what the kids see?”

  He shook his head immediately. “No. Not at all.”

  “So what…you’re just more perceptive than most people?” She glared at him, hating the anger coursing through her. And hating him for seeing that, too. Damn him. She got up and walked out of the ward.

  *

  Sean watched her stride toward the double doors. Her pattern was still in effect. Run away to regain control then return when she could. He stared down at his picture, then turned to a clean page and with the last image he had of her in his mind, he quickly sketched her in the middle of her strategic retreat.

  He didn’t know why he felt the compulsion. She fascinated him. He’d seen compassion in her eyes when she looked at the kids, he’d seen pain in there too, but she’d managed to hold it back. Managed to keep that lid screwed down tight. It might be a glass lid that allowed others to see in and her to see out, but it was damn thick and secured in place.

  What would happen if that glass broke?

  The need to be normal drove her. Sent her to this workshop. Forced her to the hospital. No. He thought about that for a moment. She wanted to function normally. Only she’d never be normal.

  She was too unique for that. Too special. Besides being normal was overrated.

  Sensing sudden movement, he turned to see Robin already in her seat. His mind stopped for a second. She’d left, hadn’t she? He blinked, trying to sort out what just happened.

  She glared at him. Well, at least that was the same.

  “I never left,” she said by way of an explanation. “I kept remembering your damn words.”

  He lifted his left eyebrow, not understanding.

  “My pattern. You said I always run away then come back.” Moodily, she stared around the room and the kids that likely hadn’t noticed her even leaving. “I got to the door, even went so far as to push it open, and realized I was doing it again. You were right about my behavior pattern. And as doing the same thing over and over again keeps bringing me the same result over and over again, I have to change it. I want a new future. That means I need a new pattern.”

  “Or no pattern. All patterns eventually become a habit and a crutch.” He should have kept his mouth shut. But instead of being upset or thinking he was being patronizing, she gave a gurgled laugh. “Well, there’s no shortage of crutches here!”

  Chapter 17

  Robin settled back, thinking about her old life – before this week. She wondered just how bad it would have gotten. Would she ever have left or found a way to make her living without having to leave her home? She knew that there was a name for people who couldn’t leave their homes, but she was damned if she could remember what it was. She hadn’t been that bad, but how long before she’d slid all the way down?

  “Thoughts?”

  She winced. “I was actually thinking of how close I was to becoming one of those housebound people.”

  “Ha. You’re a long ways off from ending up like that.” He grinned, his pencil working on the paper. “You are here. You are working on your problems. You’re getting stronger all the time.”

  “And you, what are your problems?” She sat back, watching the mixed emotions slide across his face. Irritation. Sadness. Denial. “Why exactly are you here? Or you aren’t going to tell me?”

  “There’s nothing to tell.”

  “Well, you don’t appear to be learning anything about yourself. Or being taxed emotionally in any way.” She frowned at the lack of expression on his face.

  “What kind of reaction should I be showing?” He sat forward, one eyebrow raised. “Tears? Sobs? Crying out in frustration or pain?”

  “No, of course not.” She stopped, confused. Just what had she expected? Maybe awkward silences? Going off on his own. Walking out in a temper.

  “Truthfully…?” She shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

  “Well if and when it ever happens,” his grin lit up the room, “then we’ll both know.”

  She watched the look on his face. The humor masking the forced calm. The neutrality. The cold anger. And she knew a little more. “No, you wouldn’t cause a scene. You’d get your back up and stare down anyone who’d dare hurt you. You’d never run away.” She smiled gently. “You’d make sure they paid though. One way or another.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “You make me sound like an arrogant assassin bent on revenge.”

  “The image almost fits.” She couldn’t hold back the grin. “You’re definitely assassin material.”

  He choked back a laugh. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  Just then a commotion stirred up behind them. Robin turned at the foreign voice. “Excuse me, but we need to ask you to leave now.”

  “Oh right.” Sean jumped to his feet. “Time ran away from us.”

  “Sorry,” Robin said, standing up as well.

  As she walked to the door, she heard a little voice behind her. “Are you leaving?”

  She paused, her heart aching. Please don’t let it be Jon. She was afraid to look into his face. See the lost look. The loneliness. She wanted to walk away. To pretend she hadn’t heard him. Instead, her feet turned on their own will.

  Jon stood in front of her. There was a thin detached look plastered on his face. She took a step back and smiled at him. Or at least she tried to smile. It wasn’t successful. His features didn’t change. There was still that faint hope, that desperation, that needing something from her. Something she didn’t have to give.

  “We have to go now.” She leaned closer. “You have something else happening this afternoon.”

  Those fathomless eyes stared at her. Did he understand?

  Sean tugged her arm. “Come on, we need to leave.”

  She looked at him pleadingly. He caught her gaze, and then turned to look at Jon. “Hey buddy. We’ll be back tomorrow. Okay?”

  The little boy stared up at him, that gaze not shifting. Then he nodded once.

  *

  Sean led Robin downstairs via the elevator and back outside, right into the pouring rain and across the parking lot to his truck. Just when he wondered if she was going to be okay, she separated and walked over to the passenger side of the truck and got in on her own. Progress. He watched while she b
uckled up and then locked her door. Good. She was much better today. Both about riding in a vehicle and about being here at the hospital. Maybe a couple more days would be enough for her to show real progress on the other issues. Although that little boy Jon was likely to be the end of her.

  He reminded her of her little brother, had facial scarring similar to her own, and was in the middle of multiple surgeries. She could relate to him on a level Sean couldn’t. But she refused to. She couldn’t because she was stuck in her own pain. Her own mirrors.

  She could do a lot for Jon.

  Jon could do a lot for her.

  But they both had to be able to meet somewhere in the middle for any of that to happen.

  “What do you think happened to him?”

  He didn’t pretend to not know who she was talking about. “I don’t know. Maybe you should ask him.”

  As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wished he could bring them back. One rule he’d learned in hospital was to not ask too many questions. Some of the stories were easy, but many were tragic. It might help the child to share, but it didn’t help those listening. Many had stories that hurt. And more often than not, it didn’t take a newcomer long to realize there was always someone worse off than you.

  “No, that would put him on the spot.”

  “Like asking you puts you on the spot?”

  Silence.

  He risked a glance her way. She was staring out the window, her face turned away from him. But there was that cold frozen profile again. Her face would be so mobile when she was with her friends or in the workshops. But with him, he was treated to the cold visage and lack of emotion.

  “Why are you always so quiet around me?”

  She turned to look at him. “I’m not.”

  “Sure you are. You spend more time being silent around me than you do talking to me.”