19. Will
Chapter nineteen
Will
I flopped my head against the pillow as Maureen shut the door behind her.
Jesus Christ. That shower. Even with dizziness bordering on nausea, my body tense and strung out, head aching a hundred times worse than any hangover, I was rock hard.
Maureen’s hands—undressing me, washing me, rubbing my arms and legs—had me struggling for control. I could not stop picturing that confident sway of her hips. The way she’d taken control. Not to mention the outline of her breasts in her soaking wet tank top. When she’d given me that scalp massage, I’d almost blown right there.
And the attraction wasn’t all sexual. I could tell it pleased her to comfort me, to make me feel better after I struggled to do something as basic as showering.
I’d desired her two days ago when she’d been furious, expression blazing at me. But her kindness? It made me want to lie down at her feet.
Last week, I’d been determined to get to a new normal with Maureen. To take whatever she’d give me, just to have that buzz of being near her. I never dreamed it would lead me here.
To a moment when she blatantly checked out my ass.
This was it. This was where I wanted to be. Every day since my accident, I’d been waiting to experience this certainty in my decision-making, to feel this strongly about something. Anything.
Sleep came for me again. But I surrendered this time, knowing it would be okay. Even if I had to wait a little longer. For the first time in eleven years, I found myself planning for a life beyond the recovery stage.
When I woke up, the fogginess in my head had lifted further, and I no longer felt as dizzy.
I glanced at the nightstand and saw my phone, face down, plugged in. Someone must have rescued it for me. Picking it up hesitantly, I turned it over, pleased to discover I could stand to look at it. On the home screen, I saw the reminder to call Wicklein to plead Rosalyn’s case. Damn. There was no way I could talk to him today. Besides the fact concussion-induced nonsense could escape my mouth at any time, a quick check of the window confirmed the sun had set. I checked the time. Five thirty.
I heard the TV in the living room. Monday Night Football , so I figured I could do a voice-to-text without alerting anyone. It took a few tries, but I finally got it to translate correctly.
ME: Hey, Roz. Sorry but I couldn’t call Wicklein today. I’ve got some things going on that make this week tough. I’ll call him next Monday.
I used another voice command to put the reminder in my phone. My CT scan was scheduled for Friday, and I hoped to get back to Seattle by Sunday night. The thought of driving such a long distance made me want to hurl, but I’d figure it out somehow. Assuming I made it back to my apartment, I could call Wicklein the following morning.
My phone rattled in my hand.
ROZ: You’re an asshole. You couldn’t do this one thing for me? Lucky for you I found out Wicklein is on vacation. So next week is better anyway. But don’t forget.
ME: I won’t.
She didn’t reply. I contemplated our exchange, knowing her anger was valid. But I couldn’t explain to Roz what was going on because I couldn’t risk her telling my mother and father. If my parents knew I’d gotten a concussion, they’d freak out and make a huge deal of it. Probably insist on coming. Then we would have a massive argument, and they’d try to convince me to go back to Seattle and see a team of specialists or something. I’d like to avoid that fight. They’d only recently loosened up somewhat. I didn’t want to backtrack.
The TV volume lowered. James, Marley, and Maureen spoke amiably in the living room. They were discussing some sort of holiday carnival.
Maureen appeared in the doorway five minutes later.
“Oh, good. You’re up. I was just coming to wake you.” I registered that she was perfectly put together again, her close-fitting denim top buttoned back in place, her ponytail sleek and unmussed.
“Did you tell James and Marley about our adventure today?”
“Uh, no. I mentioned I helped you shower. Luckily, they didn’t ask for details.”
I laughed and inwardly assessed my head again, finding my thoughts clear. I’d fallen asleep knowing exactly what I wanted and woken up even more certain. Time to press forward.
“Do you think James and Marley are up for talking now? I’d like to tell you all about my accident, if you want to hear.”
Her lips flattened. “You just woke up. Are you sure?”
James and Marley must have heard us. They appeared a moment later, Oscar and Bambi thumping along after them.
“There’s no rush to talk,” Marley said, sidling past her sister into the room, James behind her. “Of course we want to know, Will. But only if you’re up for it. And only if you want to tell us.” They leaned against the wall closest to me in the tiny bedroom. Maureen folded her arms and hung back in the doorway.
“Thanks for that, Marley,” I said. “But I’d really like to get this out.” I took a deep breath—nerves churning in my stomach—and launched into the story I’d never told in full to anyone.
“It started eleven years ago,” I began, fisting my hands on the bedspread. “James probably had the right idea, going away to college after all the shit we dealt with in high school. But for me, after years of feeling like other kids’ punching bag, I couldn’t let all that anger go. I acted out. Lots of bad decisions… One night, I was with my friend Riley, and things went way too far.”
The three of them listened attentively as I relayed the details. Spray painting the wall. The cop. Riley’s erratic driving. The cyclist going down. My split-second decision to bail out of a moving car.
The decision that put me in a coma, cost me two fingers, and bought me years of rehab.
