16. Ian
SIXTEEN
IAN
It’s a little too “on the nose” to say Dutch has a Pavlovian response to August being in the yard, but the moment he starts whining at the back door, I let him out. I heard Tess’s car pull up out front a few minutes ago, so I can relate. He wants the same thing I do—any time with our neighbors we can get.
August’s “Hey, boy!” pierces the evening air, and they’re off like a shot. I step onto the porch, my hands in my shorts’ pockets. I changed out of my jeans as soon as I got home, unwilling to fight the heat and discomfort any longer. I don’t like how exposed I feel in my own space, as if paparazzi might be lying in wait to snap pictures and ask questions. To be clear, nobody ever cared that much about my situation.
But Tess already knows about my prosthetic leg. And still blushed like mad when I indulged in the crazy urge to growl at her in her bakery.
That blush has been humming through my blood all afternoon. I want to see it again.
Tess joins me on the porch, and our eyes meet. Hold for a beat. When her lips tip up into a smile, something cracks in my ribcage. Like my heart’s been encased in cement and is finally breaking free so it can beat again.
“I feel bad about commandeering your dog,” she says.
“I don’t,” I tell her truthfully. “He’s like a puppy again. I love to see it.”
I haven’t been as good with our walks and play time as I used to be. Knowing he’s got an eager playmate makes me happier than she seems to suspect.
She sits in one of the chairs on her side of the porch and motions for me to join her. I do, enjoying the show as Dutch romps with August.
“How old is he anyway?” Tess asks.
“Just turned seven.” When I took him to the vet this year, she told me he’s considered a senior now. I fight down the twinge of sadness that concept brings up. I feed him well, and he clearly gets plenty of exercise. We’ve got a good long while together yet.
I think it again as if I can manifest that outcome. A good long while.
“You’d never know it. Have you had him since he was a puppy?”
I nod, my chest warming at the memory. “I’d spent the day rock climbing way out in a canyon. When I went back to my car at the end of the day, I found this tiny fluff ball curled up next to one of my tires. He was matted with mud and covered in fleas and ticks. I scooped him up, and that was it. He claimed me.”
With a sloppy kiss and the most adoring eyes I’d ever seen.
“That’s really sweet.” She watches me like I revealed more than I meant to. All I did was get completely suckered in by a puppy in need. And fall in love in the process, but that part’s obvious.
“I’ve never regretted it. Even when he used to dump my kitchen trash all over the floor when he was left alone for two-point-five seconds.”
She laughs. “Sounds like Dutch and August went through similar phases.”
Speaking of, August runs over and stops next to my chair. “Your hair is shorter.”
I don’t always appreciate bluntness on my appearance these days, but I don’t mind it from him. “It is. What do you think of it?”
He studies me for a minute, his little eyes narrowing. “It’s okay.”
“You’ll keep me humble, kid.”
He swivels at the hips to pet Dutch, who is of course glued to the kid’s side. I spot a sticker or something on his arm, like maybe he got a little carried away at daycare.
“Kid, you’ve got something right here?—”
I realize my mistake too late. He contorts his arm around so I can get a better look at the device my brain has just now recognized.
“That’s my super shield.” He beams at me like he’s pointing out an award. “This one is my monitor.” He twists to show me the back of his other arm. “And this one is my pump. I have diabetes.”
I’ve suspected it before, but my heart sinks with the confirmation—I am a colossal ass. How many times have I seen him playing with Dutch in the yard and never noticed the medical devices secured to his arms? They’re small, but they’re not invisible. Nope, I’ve been too busy thinking about myself to recognize this little boy has a serious condition.
To be fair, he was doing wind sprints with my dog the other day. The small monitors would have been the only signs of that condition.
“My body needs medicine sometimes, and my super shields give it to me like that.” August claps his hands together. “I don’t even feel it.”
“It doesn’t hurt, huh?” I’ve heard about these types of glucose monitors and insulin delivery systems, but I haven’t met anyone who uses them.
“It’s a little pinch. But sometimes Mama has to give me shots in the bottom.” He laughs because of course shots in the bottom are the funniest. “Those hurt, but she’s fast.”
“I bet your mama takes good care of you.” My gaze finds Tess, who’s looking on like she expects questions. But where I typically bristle at questions, she seems as if she’d welcome them.
I have plenty. Like, how long have they been dealing with this? Is this system keeping his diabetes under control? And when she’s doing everything she can to take care of her son, who’s taking care of her?
But the next question doesn’t come from me. It comes from August.
“Why do you have a super leg?”
I’ve been asked similar questions a hundred times before, but never once from someone so innocent. Never from someone who’s simply curious, without any judgment.
Actually, the kid might judge me. He seems pretty discerning.
I look from him to Tess, silently asking if I have permission to answer. She nods in gentle encouragement. I take a deep breath and prepare myself to tell him something I haven’t willingly spoken of since it happened.
“I crashed my motorcycle.” Those four words sum up the event that threw my whole life upside down.
His blue eyes go wide. “You have a motorcycle?”
He sounds more excited about this news than I bet Tess would like.
