Chapter 5
To Do:
- Call the VA clinic to confirm leg delivery
- Research firework companies
“Today’s the big day, Tyler!”Claire exclaimed as her client opened his front door. “Are you excited?”
Jerry, one of Claire’s camera crew, stood behind her on the porch, video camera in hand.
“You have no idea,” Tyler said with a grin and rolled his wheelchair onto the front porch, then spun around to lock the door. A frayed T-shirt with the word “Army” written in capital letters stretched across his broad chest. His left arm had a full sleeve of tattoos, featuring a flaming eagle and album art from a metal band that Claire had listened to in college.
She gripped his hand. “It’s going to be great. Let’s get this show on the road.”
Tyler tossed her a set of keys, and she managed to catch them. He led the way down a ramp and along the pathway to a handicap-accessible van.
The cameraman continued to film as Claire started up the van. The side door opened automatically, and a ramp unfolded itself. Tyler, clearly used to the boarding process, rolled onto it smoothly and entered the car.
Today was going to be a much better day. She hadn’t woken up in the middle of the street with a dumpster taco. The paparazzi must have had a bigger story to chase, because she hadn’t seen anyone all day. She hadn’t even assaulted anyone with a pool skimmer. And she got to work on one of her most romantic and heart-wrenching proposals to date. She was in her element.
“So, Tyler, why don’t you tell the camera why today is such a big deal,” she encouraged from the driver’s seat. Jerry turned around to film.
“Today is a big deal because I am getting new legs,” he said, patting his thighs. Both his legs stopped a few inches below the knee, and he wore compression socks over the nubs.
“And thanks to some help from the VA and Moon Prosthetics, I’ll be able to kneel and propose to my girlfriend, Ericka, when she comes home from her deployment next week. She has no idea.”
“And what else is part of Ericka’s homecoming surprise?”
“I bought us a house!” He smiled proudly.
Claire smiled and wiped a stray tear away with her thumb.
“I saw that. You’re already breaking your promise,” Tyler teased from the back of the van.
“I’m sorry,” she said, sniffling. “It’s just so romantic. War hero loses both legs while fighting for his country, falls in love with his nurse, and welcomes her home from her deployment by proposing to her in the home he bought for them. It’s just beautiful.”
“I couldn’t have done any of this without you,” he said. “I didn’t even know about the down payment program until you found it. And you organized those volunteers to paint the house and move everything in for free.”
She shrugged, sniffling and trying to collect herself as they pulled into the prosthetic office’s parking lot. “It’s nothing. You meet a lot of people in my line of work. I’m honored to help.”
They had barely taken their seats in the waiting room when a physician assistant in blue scrubs popped open a door in the corner of the room. “Tyler Roberts?”
Claire and Jerry followed as Tyler wheeled his way back down a long hallway, passing several exam rooms. She made eye contact with the receptionist just before passing through the door. Claire nodded, and the receptionist left her chair.
The physician assistant pressed a button, and a set of double doors opened to reveal the physical therapy room. The fluorescent lighting was harsh, and everything smelled like disinfectant. A set of steel parallel bars stood in the middle of the room.
It wasn’t the most romantic setting for this portion of the proposal story. It was too bad the parallel bars weren’t in an emerald-green meadow dotted with wildflowers, or maybe on a white sand beach next to turquoise waters. But not every part of a proposal could be romanticized. Unless she could get Jerry to film a sunset workout montage of Tyler getting used to his new legs. Hmmm. Philadelphia wasn’t that far away; she could totally envision Tyler running up the Rocky steps.
She flipped open her binder and scribbled a quick note.
Moments later, a doctor knocked on the door and then entered, carrying a large box.
At a nod from Tyler, Jerry began filming. Within minutes, the doctor had secured new prosthetics to Tyler’s legs. She made several adjustments and wheeled him over to the parallel bars.
Tyler’s mouth was set, face hardened in concentration. Jerry filmed from the opposite end of the bars.
