Disguised Blessing by Georgia Bockoven

Catherine Miller and felt he could work with her, he still wasn’t convinced he was the right person for her daughter—from all accounts a girl accustomed to being the center of attention. Rick’s sister, Cindy, had been a cheerleader in high school. A bad hair day was tantamount to going out on a date with the class geek. Rick hadn’t understood her then and—with her trips to Los Angeles every three years to have something lifted or tucked by her favorite plastic surgeon—didn’t understand her any better now.
    He’d seen too many kids without ears or noses, too many mouths that couldn’t form a smile, too many hands without fingers to feel sympathy for a woman whose mirror reflected mere wrinkles.
    The intensive care unit was formed like a half wheel with the nurses’ station as the hub. The rooms were large and filled with light. Each had brightly colored curtains and matching bedspreads, televisions, VCRs, video games, and whatever else might be requested to engage the mind in something other than pain and loss.
    A nurse in her midfifties with hair the shade of red that only came from bottles looked up andsmiled when she saw Rick. “Hey, long time no see. You here for the boy they just brought in?” She rolled her chair back and reached for a chart.
    “I didn’t hear about the boy.” He leaned over the counter, saw an open box of See’s chocolates, and took a caramel. “I’m with Lynda Miller.”
    “Going to work that special magic you do with a girl this time, huh?”
    “Going to try.” The caramel stuck to his tooth. He pried it off with his tongue, making a sucking sound.
    “Well, keep that up and you’re a shoo-in. Nothing gets to us girls like slurping sounds.”
    Rick laughed. “If that’s true, I think I need a little more practice.” He took another candy.
    The phone rang. She picked it up, put her hand over the receiver and mouthed to Rick, “She’s in C unit.”
    He nodded and waved his thanks.
    He wasn’t there to introduce himself to Lynda. He doubted she’d remember the meeting anyway. Even if she hadn’t just had her dressing changed, at this point in her recovery the pain medication was still strong enough that only odd moments would be permanently imprinted.
    The curtain to Unit C hung half-closed, and Rick had to pass the door to see inside. Lynda looked as he’d expected—terrifyingly wounded to a parent, perfectly normal to an objective, knowledgeable observer. The machines and monitors were standard stuff, as were the tubes that put things in and took others out. His only surprise was the teenage boysitting in the corner of the room, his head propped against the wall, sleeping.
    “Who’s the kid in the chair?” Rick asked the nurse when she hung up the phone.
    “His name’s Brian Winslow.”
    The name registered, but it took a second to connect. And then he remembered Lyn mentioning him that morning when he’d called her to make sure the appointment was still on. “Isn’t he the boy who was with her when she was burned?”
    She nodded. “He’s been here every day and most of the nights.”
    “Boyfriend?” Catherine had said Lynda didn’t have one, but mothers had been known to be a step or two behind their kids when it came to things like that.
    “I don’t think so. At least that’s not the impression I’ve gotten.”
    Rick looked at him again. He’d slept on the tailboards and hose beds of fire engines during forest fires, but he’d never been able to fall asleep in a hospital chair. You had to be bone-deep tired and young enough not to worry about a stiff neck to do something like that.
    “Has she had a lot of friends come to see her?”
    “She told her mother she didn’t want anyone here—including Brian. He sat out in the lobby until Catherine talked Lynda into letting him come back in her room.”
    Rick admired loyalty in a friend, and hoped that was all it was. Guilt was a heavy and futile burden for someone Brian’s age. Without the years