silky, the kind that couldn’t hold a tangle if it tried. “I’m the family black sheep. Only one degree.”
“But you’re using it to teach. A noble profession—isn’t that what they call it?”
She gave the snort he’d restrained a few moments ago. “The doctors Anderson believe that those who can, do, and those who can’t, teach.”
Her gaze settled across the room, and he followed it, watching a little girl with pigtails in red overalls talking with flourishing gestures to a captain whose brain injury made conversation difficult for him. Whether he completely followed the girl’s rapid speech was anyone’s guess, but his expression left no doubt that he enjoyed her company.
“The doctors Anderson sound a little full of themselves.”
Carly’s attention jerked back to him. “Oh, they’re not so bad. They weren’t thrilled when I chose to major in education, but they thought I would get at least one PhD. It was a surprise to them when I got a teaching job instead.”
His mother would have been thrilled if he’d gotten a college degree. He would have been the first in the family. She didn’t know that, with the classes he’d taken on post at the ed center and online, he was halfway there. Not that it would matter much. In her mind, it would take more than one degree to make up for being one-legged.
As childish voices rose in the far corner of the gym, Carly sighed and straightened. “I’d better see what’s up. Nice seeing you again, Dane.”
She stuck out her hand again, and he took it. Odd how soft her skin was. He was used to hands that could cause pain—they didn’t call them “physical terrorists” for nothing—but her grip was gentle, better suited to soothing.
He let go the instant he realized he didn’t want to and pushed away from the wall, hoping his body hadn’t stiffened too much with the inactivity. “Yeah, I gotta go.”
With a smile, she went off to referee the fuss, and he headed straight for the door and went to check out with the cadre. In addition to the physical and occupational therapists, physicians, psychologists, and psychiatrists available, each soldier at the WTU was assigned to a cadre with a squad leader, a nurse, and a doctor. As luck would have it, he’d known his squad leader back when they were both stationed in Korea and they’d both lost limbs in the desert. Now the first sergeant was overseeing other soldiers’ transitions, and Dane was struggling with his.
After a stop at the commissary for food, he was home within a half hour. Twenty minutes after that, he had everything put away, had done what little cleaning was needed to suit his standards and was considering doing laundry when someone knocked at the door.
It was Justin Stevens—not just a fellow patient but neighbor, too—leaning more heavily on his crutches than he had at the gym. “Where’d you disappear to?” he asked, limping into the kitchen to get a beer from the fridge and an ice pack from the freezer. Back in the living room, he lowered himself into the chair, propped his right leg on the table and rested the ice pack on his knee before popping the top on the beer.
Dane sat on the couch, propping his left leg up. “I was done for the day.” Therapy was never the same. Some days he could push way farther beyond anything he’d done before, and some days it seemed he’d lost ground overnight.
And some days he just had to avoid the people there.
“Did you talk to any of the kids?”
“Not today.” And he didn’t plan to in the future. He would make a point of being elsewhere on Tuesdays, and not just to avoid the kids.
Justin grinned. “You talked to Carly, though. What was that ‘caveman’ stuff about?”
“We, uh, met in a cave.”
After an expectant moment, Justin scoffed. “Yeah, right. You don’t want to say, man—”
“We did. At a park. Last weekend. She was with some friends.”
Justin nodded. “Oh, the margarita club.”
Dane remembered that
“But you’re using it to teach. A noble profession—isn’t that what they call it?”
She gave the snort he’d restrained a few moments ago. “The doctors Anderson believe that those who can, do, and those who can’t, teach.”
Her gaze settled across the room, and he followed it, watching a little girl with pigtails in red overalls talking with flourishing gestures to a captain whose brain injury made conversation difficult for him. Whether he completely followed the girl’s rapid speech was anyone’s guess, but his expression left no doubt that he enjoyed her company.
“The doctors Anderson sound a little full of themselves.”
Carly’s attention jerked back to him. “Oh, they’re not so bad. They weren’t thrilled when I chose to major in education, but they thought I would get at least one PhD. It was a surprise to them when I got a teaching job instead.”
His mother would have been thrilled if he’d gotten a college degree. He would have been the first in the family. She didn’t know that, with the classes he’d taken on post at the ed center and online, he was halfway there. Not that it would matter much. In her mind, it would take more than one degree to make up for being one-legged.
As childish voices rose in the far corner of the gym, Carly sighed and straightened. “I’d better see what’s up. Nice seeing you again, Dane.”
She stuck out her hand again, and he took it. Odd how soft her skin was. He was used to hands that could cause pain—they didn’t call them “physical terrorists” for nothing—but her grip was gentle, better suited to soothing.
He let go the instant he realized he didn’t want to and pushed away from the wall, hoping his body hadn’t stiffened too much with the inactivity. “Yeah, I gotta go.”
With a smile, she went off to referee the fuss, and he headed straight for the door and went to check out with the cadre. In addition to the physical and occupational therapists, physicians, psychologists, and psychiatrists available, each soldier at the WTU was assigned to a cadre with a squad leader, a nurse, and a doctor. As luck would have it, he’d known his squad leader back when they were both stationed in Korea and they’d both lost limbs in the desert. Now the first sergeant was overseeing other soldiers’ transitions, and Dane was struggling with his.
After a stop at the commissary for food, he was home within a half hour. Twenty minutes after that, he had everything put away, had done what little cleaning was needed to suit his standards and was considering doing laundry when someone knocked at the door.
It was Justin Stevens—not just a fellow patient but neighbor, too—leaning more heavily on his crutches than he had at the gym. “Where’d you disappear to?” he asked, limping into the kitchen to get a beer from the fridge and an ice pack from the freezer. Back in the living room, he lowered himself into the chair, propped his right leg on the table and rested the ice pack on his knee before popping the top on the beer.
Dane sat on the couch, propping his left leg up. “I was done for the day.” Therapy was never the same. Some days he could push way farther beyond anything he’d done before, and some days it seemed he’d lost ground overnight.
And some days he just had to avoid the people there.
“Did you talk to any of the kids?”
“Not today.” And he didn’t plan to in the future. He would make a point of being elsewhere on Tuesdays, and not just to avoid the kids.
Justin grinned. “You talked to Carly, though. What was that ‘caveman’ stuff about?”
“We, uh, met in a cave.”
After an expectant moment, Justin scoffed. “Yeah, right. You don’t want to say, man—”
“We did. At a park. Last weekend. She was with some friends.”
Justin nodded. “Oh, the margarita club.”
Dane remembered that
Similar Books
