that child was gone, that somewhere on this earth she wasn’t smiling still, waiting for her father to come and find her.
Faith turned and looked at Nathan, at the sharp jawline turned from her, and she saw that his gaze had followed her own. He was staring at the picture as though he hadn’t known it was there, as if he hadn’t seen it in a long time and was wishing that he hadn’t seen it now.
Finally with a jerk, he turned his head away, looked straight into her own eyes which she knew were laced with concern. He held out his hands once again.
“More,” he said, nudging his fingers against her own. “I’m ready to begin again.”
Faith reached out and took his hands. It was all she could do since she knew he wouldn’t welcome her comments or her questions about his family.
As she made sure that his hands were relaxed, she couldn’t help noting how small and feminine her fingers looked against his. And yet her helpless-looking hands were still capable while his grip was still slack, his fingers clumsy. The accident had taken so much. He’d lost it all. His family, his skills.
Resolutely, Faith sat up higher, more determined. This impairment to his hands wasn’t permanent. They could do something about it. And Nathan was impatient to do just that, or at least to work himself free of her presence. She could tell by the way he sat forward, trying to begin before she was done examining him.
“We’ll get there, Nathan. I won’t let you down. But you have to let me set the pace. I’m trained to know what’s too much, when to move ahead and when to slow down.”
Nathan suddenly flipped his hands over so that her fingers were resting on his scarred palms, more evidence that for once he was the patient.
Slowly he lowered their hands to the table. “I’m trying to step all over you again. One more example of just how annoying and pushy we doctors can be?”
“You sound like my son,” Faith said with a laugh. Then realizing her error, she promptly sucked in her lips.
Nathan tilted his head. “Cory have a bit of a bad experience with doctors, did he?”
“Oh no, nothing like that,” she said, then stopped, unsure what to say. “It’s just...it’s just—nothing.”
Nathan held one injured hand out as if waiting for her to put something in it or asking for her to come clean. “It’s not nothing judging by the look on your face,” he told her. “There’s a problem with your boy?”
“Nothing much,” she said, reaching for the hands that he now moved away from her touch. “You were right yesterday. Cory’s just having a little trouble adjusting to my being away. It’ll get better.”
A frown appeared on Nathan’s face. “He’s only four, I think you said. Young.”
She nodded. “Really, Nathan, I’m sorry I mentioned it. I’m sorry I even mentioned Cory. It was a slip. Let’s get back to your therapy.”
Reluctantly, it seemed, Nathan moved back into position.
Five minutes later, he looked up. “I asked you not to bring him, but don’t apologize just for saying his name, Faith. You’re his mother, damn it. Of course you’re going to think of him. He’s your child. He’s your world. That’s the way things are.”
But when Faith opened her mouth to speak, Nathan’s face was shuttered, closed again. And in the days that followed she noticed that the picture on the shelf was gone. Now the room was totally bare...and Nathan was more distant than ever.
The days went by, and in a short time, Faith and Nathan fell into a pattern, a sort of wary, impersonal waltz as she moved him through a series of exercises, teaching him what to do when she was away and keeping a careful watch on his progress.
She never touched him again, except for his hands. She never mentioned Cory, never asked any personal questions, and she tried to avoid those mesmerizing eyes as she moved through the motions of helping Nathan regain the flexibility in his fingers.
He was a good patient, intelligent
Faith turned and looked at Nathan, at the sharp jawline turned from her, and she saw that his gaze had followed her own. He was staring at the picture as though he hadn’t known it was there, as if he hadn’t seen it in a long time and was wishing that he hadn’t seen it now.
Finally with a jerk, he turned his head away, looked straight into her own eyes which she knew were laced with concern. He held out his hands once again.
“More,” he said, nudging his fingers against her own. “I’m ready to begin again.”
Faith reached out and took his hands. It was all she could do since she knew he wouldn’t welcome her comments or her questions about his family.
As she made sure that his hands were relaxed, she couldn’t help noting how small and feminine her fingers looked against his. And yet her helpless-looking hands were still capable while his grip was still slack, his fingers clumsy. The accident had taken so much. He’d lost it all. His family, his skills.
Resolutely, Faith sat up higher, more determined. This impairment to his hands wasn’t permanent. They could do something about it. And Nathan was impatient to do just that, or at least to work himself free of her presence. She could tell by the way he sat forward, trying to begin before she was done examining him.
“We’ll get there, Nathan. I won’t let you down. But you have to let me set the pace. I’m trained to know what’s too much, when to move ahead and when to slow down.”
Nathan suddenly flipped his hands over so that her fingers were resting on his scarred palms, more evidence that for once he was the patient.
Slowly he lowered their hands to the table. “I’m trying to step all over you again. One more example of just how annoying and pushy we doctors can be?”
“You sound like my son,” Faith said with a laugh. Then realizing her error, she promptly sucked in her lips.
Nathan tilted his head. “Cory have a bit of a bad experience with doctors, did he?”
“Oh no, nothing like that,” she said, then stopped, unsure what to say. “It’s just...it’s just—nothing.”
Nathan held one injured hand out as if waiting for her to put something in it or asking for her to come clean. “It’s not nothing judging by the look on your face,” he told her. “There’s a problem with your boy?”
“Nothing much,” she said, reaching for the hands that he now moved away from her touch. “You were right yesterday. Cory’s just having a little trouble adjusting to my being away. It’ll get better.”
A frown appeared on Nathan’s face. “He’s only four, I think you said. Young.”
She nodded. “Really, Nathan, I’m sorry I mentioned it. I’m sorry I even mentioned Cory. It was a slip. Let’s get back to your therapy.”
Reluctantly, it seemed, Nathan moved back into position.
Five minutes later, he looked up. “I asked you not to bring him, but don’t apologize just for saying his name, Faith. You’re his mother, damn it. Of course you’re going to think of him. He’s your child. He’s your world. That’s the way things are.”
But when Faith opened her mouth to speak, Nathan’s face was shuttered, closed again. And in the days that followed she noticed that the picture on the shelf was gone. Now the room was totally bare...and Nathan was more distant than ever.
The days went by, and in a short time, Faith and Nathan fell into a pattern, a sort of wary, impersonal waltz as she moved him through a series of exercises, teaching him what to do when she was away and keeping a careful watch on his progress.
She never touched him again, except for his hands. She never mentioned Cory, never asked any personal questions, and she tried to avoid those mesmerizing eyes as she moved through the motions of helping Nathan regain the flexibility in his fingers.
He was a good patient, intelligent
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