“Okay,” the doctor said, stepping back from the table. “Now take it easy, but I want you to try to get to your feet and hold on to these bars.” She gripped Tyler’s left arm firmly, and Claire leapt up and supported his right.
Together they lifted him out of his chair. Tyler gripped the bars on either side and straightened his back. He wobbled for a moment and then stood strong.
“How does it feel?” the doctor asked.
“This is incredible,” he said, looking down at his feet. “I’m standing for the first time in over a year.” He took a wobbly step forward.
Tears pricked at Claire’s eyes again, but she blinked them away. Tyler was amazing. He easily could have given up after his injury and subsequent discharge. Instead, he persevered. Through rehab and his transition to civilian life, he had never let his disability hold him back. He had a job, a home, a ton of hobbies, and a steadfast devotion to his girlfriend. The earth-shattering trauma he had endured did not define him. How did he do it?
“Be careful,” his doctor cautioned. “Don’t do too much too fast. Get comfortable with them.”
Tyler gripped the bars for a moment as he wobbled, but then he took another step. And another. Then he let go of the railing all together. His steps were clumsy, like a baby learning to walk for the first time.
He made it all the way to the end of the parallel bars, turned around, and kept going. He pushed his wheelchair out of the way with one foot and took his hands off the bars.
“Maybe you’d like to take them for a spin out in the hallway?” the doctor asked, holding the door open. “Carefully,” she added.
Tyler straightened his spine and took careful, measured steps across the room. He crossed the threshold, showing no signs of slowing down.Jerry stepped out in front of him to keep filming. Claire and the doctor followed immediately behind, pushing a physical therapy chair in case he lost his footing.
Dozens of workers lined the hallway, dressed in red, white, and blue scrubs. They clapped and cheered as he made his way slowly down the hallway. It was only here, surrounded by a crowd of supporters dressed in the colors of the country he had defended and sacrificed for, that Tyler broke down. Tears streamed down his face, and he slowly made his way, nodding at the doctors and nurses.
All four of Tyler and Ericka’s parents waited at the end of the hallway. Tyler nearly stumbled into his dad’s arms. There wasn’t a dry eye in the bunch.
An hour later,Claire pulled into Tyler’s driveway with a joyful heart. Every cell in her body shimmered with energy and light as she pulled the door open so Tyler could exit. Tyler had reluctantly transitioned back to his wheelchair, as the doctor had firmly instructed him to ease into using his prosthetics. She walked him to the front door, a prosthetic leg in each hand. It was going to be a stunningly beautiful proposal for two wonderful people.
She deposited his new legs in the bedroom. A flash of light from the window revealed the red marks on her wrists where she had rubbed her skin raw trying to escape. The joy evaporated. A knot grew in her stomach.
“Hey, Tyler?” she asked as she turned to leave.
He spun around to face her. “Yeah?”
“Sorry if this is a weird time to ask. How did you…” she paused, searching for the words. “Overcome everything that happened to you?”
Tyler pressed his hands together. “It was tough. Really tough. I was angry for a long time.” He trained his eyes on the bay window in the living room, and he looked a little older than he had in the car.
“I don’t think I would have been able to dig myself out if it wasn’t for my therapist,” He added.
Therapy. It figured.
“He helped me figure out how to let go of the anger, how to move forward,” Tyler continued. “He reminded me that I’m so much more than my limitations. And then there was Ericka, of course. She was my rock, my legs, my wings. She gave me something to fight for. I knew she deserved the man I could be, not the angry, bitter shell that was left behind.”
Claire bit her lip. The feelings were back. Another tear threatened to leak out. “Hey, save that for your proposal speech, okay?”
Tyler’s gaze swung back to her. His brow furrowed. “Are you doing okay? I know you said you didn’t want to talk about it?—”
“I’m fine,” Claire interrupted with a smile. “I just think you’re amazing. And I’m really glad you’re in a better place.” She leaned over and gave him a hug.
