3. MAX #2
“Anything is to my taste at this point,” I cut in. “Anything’s better than more daytime TV, trust me. So you, uh...you’re into Star Trek, huh?”
He nodded, biting his lip. “Um, yeah. Have been since I was a kid. I used to watch DS9 with my parents when I was little, and I just sort of got sucked in.” He paused thoughtfully, clearly warming up to the conversation, and then went on, “There’s just something about the optimistic—well, mostly optimistic—future the shows envision.
And then there’s the political plots in things like DS9 that go really deep, and just…
” He shook his head. “It makes me feel good to watch and read.”
I smiled at his enthusiasm. I’d never felt that passionate about anything in my life, but I didn’t want to tell him that in case it made him feel self-conscious or made me look flighty.
“I look forward to reading these, then.” I patted the books, then re-stacked them and moved them to the side table.
“Anyway, I really appreciate you thinking of this.”
His pale skin turned faintly pink. “No -”
“Knock, knock!” chirped a female voice from the doorway. “Max, can I come in?”
We both looked over to find Janey standing in the door, watching us.
“Um, yeah, come in,” I told her, shifting in bed using my hands.
I hadn’t seen much of Janey since she brought me my stuff the second day; I got the impression she’d been working the phones to find resources for my broke ass.
She’d stopped in briefly every afternoon to see how I was doing, but my “therapy” had been mostly taken over by an occupational therapist who seemed to have made it her life’s goal to un-depress me.
She crossed the room to us and glanced towards Lucas. “Hello, I don’t think we’ve met.”. She didn’t say, I thought Max was alone, but I bet she was thinking it.
He rose and offered her a hand. “Lucas Gustafsson.” They shook. “I’m a...a friend of Max’s.”
Her smile at Lucas seemed encouraging, like she caught his stutter, too. “Nice to meet you.” Then, looking back at me, she went on, “I came to follow up on a few things we discussed earlier, but since you have company, if you’d prefer, I can come back later.”
I needed to know. I didn’t want her to walk out of this room and leave me in suspense just because Lucas was here. “No, no. Now is good. Lucas doesn’t mind, right, Lucas?”
“Of course not.” He gestured toward the door. “I’ll just g-”
“No!” Both Lucas and Janey paused and stared at me when I practically yelled the word.
I was caught between not wanting to be alone when I heard what was sure to be bad news and embarrassment at the prospect of Lucas finding out the dire straits I was in, but not wanting to be alone was winning out.
Lucas was the closest—only—friend I had at this point.
I extended a hand to Lucas, who took it after blinking down at it. “Please stay,” I said more quietly.
For a second, he looked like he was going to say no, that this was too personal, but then he gave himself a shake and offered me a smile and a squeeze of my hand. “Of course.” He gestured Janey to the seat he’d abandoned.
She smiled at him, then me, and sat with her folder in her lap. “Just to double-check, Max, you’re comfortable discussing personal details in front of Lucas?”
In for a penny, in for a pound. I nodded.
“Ok then. So I’ve got some updates for you. Some good news and some challenges.”
Challenges. Right. Pretty sure that was code for You’re not gonna like this news.
She glanced down at her tablet. “The good news is that a hospital assistance program has agreed to cover your CObrA premiums for a year, and help with the cost of your first prosthetic during recovery.”
I fell back against the bed, a huge breath gusting out of me. Holy shit. I would have insurance. Holy shit. But then… “What’re the ‘challenge’s?” I asked warily.
She nodded resolutely. “Two things. First, your former employer’s plan won’t cover home health aids, and you’re still responsible for your co-pays even when they do cover things.”
Shit. Those would add up; I didn’t need to be a billing specialist to know that much.
“And second, I haven’t yet been able to secure housing. Most shelters aren’t equipped for someone recovering from a major surgery, especially with mobility restrictions. And inpatient rehab facilities generally require patients to need a higher level of medical support than you currently do.”
“Ah, fuck,” I grunted, frustrated, pulling my hand out of Lucas’s and running it through my hair.
So it sounded like I’d have insurance but still be living in a cardboard box...
in a wheelchair. Wheelchairs didn’t fit in cardboard boxes.
How big a cardboard box would I need to find to fit a wheelchair in it? Maybe a refrigerator box…
“Max?” Janey leaned forward slightly, studying my face. Something of my thoughts must have been clear on my face, because she added, “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We still have a few placement options to review, such as assisted living facilities.”