The decision that probably saved my life.
“Until the day I die, I’ll wonder if Riley had a legit panic attack or if he was just scared out of his mind. But I’ll never know because he wrapped his car around a tree four blocks away.”
Maureen flinched, and Marley released a gasp, bringing her hand to her mouth.
“He died?” James asked quietly.
“Instantly.”
“And the lady on the bike?”
“A few cuts and bruises, and she got knocked out for a minute, but overall, she was okay. The car never touched her. The drag of it going by just startled her, so she fell over. My parents had to unleash their lawyers to keep it mostly out of the news since our family is pretty well known in some circles, and they paid the biker a small fortune to settle things quietly. I’m not sure exactly what else they did. All I know is, I was in a coma for six weeks, and when I woke up, everything had been handled.”
“Six weeks!” Marley exclaimed. “Your parents must have been out of their minds.”
“They were, but not because they were afraid I wouldn’t wake up. It was a medically induced coma. I broke sixteen bones, one of my legs was shattered, and the other wasn’t much better. My hand was basically reduced to pulp, all the skin shredded like hamburger meat. I lost the two fingers—” I raised my right hand up to wiggle it. “And I was lucky not to lose more. My hand was nearly severed across the palm. And this was all besides the biggest concern—that I’d taken a terrible blow to the head. By the time I got to the hospital, I’d completely lost consciousness. They put me under, and I went into surgery right away to relieve the pressure in my brain. According to my parents, it was touch and go for three days, and I even flatlined once on the table. While I was in the coma, I had multiple surgeries. Pins in my leg, skin grafts. I still have a little soft spot where they had to remove a piece of my skull.
“But what my parents were truly scared of was what might happen once the doctors brought me out of it. They spent those six weeks wondering if I would be the son they remembered. Would I have brain function? According to my mother, the doctors had been confident I wouldn’t be in a vegetative state, but they weren’t sure how severe the cognitive damage would be. Or how long-lasting.”
I relayed my disjointed recollection of waking up with aphasia, losing my words, unable to always speak coherently. How I couldn’t walk on my own for months. Countless hours spent working with speech therapists, occupational therapists, and physical therapists. Days and weeks with minimal progress, where my mother and father waited with haunted eyes, terrified my recovery had stalled.
“My parents had enough money to afford the specialists and legal help I needed. Besides making me square with the bike lady, they also fought for my right to start college with an aide. As my reading and writing skills returned, I needed less help, but they were there every step of the way, trying to make sure this wouldn’t be the end of my life.” Although they’d eventually over-corrected.
“I can’t believe you went through all that and I didn’t know.” James shook his head, genuinely upset with himself.
“It’s okay, bud. There’s nothing you could have done, anyway, other than feel sorry for me.” I smiled at him. “And believe me when I say you’re lucky you weren’t there for the years after when I had to figure out how to use my hand again. Who knew your pinky and ring fingers could be so important? All these things we take for granted—holding a steering wheel, going to the bathroom, putting on clothes—I had to relearn it all, especially with the injury being to my dominant side. Honestly, you dodged a bullet not having to watch me use a fork those first few months.” I chuckled.
“I guess it’s good you can laugh about it now.” Maureen came into the room, scooting past her sister to sit on the mattress next to me. She grabbed my scarred hand and clasped it between her own. “But I’m trying to wrap my mind around how awful it must have been to require doctors to put you in a coma.”
Marley and James glanced pointedly at where Maureen held my hand, but she didn’t seem to care.
Finally, James said, “It makes a lot more sense now why the doctors here were so concerned, even though they said your concussion was relatively minor. Thank god you could tell them your history. We wouldn’t have known.”
Frowning, I thought of the superficial friendships I’d made during the years after my accident, the business acquaintances and people I ran into at fundraisers. None of them knew the story. They’d all seen my hand, all pretended not to notice.
Accepting that level of isolation was a side effect of my accident. I hadn’t been able to make friends in college since no one wanted to be friends with the weird dude who needed a personal health aide with him in class until junior year. I’d shut down, gotten good at being alone, being assisted, needing less, demanding nothing.
Until, one day, something woke me up. Someone, rather. Made me want more. I ran my thumb along Maureen’s hand.
“I’m glad you know now, James,” I said. “Glad you all do. I’m thankful for your friendship, and that you’re letting me stay here.”
“Of course! You’re always welcome, even when you’re not recovering from an injury.” Marley patted my calf. “You’re family.”
I smiled as my eyelids grew heavy again, even as my mind felt remarkably unburdened. But I hadn’t completely fallen asleep when I heard Maureen whisper next to me.
“That’s right. You’re family.”
Her lips ghosted over my forehead.
I slept through the evening and into the early morning.
Around five a.m., I felt completely lucid for the first time since my fall. With effort, I propped myself up against the pillows. Maureen must have heard me thumping against the wall because she came in to check on me.
“Sorry I disturbed you,” I said, trying not to ogle her in her silky tank top and pajama pants.