“If you ever want to talk about it?—”
“Thank you, Tyler. Really.” She straightened back up. “Seven more days. Oh, here.” She pulled a laminated sheet from her purse and handed it to him. “The master timeline for the next week. I’ll see you soon.”
She stepped down the ramp and got back into her car. Tyler waved from the window, looking slightly less happy than he had earlier. Damn it. She should have just kept her questions to herself.
“Why don’t you just ask your clients about the most traumatic event of their lives, dumbass?” She muttered to herself as she waved back.
As she backed up, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. With her streaky mascara, she now bore an undeniable resemblance to Marilyn Manson. Awesome. That would definitely help repair her relationship with Rachel.
She pulled into a parking spot at the grocery store and refocused on the next task—dinner with Luke’s velociraptor of a mother. She had completely and utterly blown her first impression. Was it even possible to recover from a faux pas of that magnitude? And what would it be like to dine with a frigid, machete-up-the-ass defense attorney like Rachel? Claire had a sinking suspicion that even if she secretly hired a team of three-star Michelin chefs, the dinner would not be up to Rachel’s standards.
Claire stepped inside the store and dialed Nicole’s number.
“Hey, Claire. What’s up?”
“Just trying to mentally prepare for my dinner with the Antichrist.” She inspected a hunk of romaine lettuce and set it back down.
“Oh, god. I forgot that was tonight. What are you going to make?”
“Five courses. Bacon-wrapped scallops, crab bisque, garden salad, chicken marsala, and banoffee pie.”
“That’s ambitious,” Nicole said. There was a shuffling sound on her end. “If that doesn’t convince her that you’re awesome, nothing will.”
“She’s probably a vegetarian.” Luke had declined to offer any details about his mother’s dietary habits. It was not his most helpful moment.
“Then that bitch can have salad and pie.”
Claire snort laughed and clapped a hand over her mouth. “I love you. How’s your day going?”
“Excellent. I’m prepping a shoot for Venor’s alumni event tomorrow.” Nicole was an up-and-coming photographer with her own studio and gallery downtown.
“An alumni event? Why weren’t we invited?”
“We were. You said it was ‘a thinly veiled excuse to squeeze every last penny from our pockets.’”
“Oh, that’s right. And still true.” She tossed a pack of bacon into her cart. “How’s Kyle feeling today?”
“Bit of a headache, but he’ll make it. He spent his lunch looking over the charges against you. He said he has a good feeling about it.”
“A good feeling about me being sued?”
“No, a good feeling that he has grounds to countersue.” Nicole laughed.
“I don’t know what that means. But I trust him. Talk later?”
“Of course. Let me know how everything goes tonight. You’ve got this. Have you been thinking about tomorrow? Are you nervous?” Nicole’s voice was softer now, more hesitant.
Claire’s heart tripped. Barney’s preliminary hearing. She had been so successful in blocking out all thoughts of him that she had almost penciled in a meeting at the same time as the hearing. As if this week wasn’t shitty enough, now she had to go to court and possibly come face-to-face with the man who stabbed her a week ago. Kyle said she would probably be sequestered and wouldn’t even need to come to the courtroom, but what if he was wrong? And she needed to pick her mother up from the airport in the morning. That was always an ordeal.
She took a deep breath. “I don’t want to talk about tomorrow. One crisis at a time.”
“It’ll be okay. We’ll be there for you. All of us,” Nicole said in a soothing tone.
“Thanks, Coli.”
Claire hung up and checked out with a cart full of groceries and a beautiful bunch of gerbera daisies. Maybe a five-course dinner would be enough to redeem her. Mothers always liked her—she was polite, gave thoughtful gifts. Rachel would change her opinion of her, and the pool incident would be a mere footnote in their successful relationship.
When she slammed her car door, she glanced in the rearview mirror. Well, shit. She hadn’t fixed her Marilyn Manson makeup before going into the store. Maybe that’s why the toddler twins in front of her screamed bloody murder when they saw her. Their mother didn’t even ask for a signed copy of a bachelorette party shopping list. Rude.