“Not anymore.” I don’t think I could stand to ride one now. “I was driving too fast, and a jackrabbit crossed the road in front of me. I swerved and lost control of the bike. I landed on my left side, and my leg was too damaged to ever heal right. So the doctors amputated it, right about here.”
I hitch my shorts up a few inches and gesture to where my thigh fits into the black plastic socket. I don’t normally talk about my prosthetic leg, and I sure don’t show it to people, but August just watches with mild curiosity. The weirdest thing is, it’s kind of nice to talk about.
“Did you hit the jackrabbit?” Naturally he landed on the most important part of the story.
I tick my head to the side. “Missed him.”
“I’m glad you have a super leg,” he tells me. “It helps you just like my super shields help me.”
Emotions flash and scramble around in my brain. I haven’t been very grateful, but he’s right. I should be. It takes me a second to speak through the lump in my throat. “I’m glad I have it, too.”
“Can I give Dutch a bath?”
I laugh, surprised but relieved at his quick change of topic. “Maybe not today.”
“Can I throw the ball?”
“Have at it.”
August runs back into the yard to find one of the tennis balls scattered in the grass and starts pitching it to the dog. Dutch retrieves it and drops it gently for him, ready to go until the kid’s arm gives out.
“I’m sorry about your accident,” Tess says softly. “Was there really a jackrabbit?”
“I can’t say why I swerved. I don’t really remember the crash well.” The taste of blood in my mouth and the overpowering smell of gasoline and motor oil— that I remember too well. “I was in the middle of nowhere—perfect opportunity for going way too fast, not as great for getting medical care in a hurry.”
“You had to wait a long time?”
“It was thirty minutes before paramedics arrived. I had to do my own triage.” At the crinkle of confusion between her eyebrows, I clarify. “I’m a certified EMT. The training was supposed to come in handy if I ever ran into emergencies with clients on a mountainside. Never thought I’d have to put a tourniquet on myself.”
I still, remembering how I fought to stay conscious as I tightened my belt around my leg, positive if I closed my eyes I’d never open them again.
“Ian.” Before I can fully process the delight of Tess whispering my name, she slips one hand around mine, giving me all new sensations to revel in. “You saved your own life?”
I never thought about it that way. “The paramedics saved me. I just made sure there was something left to save.”
She squeezes my hand tighter. “You’re downplaying it.”
I was no hero that day. Pushing the motorcycle to its limits, buying into my own hype and thinking I was somehow invincible—I brought on all my trouble myself. The fact that I didn’t die from my mistakes is more miracle than heroics.
But this conversation has already strayed into the “too much” category. I don’t need to drive it home by talking any more about my ego and just how badly I screwed up. The one saving grace is that I didn’t hurt anyone else when I went down.
“Anyway, now it’s just me and my residual limb.” I slap my empty hand down on my socket, grimacing at the term. “Stump.”
Tess makes a small sound of dismay.
“You don’t like those options either?” The guys in the rehabilitation center had a whole raft of terms for their remaining limbs, not all of them ones I’d want to repeat to Tess. “How about Peggy?”
She laughs, shaking her head.
“Nubbin?”
“Ew.” She sounds like she just stepped in something disgusting and pulls her hand from mine. “Absolutely not. That word is an abomination. Never use it to refer to any body part ever again.”
“Interesting response.” Now she’s blushing, which is even more interesting.
“It’s, uh…” She shakes her head, hands raised. “I’m not getting into it. Just don’t use it.”
“Is this like the m-word?” That’s Iris’s big ick. Doesn’t matter the context, anyone who says it gets a smack. When Tess looks at me blankly, I whisper, “Moist.”
She cackles, and at least half of it is a squeal, but it might be the best sound I’ve ever heard. It’s open and spontaneous and entirely her.
“Yes. It’s exactly like that. Absolutely forbidden.”
“I’ll be sure to avoid it.”
We both settle down again, our attention turning to the shenanigans going on in the grass. August is trying to get Dutch to fetch a stick, but he’s too addicted to tennis balls to understand the intent. August goes so far as to put the stick in his own mouth to demonstrate, but Dutch remains mystified.
Tess leans forward like she’s going to intervene, but relaxes again. “It probably can’t do much harm, can it? How many germs can one stick have?”
I know better now than to point out we have no idea where the stick has been.
“I’m sorry about his diabetes. I didn’t realize.”
She lifts a shoulder. “It was scary at first, and it was a steep learning curve, but we’ve got it under control now. The monitor and pump were a game-changer.”
“That’s good.” Still must be a constant source of stress for her.
“But if I never see the inside of a hospital again, I’ll be a happy camper.”
“Same.”
“Is your accident why you came out here? To…rest and recover?”
She sounds so hopeful, even though she must suspect the truth. She’s seen enough of me since she moved in to know I’m doing neither.
I came out here to avoid my problems and hope a solution magically appeared. Add in some feeling sorry for myself and a dash of wishing for a time machine, and you’ve just about got the whole of my three months in Sunshine.
But now…wallowing doesn’t have the appeal it once did.
“I’m here for the views.” I hold Tess’s gaze long enough for a blush to creep over her cheeks again.
Best color I’ve ever seen.