I snorted. “No way can I pay for assisted living. Besides, aren’t those only for old people?”
She shook her head. “Not necessarily. Some facilities accept younger patients who need short-term assistance after a medical event.” She glanced down at her tablet. “Cost can be a barrier, though. I’ll keep looking into programs and placements that might be available.”
“Wait, wait,” Lucas said, waving a hand to get our attention. “What do you guys mean by ‘housing’? Like, I thought you meant rehab, but then you said rehabs won’t take him so now I’m confused.”
Janey and I exchanged a look and she raised her eyebrows. It’s up to you what to tell him, her expression said.
I grimaced, then decided there was no way around it.
“I’m...sort of homeless,” I admitted. “I mean, not like I’ve been living on the streets—I had an apartment in Concord, and a hotel here—but my hotel bill was being paid by my job, which is…
maybe…on hold. With my paycheck and benefits.
Which means I don’t have a hotel anymore, either.
” I gestured to my suitcases. “That’s everything I own other than a few things in a storage unit in New Hampshire. ”
“And even if you did have a hotel room,” Janey threw in, “a hotel isn’t considered a safe discharge environment for someone recovering from a major surgery.”
Lucas was gaping at me. I fidgeted, trying to fight a mortified blush. “You’re homeless?” he finally blurted, clearly aghast at the concept.
I fidgeted some more, wringing my hands in my lap. “Sort of? I mean I probably have a job, and once I can start doing it and get a paycheck under my belt I can probably find an apartment with roommates, but -”
“- but you’re not going to be able to work for at least a little while while you recover,” he finished for me. “And how are you going to pay for that and a home health aid and your co-pays?”
“Lucas…” Janey said in a tone that clearly said you’re not helping.
“I don’t know,” I admitted quietly. “Janey’s been working on it, but you heard where she’s stuck. It’s better than nothing, I mean, but I guess housing cripples is hard.”
“You’re not a cripple,” he snapped, reaching out to slap the back of my hand reprovingly. I jumped at the sharp contact. “Don’t use that word.”
I stared at him, wondering what had gotten into him. “It’s what I am,” I protested.
“It’s considered a slur,” Janey broke in calmly. “I would encourage you not to use it when referring to yourself or anyone else. People take that word seriously.”
I rubbed the back of my hand sullenly. “Fine, sorry.” Janey nodded placidly, but Lucas kept scowling. “Sorry,” I said again.
We all sat there in silence for a minute, and then Lucas brightened up and clapped his hands, the sound startling in the quiet room. “Ok,” he said heartily. “Here’s what we’re going to do. Max is going to come home with me, and -”
“What? No!” I said. I couldn’t live off the guy for who knows how long. We hardly knew each other.
“Max is going to come home with me,” he said again, very deliberately this time.
“I can help him with his dressings and getting in and out of his chair and stuff, so he hopefully won’t need a home health aid, or at least need them less; I can take him to PT—I’ll arrange my shifts that way as needed; and when he feels up to worrying about his job, he’ll have an address to give them on the forms.”
“‘He’ is right here,” I protested, waving a hand as if to get his attention even though it was already on me. “Do I get a say in this?”
“No,” he said shortly.
“Of course it’s Max’s choice,” Janey contradicted evenly. “Lucas, I need to be clear about what that would involve. Max is going to need significant support while he recovers, both physically and mentally, and the timeline isn’t predictable. Are you comfortable taking that on?”
Lucas just shook his head. “We’d deal with it like adults. I want him to come home with me.”
“But why?” I couldn’t help asking. Why would he want to take in an ex-stripper who had no money and huge challenges?
He studied me closely, then smiled. “Because I’m here and I’m able. Because I like you, and you need a hand. Because I have a spare room and you need one. Take your pick.”
“I’m an asshole,” I warned him. “You don’t want to live with that. You’re too sweet.” Oh god, had I just said that out loud? I bit my tongue a second too late.
Lucas’s smile grew wider. “Then I’d say we balance each other out well, wouldn’t you?”
I gave up. The man was determined, and deep down I thought he was a far better option than some kind of old folks’ home or shelter.
I wouldn’t have to worry about people stealing my stuff or hurting me if I was snug in an apartment with Lucas.
And he was just so nice, living with him had to be a piece of cake.
Or was I crazy?