Sixteen
Several weeks later…
Dave’s home is settling into silence. It’s the end of his workday, and I’ve accomplished a few hours of physical therapy. Trooper is with us and, after he finishes eating, surrenders to exhaustion by curling into a tight ball on the floor beside my wheelchair.
I watch the porch light spill through the window and travel its route across the new ramp leading to the driveway.
With the home’s widened doorways, lowered light switches, and ample space between the furniture Dave quietly rearranged, I can move with ease.
He had planned the design of his house should his parents need it.
Instead, it’s me. Dave offered for me to stay there as long as my recovery needed, and Mom and Dad didn’t object.
The kitchen faucet runs for a few seconds before the sound of running water stops. Then a cabinet door closes. Coffee mugs clink as they touch the countertop. I’ve become more sensitive to sound.
“What are you doing over there?” he asks.
“Just looking.”
“At?”
“I don’t know.”
He forces a little grin as he approaches. “There’s something on your mind. I’ve known you too long to believe staring blankly out a window has nothing else attached.”
“I’m going to be a burden. I don’t want to be one.
” I look back toward the window and at the reflection staring back at me I don’t recognize.
I feel nothing like the woman who left for the Army.
Although my shoulders are squared out of habit, and my chin is still held high, it’s out of habit.
The posture is familiar, but the certainty behind it is gone.
I blink, hoping the sting behind my eyes will disappear if I ignore it, but it doesn’t, and a tear slips free before I can stop it. Damn it.
I brush it away with the heel of my hand, straightening my shoulders as if I can order my emotions back into formation.
“Charity.” Dave’s tone is tender and, a moment later, he drops to one knee in front of my chair. He doesn’t crowd me. He doesn’t reach for me right away. He waits until he has my full attention and look at him. He lifts his hand and gently cups my cheek. “Tell me what’s bothering you.”
I shake my head.
He brushes away tears I try to dismiss but can’t fight.
“I might not be able to fix whatever is wrong,” he says softly, “but carrying it by yourself isn’t helping anyone.”
A humorless laugh escapes me. “I’ve carried a hundred and fifty pounds. Now, I can’t even carry myself.”
“I know.”
I look at him with pleading eyes. “I don’t know how to do this, and I don’t know how to ask for help without feeling like a burden.”
“You don’t have to figure it all out today, and you’re not going to be alone. I’m here for you.”
Trooper lifts his head, watching our exchange before laying it back on his paws, satisfied that everything is all right. I swallow hard.
“I don’t know if I want this—us—to go any farther.”
His brow perks.
“So, you admit there’s an ‘us.” He pauses. “I know how I feel about you. I think you and I are headed for something special.”
“I can’t do that to you. You don’t deserve a cripple.”
“You’ve made a decision for me, huh?” He asks. “And the word ‘handicap’ just means we find different avenues to do the things we like.”
“You’re a great guy, and I have to end this before it goes too far. If I don’t, you won’t. You’ve got to understand there’s no certainty I’ll get back to where I was. You deserve someone who can hike mountains with you. Not sit in a chair.”
Dave laughs. “Hey, I’ve been trying to get you to sit still for years.”
“I’m being serious.”
“So am I.”
He takes my hand. “You think I fell in love with your legs?”
“You aren’t in love with me. You feel sorry for me.”
“Again, making my decisions …we’re going to have to work on that bullheadedness of yours.
” He takes a breath. “I fell in love with a little girl who rescued injured birds when she was six. The same one who, years later, rescued a half-starved puppy. Who you are inside is the woman I love. The rest is just packaging.” His fingers weave through mine.
“I’m not quitting, and neither are you. You love me, and you know it. ”
Salty tears wet my mouth as he presses a tender kiss to my lips.
“The chair doesn’t change you; it just changes how we travel.” He cups my chin. “So, how are we doing this?”
I feel the fear but face it anyway. Closing my eyes, I obey my heart and answer in a sound just above a whisper.
“We do it together.”
The End
(or is it?)
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