by Marni Mann
“Take a big breath for me,” she said, the cloth now on my throat, slowly lowering to my chest.
The softness in her voice was why I filled my lungs.
“And one more—make it a big one,” she added, traveling to my abs, tracing the barrier of the towel that hid me. “How does that feel?”
I hadn’t realized my eyes had closed. “Surprisingly … relaxing.”
“It’s amazing how a little bath can make you feel. I’ve seen it do wonders.”
She rose to my cheek again and then the other, followed by my mouth and throat. There was no pattern, just a slow, continuous pace, dipping into the water every few strokes so the cloth never got cold.
“You’re good at this.”
She laughed, the sound like music being pulled through the wind. Beautiful, soothing—nothing like what had been happening before she walked in here.
“I don’t get to do this too often—the CNAs normally do—but I’ll be honest …” She let out a large exhale before wetting the cloth again. “Things have been very stressful here, and I needed this break as badly as you needed some comfort.”
“I imagine things haven’t been pretty.”
“Most of us haven’t left the hospital.” She grazed my leg, and I instantly tensed, the electricity quickly setting on fire, my eyes shooting open. “I know it hurts. Don’t worry; I’m very careful.”
As she continued down to my toes, gently brushing over each one and across my arch to my heel, her promise wrapped around me.
My lids closed again, my head sinking deeper into the pillow. “Were you here when the bombs went off?”
“Yes.” She wrung out the cloth and went to my other leg, starting at my thigh. “I’m sure you don’t remember, as we gave you quite a bit of morphine, but I was there when you came in by ambulance.”
My lids snapped open, my head lifting to study her face through the darkness. “Turn on the light.”
Her massaging stopped as she reached behind me to pull the string to the small light. The glow was just bright enough to capture her stare, a blanket of brown gazing back at me.
Afghan brown.
“It’s you,” I whispered.
She stayed still while I studied her. “I can’t recall anything from before my surgery, except for your eyes. They held me like a blanket … I didn’t want them to let me go.”
As she went back to the basin, lifting the cloth and placing it on my chest, I was able to really take her in. Her dark hair was pulled away from her face, showing olive skin, a small nose, plump lips, and thick lashes that framed her soul.
My adventures had taught me that weather never lied, and neither did Whitney’s beauty.
She was fucking gorgeous.
“You were in such discomfort. I stayed with you until you went in for X-rays,” she said. “By then, the morphine had really kicked in, and you were already fast asleep.”
“With all the patients you’ve seen, I’m surprised you remember.”
A small piece of chocolate-colored hair fell over her ear, and she tucked it back as she looked at me. The brown didn’t just wrap me like a blanket; it took me to a place far away from here, where the hurt wasn’t racking my body.
“If you ask me about a show I’ve watched on TV or a book I’ve read, I won’t be able to tell you much about the plot. But someone I’ve cared for, I’ll never forget.” She spread the warmth across the top of my leg, her touch like a tickle. “Patients are memories I hold on to forever, each a special moment that’s shaped my life.”
“Whitney,” I said, reading her badge, “I’m going to ask you something, and I need you to be real with me. I feel like everyone in here has filled me with a lot of bullshit, and I need the truth.”
She paused her movements, her stare returning to me.
“What is my life going to look like? Will I be the same person I was before?”
She set the rag down, crossing her hands over the arm rail. “Your back is now going to become your priority, and with the injury you have, I would encourage you to take care of it, not risk its health by doing foolish things that would jeopardize your mobility. Your range of motion will be different; your posture will more than likely change. And as for your pain, it will certainly subside—you’re experiencing the worst of it now. But will you ever live pain-free?” She paused, and I saw the answer before she said it. “Probably not.” She moved the pillow a little, making sure my head had the right placement. “You have a long road ahead of you. It’s not going to be easy; you’re going to have to push yourself like you never have. So, to be straight up with you, no, you’re not going to be the same person you were before.”
An ache burrowed into my chest, like it was digging a fucking grave. “I’m envisioning a person I don’t even recognize.”
“Maybe you’ll like him more than the man you are now.”
The anger was back, bubbling away, making me want to lift the basin and throw it across the room.
“Caleb, I see a tremendous amount of fight in you. Not just in your body, but also in there.” Her finger came close to my heart but didn’t touch my skin. “I know you have the strength to do this.”
As she began to dry me with a towel, I stared at the ceiling, the truth of her response settling in. Aside from work, every activity I participated in was physical. Now, there was nothing but limitations that I hadn’t even begun to calculate.
She squirted lotion onto her palms and rubbed them across my chest. “I know your mind is racing; you’re thinking about your future and playing every scenario, but I want you to just think about tonight. Focus on controlling your pain and getting some rest.” She moved to my arms and legs before sliding a new pair of compression socks on me. “Your healing will be day by day. No stressing about tomorrow or next week or what things will look like come winter. Just today.”
My arms went through the holes of a clean gown.
