cool, heavy, almost salty.
Palm trees soar so high you can see them in every direction over the rooftops.
Colt finally makes it out and sits on the bumper of the hearse. Sweat has broken out across his forehead.
“No more coddling by those hospital physical therapists now,” one trainer says. “It’s comeback time.”
They force Colt to walk unassisted across the uneven yard. He hangs on to the rail as he negotiates the three short steps to the door.
Killjoy and I both have the urge to help. I can tell by his tight fists, the same as mine. We’re trying not to intervene.
I can see that these trainers are going to push him, put him in situations where he has to function, has to do everything like normal.
I hope they know what they’re doing.
Chapter Twelve
Colt and I are given a room on the second floor. This is clearly another test for Colt, who has to negotiate the stairs slowly and painfully. Halfway up, he’s shaking. I picture him tumbling down the hardwood planks, and my dislike of those trainers flares hot.
Eve sits in a living room down below, trying not to watch. She doesn’t like it either.
But The Cure and the trainers laugh over glasses of bourbon, their ice tinkling. I stay close to Colt.
After what seems like years, we make it to the upstairs. Inside our room, a petite woman in her forties tucks clean sheets on the bed. “Almost done here,” she says.
We pause in the doorway to watch her work. Her light brown hair is twisted into a messy knot. She is deeply tanned, and long twisty silver earrings swing to her neck.
She’s in jeans and a flowery cotton shirt that billows out as she bends to smooth the bedding. When she turns to look at me, I feel some kinship, like I’ve met someone whose station in life matches mine.
Colt heads for the bed. I dash to his side, holding on to his arm as he lowers himself down. I know this is one of the hardest things, getting in and out of bed. I remember rolling off the mattress after a day of ab work. Sometimes just turning over can wake you up with pain.
“Can I help?” the woman asks. She pauses in the doorway. Her brow is creased with concern as she watches Colt painfully shift positions.
“We’re all right,” I tell her. “I assume there is ice and water in the kitchen?”
“You want some?”
I lift Colt’s legs onto the bed. “That would be good.”
“I’ll fetch it.”
I pull Colt’s shoes off and open a closet to find a place to store them. Inside are several sets of Colt’s workout gear, including the blue shorts I remember so well from when I first knew him. I reach out to touch them, folded neatly in a storage cube.
The woman returns with a glass and takes it over to Colt.
He swipes at his eyes. “Thank you, Jo,” he says.
The woman freezes. I turn around. Is he delirious? Does he think that woman is me? Fear curdles through me that maybe he isn’t as right as he seems.
Ice cubes rattle in the glass as the woman’s hand shakes. I watch her, wondering why Colt’s mistake has made her so anxious. Colt accepts the cup, and she turns to me. Her eyes move to the frog pendant around my neck. “Oh my God,” she says and flies from the room.
I don’t know which way to go. To Colt, who is maybe confused and needs help. Or after this woman, who seems so upset.
I choose Colt. “Did you think that woman was me?” I ask him.
He takes a sip of water. “Sorry, I just assumed it was you. Something about the angle of her chin, maybe her neck.” He reaches out a hand to run a thumb along my jaw.
I lean against him. He seems fine. The lights aren’t on in the room, although the window lets plenty of sunshine in. And I could understand what he saw. There was something about her that was familiar.
Voices are rising from downstairs. The Cure is one of them. The other sounds like that woman.
I’m terribly curious now. I squeeze Colt’s arm. “I’ll be right back.”
The floor squeaks as I peer down the stairs to the
Palm trees soar so high you can see them in every direction over the rooftops.
Colt finally makes it out and sits on the bumper of the hearse. Sweat has broken out across his forehead.
“No more coddling by those hospital physical therapists now,” one trainer says. “It’s comeback time.”
They force Colt to walk unassisted across the uneven yard. He hangs on to the rail as he negotiates the three short steps to the door.
Killjoy and I both have the urge to help. I can tell by his tight fists, the same as mine. We’re trying not to intervene.
I can see that these trainers are going to push him, put him in situations where he has to function, has to do everything like normal.
I hope they know what they’re doing.
Chapter Twelve
Colt and I are given a room on the second floor. This is clearly another test for Colt, who has to negotiate the stairs slowly and painfully. Halfway up, he’s shaking. I picture him tumbling down the hardwood planks, and my dislike of those trainers flares hot.
Eve sits in a living room down below, trying not to watch. She doesn’t like it either.
But The Cure and the trainers laugh over glasses of bourbon, their ice tinkling. I stay close to Colt.
After what seems like years, we make it to the upstairs. Inside our room, a petite woman in her forties tucks clean sheets on the bed. “Almost done here,” she says.
We pause in the doorway to watch her work. Her light brown hair is twisted into a messy knot. She is deeply tanned, and long twisty silver earrings swing to her neck.
She’s in jeans and a flowery cotton shirt that billows out as she bends to smooth the bedding. When she turns to look at me, I feel some kinship, like I’ve met someone whose station in life matches mine.
Colt heads for the bed. I dash to his side, holding on to his arm as he lowers himself down. I know this is one of the hardest things, getting in and out of bed. I remember rolling off the mattress after a day of ab work. Sometimes just turning over can wake you up with pain.
“Can I help?” the woman asks. She pauses in the doorway. Her brow is creased with concern as she watches Colt painfully shift positions.
“We’re all right,” I tell her. “I assume there is ice and water in the kitchen?”
“You want some?”
I lift Colt’s legs onto the bed. “That would be good.”
“I’ll fetch it.”
I pull Colt’s shoes off and open a closet to find a place to store them. Inside are several sets of Colt’s workout gear, including the blue shorts I remember so well from when I first knew him. I reach out to touch them, folded neatly in a storage cube.
The woman returns with a glass and takes it over to Colt.
He swipes at his eyes. “Thank you, Jo,” he says.
The woman freezes. I turn around. Is he delirious? Does he think that woman is me? Fear curdles through me that maybe he isn’t as right as he seems.
Ice cubes rattle in the glass as the woman’s hand shakes. I watch her, wondering why Colt’s mistake has made her so anxious. Colt accepts the cup, and she turns to me. Her eyes move to the frog pendant around my neck. “Oh my God,” she says and flies from the room.
I don’t know which way to go. To Colt, who is maybe confused and needs help. Or after this woman, who seems so upset.
I choose Colt. “Did you think that woman was me?” I ask him.
He takes a sip of water. “Sorry, I just assumed it was you. Something about the angle of her chin, maybe her neck.” He reaches out a hand to run a thumb along my jaw.
I lean against him. He seems fine. The lights aren’t on in the room, although the window lets plenty of sunshine in. And I could understand what he saw. There was something about her that was familiar.
Voices are rising from downstairs. The Cure is one of them. The other sounds like that woman.
I’m terribly curious now. I squeeze Colt’s arm. “I’ll be right back.”
The floor squeaks as I peer down the stairs to the
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