18. CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 18
ARI
“ W ow, you really are one of the most stubborn people I’ve ever met,” DeShawn says, utterly exasperated.
“You’re only figuring that out now?” Fonz pipes up.
“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” adds Sophie. “Means she’s a fighter, right?”
“Seriously, can everyone just either shut the hell up or go the hell home?” I spit out as I steady myself between the parallel bars at the rehab facility. “I really don’t need an audience when I fall flat on my face.”
DeShawn pulls the wheelchair closer to where I stand. “Ari, you have done amazing today. This was by far your best day. But your body is exhausted now, so just sit down and rest.”
“I can finish this last walk.” I shuffle a few more inches.
“ Ohforfuckssake, ” Fonz mumbles from the chair against the wall. Then I hear a thud and he yelps, “Ouch!” and I know Sophie must have smacked him upside the head.
“Just be quiet and let her concentrate.” Meg chimes in from the other side of me. She and Larry, my former foster parents and current babysitters, are also here today. They hate when I call them my babysitters, knowing I’m being self-deprecating, but that’s pretty much what they are.
Sophie called the Millers from the hospital after she found me, and they came right away and insisted I stay with them. They put me under their roof and figured out a payment plan for all my medical bills. They had the lower floor of their split-level house renovated so I could wheel right in through the garage entrance and not have any steps.
They also spruced up the apartment above the garage, which is where Sophie has been living the past year and where—she says— I will join her once I can do stairs again.
“Seriously, Ari, you are doing amazing,” Larry says through tears. He and Meg are standing off to the side clutching each other as if they are awaiting the birth of a child. They really do seem to think of me as their own daughter. Their own adult, damaged, disabled, moody, angry child.
That’s why I took their last name. I am now officially Ariel Miller.
Larry sticks a finger under his glasses to wipe away a tear. He wears his sandy with a bit of gray hair a little shaggy these days. It goes with his whole chill vibe, complete with cargo pants and a puffy vest. Next to him, Meg pulls her long dark hair to the side and wrings it—a sign that she’s nervous. She’s slender and dons her usual jeans and T-shirt with a long, open sweater draped over it.
“Aha! There she is! My favorite patient.” Dr. Powell comes breezing in. “Just look at you. I can’t believe how far you’ve come so quickly.”
I take a breath, try my damnedest to tighten my core, and drag myself the last steps to the end of the bars. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Doc.” I finally allow DeShawn to guide me into the wheelchair. “It’s not like I’m walking on my own yet.”
He shakes his head as he comes over and squats before me. “Most people with this type of injury would still be in bed. You are too hard on yourself.” He waves a hand around the room. “All this stuff is just temporary. Once you’re back on your feet, life will go back to normal, and this will all just be a story you tell your children about how you overcame and conquered and all that jazz.”
We all fall silent because we all know I don’t want things to go back to normal. “Normal” for me is shit. But I know it’s silly that I’ve been feeling bad for myself all this time when I’ve actually been lucky. Many people wouldn’t be so fortunate after such an accident. And, it wasn’t even really, truly an accident … which reminds me.
“Dr. Powell?”
“Hmm.” He squats down beside me again.
“Did you ever find out anything about the driver?” I had asked Dr. Powell if he would be able to find out if anyone else was hurt in the accident. I vehemently refused to press any charges since it was my fault. But I’ve wondered about the driver and the passenger ever since. I can only imagine what they must be feeling.
Dr. Powell speaks softly as he looks around. “I talked with one of the paramedics who brought you in that night, and he said the vehicle that hit you was a Mitchell & Sons truck, and he’s fairly sure the driver was one of the ‘sons.’”
“Do you know his name?”
“Knox,” he says. “Knox Mitchell.”
***
It took me months to muster up the courage to come here today. Well, that and I wanted to make sure I was steady enough on my feet to stand and even walk a little bit. I wanted Knox to see I was doing well.
Also, my snaggletooth is fixed and I feel like I can smile freely now. And I want Knox to see that smile.
The Uber pulls up in front of a beautiful cool gray house at the end of a cute residential street, and I take a deep breath before I exit.
“Knox?” I call to a man standing on the front porch.
At first, he seems frozen, but then he reaches behind him, takes a woman’s hand, and starts walking toward me. As they approach, I take them in. He’s handsome in a rugged way, with short brown hair, in jeans and a T-shirt, along with work boots. She is all understated beauty, wearing jeans that hug her curves and a David Bowie T-shirt, brown hair blowing around her face in the breeze.
I mumble some sort of awkward greeting, but then I finally square my shoulders and get to the point. “You don’t know me, but—”
“I know you,” Knox blurts out. “I mean, I know who you are.” He looks me up and down. “I thought … Well, I don’t know what I thought exactly, but I certainly didn’t expect this. Don’t get me wrong.” He rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “You look well.”
“I’m sorry but could someone please tag me into the conversation?” the woman asks. Knox looks like he’s about to speak, but I interject.
“Let me, please,” I say. “About a year and a half ago something changed my life.” I look at Knox, in his eyes. “You see, I had been running—literally and metaphorically—for a long time. And that night, I decided I was done running. I was just … I was done. So, as I ran away for the last time, I decided to just run right toward the first thing that would take me away from it all. And that, Knox, was you.”
He looks stunned, so I keep going. I explain how I got his name and how I stopped at his former address, then had to do some Googling to find his new house. “I’m sorry,” I finally say. “I wanted to say I’m so, so sorry for jumping in front of your truck. I can only imagine what that did to you.”
After my confession, we all just stare at each other for a moment, and I think maybe this was a bad idea. But then the woman wraps me up in a hug. Knox seems to finally get his bearings and takes a step toward me. “Are you still running?” he asks.
I shake my head from side to side. “No,” I give a half-truth, because he doesn’t need to know anything else.
The driver gets my attention, and I remember my plans tonight. “Shoot!” Turning toward Knox and his wife, I explain, “I have to go. I have a date. Gah! This is my first date since the accident and I’m a little nervous.” I pull my phone out of my back pocket and start swiping it. “My friend set me up with this guy online and I just … I dunno. I mean, he seems OK, but what if he’s a serial killer or something? Or what if he’s really fat and using someone else’s picture? I can’t exactly make a run for it.”
It was a mistake to let Sophie set up a profile for me on a dating site. Now I’m going to meet some guy she handpicked and has been corresponding with under my name for a few weeks.
Without skipping a beat, the woman steps up to me, her own phone out. “Let me see a pic.” She leans over and takes a photo of the picture I have on my screen. “What’s your number?” Without hesitation I give it to her, and my phone dings. “That’s me. My name is Lizzie, by the way.” She tells me to text her if the guy is a creeper.
“Good plan,” I say. “But I hate to infringe on your evening.”
“Nonsense,” Lizzie bats away the suggestion. “Seven-fifteen sharp. I don’t hear from you, I call the police and send them this pic. Got it?”
I nod. “Well, here I go.” Turning back toward the car and awkwardly getting back into it, I hear Knox’s voice thanking me for finding him.
“You have no idea how lost I was,” he says.
Oh, I might have some idea.