“Every morning, you’ll wake up with a new goal, and at night, you’ll go to bed with that milestone accomplished.”
Once the covering was pulled up to my neck, she set her hand on top of mine. I stared into the deep brown, each inhale as though the wind were slapping against me.
“Don’t mourn that man; he’s not gone, nor is he a stranger. He’s just going to be a little different now.”
A ringing came from her pocket, and she took out the phone to look at the screen.
“You have to go,” I said, surprised by my response and disappointed when she nodded. “Will you be back?”
I didn’t know why I was asking. I only knew I wasn’t ready for the blanket to be ripped away.
She collected the lotion and basin into her arms. “Rebecca is your assigned nurse, and she’ll continue taking care of you until her shift ends. Although shifts have been a bit of a mess these past two days.”
“I’d like to switch nurses.”
She held my eyes for a second longer and then went into the bathroom. When she returned, her hands were free. “Has Rebecca done something wrong?”
“She’s not you.”
She stood by the arm rail once again, and her hands wrapped around it. “How about I promise to check on you as much as I can?” Her phone began to ring. After she read the message, she continued to hold the device. “I’ve worked with Rebecca for a long time. I promise she’s wonderful, just give her a chance to prove it.” A smile moved across her lips, teeth that were perfect enough. “Feeling better?”
“Yes.”
Her grin grew. “That makes me the happiest.” She touched my shoulder, leaving her fingers there. “Remember, clear your head and rest—those are tonight’s goals.”
The light then switched off, turning the brown to a deep black, the sound of her scrubs swishing as she left.
Her wind and silence were the only things that remained.
Four
“It’s time to discuss your aftercare,” the social worker said as she stood next to my bed, several pamphlets and folders in h
er hands.
My mother was on my other side, holding a notebook and pen, taking notes I couldn’t even begin to process.
“Even though you’re still a few days from being discharged, you’re going to need to make a decision soon. Lots of patients enter a rehab facility, where they have access to physical therapy and around-the-clock care—things most patients don’t have at home.”
“How long would he have to be there?” my mother asked.
“It’s hard to say; every case is so different.” She handed us brochures, a picture of an elderly couple on the front, exercising in wheelchairs. “Some take weeks, some months.”
“No way.” I handed the pamphlet back to her. “Not even an option.”
Lying in another bed as uncomfortable as this one, surrounded by more white walls, and being served more inedible food wouldn’t help me heal. It would drive me fucking crazy.
“It’s not for everyone,” the social worker responded, slipping the paper into her folder.
“What are other options?” my mother asked.
She shifted her weight, moving the paperwork to her hip. “A wife, girlfriend”—she nodded toward my mother—“mom—someone constantly there until you’re back on your feet. But I must warn you, due to your neuropathy, you have a high fall risk.” She scratched her curly white hair. “That could be extremely detrimental to your healing, so you’ll need to be very careful about that, and you would have to schedule PT accordingly.”
“That’s it?” I asked her. “There’re no other options?”
“Well, there’s private care,” she said. “That’s always available.”
I heard my mother writing. “What does that entail?” she asked.
“You would hire a nurse that you would pay for out of pocket,” the social worker answered. “You can have them for an hour or twenty-four hours a day; it’s all based on your needs and budget.” She reached into the folder, handing us a sheet with several names printed on it. “Those are companies affiliated with the hospital, but there are many in the city; you’re welcome to use any of them.”
I put the paper on the table. “How much longer will I be in here?”
She glanced at the folder in her arms. “Your surgeon scheduled discharge for Friday—unless, of course, something changes.”
Two more days.
“It looks like your catheter came out this morning,” she continued. “Your progress with physical therapy has been slow, but we’re going to continue managing your pain and getting you up walking until it’s time for you to leave.”
Each attempt, I’d only taken a few steps before I couldn’t tolerate the agony anymore. Even sitting was excruciating. So far, the only position I could handle was flat on my back, and even that made me miserable.
“I used to tell all my patients, it’s a crawl, not a marathon …” She shrugged. “Now, it hurts to say those words despite how true they are.”
I wished the wind would push her back into the fucking hallway.
She glanced between my mother and me. “Do you have any questions?”
I had plenty, like, Why the hell had my client canceled our meeting, causing me to be at the race that day? or, Why are there such evil, despicable people in this world? The faces of the bombers were images that had been burned into my head.
“No,” I answered.
“I’ll leave you my card, which has my direct line, in case you would like to talk more about any of these options.”
When I didn’t reach for it, she set the small card on the table and left.
“I hope she sets that analogy on fire,” I said to my mother, turning toward her.
“Honey, this is a lot to consider, and already knowing your options, I discussed it with your father this morning.”
“And?”
“We think rehab is something you should really think about.” She held up her finger when I went to interrupt. “They’ll be able to manage your pain, you’ll have access to nurses and doctors, and we’ll all feel a lot better, knowing your chance of falling won’t be as high there.” She crossed her legs, slipping her notebook into her bag. “I assure you, I’ll find the best facility in Boston and pull strings if I have to, to get you in.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I’m not going to another hospital. I don’t care how nice it is.”