“No problem. I’m a light sleeper. Do you need anything?”
“My duffel?”
“It’s in my room,” she answered. “Since yours is so cramped. I can bring it in if you want. Did you want different pajamas or something?”
“I was hoping I could use my drawing stuff. I don’t think I’m up for playing on my phone or watching TV yet, but something analog sounds doable.”
“Sure. I noticed your sketch pads yesterday when I grabbed your boxers. I didn’t peek, but I really, really wanted to.”
“They’re nothing special.” I shrugged. “Just basic stuff. Mostly street scenes. I’ve been drawing more lately, but inspiration doesn’t always strike.”
“I’d still like to see, but since it’s ass o’clock in the morning, I’m going to go back to bed for an hour or two first if that’s okay. You’ll be alright?”
“Uh-huh. It’s nice to think clearly. I don’t mind waiting for the rest of the house to wake up.”
Maureen left and returned with my sketch pads and pencils, depositing them on the nightstand. She yawned and nodded, shoulders sagging as she backed sleepily out of the room. After she left, I hobbled to the bathroom. It felt good to do it myself—although I still peed sitting down as a precaution—but it was mildly disappointing there was no more excuse for Maureen to help me in the shower again.
I returned to the bedroom, and Bambi met me in the doorway. Once I’d gotten back under the covers and positioned myself against the wall, he laid down next to me on the bed, placing his snout on my knee. Not to be outdone, Oscar arrived a minute later with his favorite Elf on the Shelf stuffy in his mouth, tossing it onto the pillow like an offering.
“Thanks, boy,” I said, scratching between his ears.
I started sketching, attempting to capture the coziness of my surroundings. A two-foot fake Christmas tree with silver garland sat on the dresser, a recent addition that hadn’t been there yesterday. The soft glow of the tree’s tiny lights added a touch of holiday cheer.
At seven thirty, James and Marley came in briefly to say hello before heading to work, coaxing the dogs out to the backyard. Since Oscar snored like a buzz saw and Bambi farted like he’d just eaten chili with a Brussels sprout chaser, it didn’t pain me to see them go.
Maureen showed up five minutes later, holding colorful mugs shaped like Christmas presents in each hand. Steam swirled up and faded into the cool morning air, the spicy aroma of tea filling the room.
I gestured toward the little tree.
“Marley insisted,” Maureen said. “A bit of Christmas in your room. To keep your spirits up.”
“The sweaters she wears every day aren’t enough?”
Maureen laughed good-naturedly. “You haven’t seen anything yet. She and James have matching holiday pajamas. Footie ones.”
I could easily picture it. “And you? Any adult onesies with candy canes or snowflakes you’ll be modeling for me?”
She made a face before asking, “Are you up for some chai?”
“I think so. I don’t feel nauseous anymore. Just need to get my strength back.”
“How do you take it?”
“Plain.”
She set the mugs down on the nightstand, then sat in the chair as I passed her one of my sketchbooks. I stayed seated on the bed, propped up with pillows against the headboard. “You can look. Honestly, the ones I did in the past few hours are probably the best. I meant it when I said inspiration doesn’t come easily, but this morning it has.”
She took the pad from me and opened it, studying each drawing carefully before turning to the next page. “That’s like me and my vid—” she started, before stopping herself. “Me in Coleman Creek. I feel the creative flow here, too.”
“Were you about to say videos?” I grinned. “I know all about Fashion Vibes .”
Her mouth dropped. “You do?”
“James spilled the beans by accident a few months ago.”
She put the sketchbook down and reached for her mug. Blew over the top of it. “Which clips did you watch?” she asked.
I hesitated as my cheeks heated. “Um…all of them.”
“All?” Her eyes went wide.
“Maureen, you wouldn’t speak to me. You wouldn’t even let us be in the same room together. I wanted the piece I could have.”
Inhaling slowly, she placed her mug on the dresser next to the tree. She ran her hands back and forth over her thighs. “Well, what did you think?”
“Honestly?”
“Of course.”
“Seeing you as Francesca reminded me why everything that happened between us five years ago matters. Who you are. Why neither of us can let it go.” I reached out and pulled her chair closer to the edge of the mattress. “It reminded me how much I like you.”
Maureen hmphed. “You realize I’ve murdered you a thousand times in my head. Not to mention all the things I’ve said to you out loud.”
A rough laugh escaped me. “I remember. You swore you’d never forgive me.”
“And I meant it.”
“But you don’t anymore?”
“No,” she whispered.
I paused, drawing out a thoughtful breath before continuing, “For a few years after my accident, to anyone looking, I would have seemed okay. But inside, I raged at the world. I swore to myself I’d never draw again, never make any kind of art.”
She glanced down at my sketch pad, open to a beautiful rendering of Bambi’s sleeping face on my thigh. “What a waste that would have been, to hold on to that anger.”
“A terrible waste.” I ran my ragged palm along her knee.
“Terrible.” She hinted at a smile.
“Can we talk now? Really talk?”
“I think we’d better.”