She moved her hand toward my leg, and I stopped her midair, holding it before she touched my most sensitive spot.
“You don’t have to decide now,” she said as I released her. “Take the day, but by morning, we need to have a plan.”
I was immediately relieved when there was a knock at the door, my attention moving in that direction just as Joe and Smith walked in.
“What are you doing back in Boston?” I said to Smith, knowing he had more than a week left of his trip.
“Did you think I was going to stay on the other side of the world when my best friend was put in the hospital?” He leaned in close, carefully clasping my shoulder. “I got here as quick as I could. It’s good to see you smiling, man.”
“Just picked him up from Logan,” Joe said as he hugged my shoulders.
The phone call from Joe’s wife had saved him from getting injured. The lucky bastard only had a few scratches on his face from falling to the pavement.
Both of my boys said hello to my mother, eventually taking seats by the bed.
“How’s it going today?” Smith asked. “Joe’s been keeping me updated. I know you lost your phone.”
My assistant had already purchased me a new one, but I hadn’t been checking it much—the notifications and messages didn’t mix well with how I was feeling.
“The pain isn’t easy,” I admitted. “I’ve only taken a few short steps, but they say I’m doing good.”
“Jesus Christ,” Smith said, pity covering his face. “I still can’t believe it.”
“None of us can,” my mother replied.
“How was your trip—or what you were able to enjoy of it before coming back?” I asked Smith, reaching the end of my vulnerability for the day.
“We’re going as soon as you feel up to it,” he responded before describing many of the details that I hadn’t seen through text or Instagram.
But all I could think about was how long it would take before I was comfortable enough to fly that long, when—if ever—I would find myself on the back of an ATV. The talk I’d had with Whitney last night was so present in my mind. Reality swirling like a tornado, the wind causing my hair to rise as my limitations came into view.
My hands reached for the covering, wishing like hell it were the blanket of brown, and I squeezed the thin material into my palms.
Even surrounded by friends and family didn’t make this easier. Because I knew it was just a matter of time before they rose from their chairs, walked down the hallway to the elevator, and got in a car outside. But I was cemented to this bed, hoping the pain medication would kick in even higher, waiting for the man I’d once been to return.
Whitney had told me not to mourn my life, that it would just look a little different now.
But that was a pill that felt impossible to swallow.
Five
“Hey,” Whitney said from the doorway of my room, her hand clinging to the frame. “Feel like having some company?”
I turned off my tablet and set it on the table, nodding. “Please.”
As she walked in, I saw hints of her body through the loose scrubs, a pair of lean legs and a narrow waist, tits that would fit perfectly in my palms. Her sexiness certainly didn’t end at her face.
“How are you feeling tonight?” she asked, choosing the closest chair to the bed.
I could still feel the softness of her hands from when she had bathed me. Those were the thoughts I’d tried to focus on after my mother and friends left, drowning out the rest of the noise filling my head. Whitney made this prison and its constant torture more tolerable.
“Not as bad as last night,” I admitted. “But sitting and st
anding aren’t fun at all.”
She crossed her legs, holding her hands over her knee. “Those positions, they take your breath away, don’t they?”
I ground my teeth together, thinking how it would feel if I turned my hips and swung my legs a few inches to the side. “I’ll never take movement for granted again.”
The light behind my bed showed the bags beneath her eyes, and she lifted her arm, yawning into the crook of her elbow.
“When was the last time you slept?”
As her arm dropped, she hugged it across her navel, as though that were the only thing keeping her from falling off the seat. “I took a nap a few hours ago. But in an actual bed? That would be the night before the marathon.”
I knew exactly how long ago that was. How many hours. I could even break it into minutes.
“I realize I’m the patient here, and I shouldn’t be giving you advice, but I hope you’ve at least gotten something to eat.”
She smiled, and the aching in my spine suddenly faded a little. “My best friend brought me some cookies from our favorite bakery.” Her brows rose, her finger lifting into the air. “One sec. I’ll be right back.” She rushed out of the room, returning just as quickly with a small box in her hands. “You need to have one. They’re truly the best things ever.”
There were several different flavors inside, the chunk of Oreo on one immediately selling me, and I grabbed the large cookie and took a bite.
“Shit,” I groaned. “You weren’t kidding.”
“I don’t understand how they’re still gooey; she dropped them off hours ago.” She was sitting in the same seat, speaking behind her hand as she chewed. “Emily would say that’s some sorcery shit right there.”
I laughed at her impersonation, how her voice had changed to a Boston accent. “I don’t know how,” I replied, swallowing, “but they even made the Oreo melt.” The chocolate-based cookie was slowly washing away the terrible dinner the hospital had served. I held up the small amount I had left and added, “Thank you for this.”