Chapter Three
I wake with a start, my heart hammering in my chest and sweat crawling over my skin. Someone’s close. Watching me. I’m momentarily confused, wondering if I’m stuck in that wretched tent with him. Jace.
“She can’t see.”
“But she’s looking at us. Are you sure?”
The panic quickly subsides when I recognize the soft voices of Forest and Meadow. They’re just curious about the new girl staying in their brother’s room. I sit up on my elbows and force a smile.
“Hey, kiddos. What are you two up to today?”
Their voices are so similar, it’s hard to tell them apart. So when one of them speaks, I have no idea which is which. One day, when they hit puberty, Forest’s voice will likely deepen and make things easier for me.
“Dadda is taking you to the doctor,” one of the twins says. “Maybe they’ll give you a shot to fix your eyes.”
“Can you see me sticking my tongue out?” the other one asks. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
At one time, I’d have at least been able to see blobs or even colors. Lately, it’s just dark and shadowed. It’s gutting to know I’ll likely never recover my vision. My dreams are the only place I’ll be able to truly see.
“Go eat your oatmeal,” Aunt Eve says to them. “Stop bothering Dezzy.”
The twins shuffle off. I turn my head slightly, listening to see if their mother went with them. When the end of the bed depresses as someone sits, I squeak out in surprise. Aunt Eve can be stealthy like her kids. I’ll need to remember this while staying here.
“I’m going to look at your wound.”
I sit up and offer her my bandaged arm. She swiftly removes the bandages, exposing the burning flesh to the cool air. While she inspects it, I chew on my bottom lip.
“It needs to air out,” she finally says. “Leave it off today. Atticus is taking you to see one of his mom’s friends. Get showered and dressed.”
At least with the bandages, I could hide what I did. Letting everyone see the stitches is admitting I let my despair win over.
It didn’t win, though.
You’re still here.
The rest of the morning goes by in a blur.
Anticipation and a healthy dose of trepidation have me a bundle of nerves by the time I step outside the cabin for our appointment.
It’s snowing again, but I love how it feels on my face.
Each flake is delicate but so cold. I inhale the icy air, hoping to invigorate me.
Instead of determination to go to a doctor with Atticus, I suck in the scent of smoke and pine. Familiar. Protective. Home.
“How’s your arm?” Rowdy asks, his massive form blocking the snowflakes from blasting me in the face.
I hold it up and pull down my coat. “Aunt Eve said to let it breathe.”
A calloused fingertip gently dances along the tender flesh near my stitches. “Looks angry.”
“Feels angry.”
He only touches my skin for a few more seconds before stepping away from me. I drop my arm, confused at how my skin tingles. Warmth, starting from the pit of my belly, moves its way up and settles on my neck and cheeks. Rowdy clears his throat and then his guiding hand is at my lower back.
Everyone else in my family likes to manhandle me. If they want to help me, they’ll take my hand or clutch the back of my neck. If it were up to some of my siblings, they would probably love to tie a rope around my waist and drag me along like an unruly pup.
Not Rowdy.
He’s gentle and always gives me an opportunity to make my own way. I like that he treats me like I’m capable rather than a helpless invalid.
The snow isn’t thick where we’re walking. Not like back at home. I’ve heard Wild complaining enough in the past to know Uncle Atticus likes his driveway shoveled for safety reasons. I’m grateful to be able to walk normally without stumbling in snow drifts.
A car door opens and then Rowdy’s hands are at my waist. Even though it startles me each time, I don’t exactly hate it.
It’s less like manhandling and more like him erasing any chance for me to stupidly slip or hurt myself in front of everyone.
But this time when he tries to buckle me in, I stop him, grabbing his arm.
“I’ve got it,” I tell him firmly. “I’m not a child.”
He grunts as though he may want to argue, but he doesn’t utter another word. The door closes and I’m able to put my seat belt on without assistance.
More people climb in and then we’re on our way.
It takes a few seconds to realize the only ones in the vehicle are me, Rowdy, and Uncle Atticus.
I’m kind of glad Wild stayed back. He’s cool, but he’s also a lot.
At least Uncle Atticus drives in silence rather than assaulting our ears with stupid music.
“So what kind of doctor is this?” Rowdy asks. “An eye doctor?”
“Gwen runs the Blind and Visionally Impaired Youth program in town. She’s a transition specialist for teens and also teaches at the local college.”
A flicker of hope ignites inside me. When they mentioned a doctor, I thought I’d be going about my arm. Or worse, I thought it would be for the reason my arm is injured. Not someone who specializes in vision impairment.
Rowdy, satisfied with that answer, asks about where we’ll eat lunch. This sparks a lively discussion about cheeseburgers, fries, and milkshakes. Admittedly, in this car ride to this Gwen lady, I’ve felt the best in probably two years. Maybe leaving our homestead truly was what I needed.
We drive for about an hour and finally park. Rowdy opens my door for me, hoists me out of the vehicle, and places me on hard, snow-shoveled pavement.
“Are we going to run into any problems?” Rowdy asks, voice low. “With, you know, where we came from?”
“Nah. Mom already told her about how you all live off-grid. Payment will be handled discreetly. It’s going to be fine.”
Rowdy’s palm finds my lower back. “Hope so. If they get weird, we’re out of here.”
I bristle at his words. We’ve barely stepped out of the vehicle and Rowdy’s ready to hightail it out of here. He wants to protect me, and I get it, but I want to give this place a fair chance. This could be good for me.
“Can we not shut it down before we even try?” I mutter in a terse tone. “Please?”
Rowdy’s fingers go from gently guiding to clutching the back of my coat like I might run away from him. It makes my heart rate quicken and the urge to escape nearly overwhelming.
“Watch your step,” he instructs, then tugs me aside.
Oh.
So maybe he’s not trying to keep me from this place.
Embarrassment heats my skin again. Thankfully, Rowdy goes back to his usual guiding. We remain quiet as we enter the building. As soon as the door opens, I’m hit with an apple and cinnamon scent that puts me at ease. Smells are definitely a thing for me. If the smell is wrong, I can’t be around it.
Like Jace?
The sudden thought of his ripe, nauseating breath tickling over my face as he…
“You’re shaking,” Rowdy growls under his breath. “We don’t have to do this. We can leave now.”
I shake my head sharply, frustrated that he’s mistaking my reaction for fear of this place rather than the truth. “I want to be here, Rowdy. Stop hovering.”
It’s mean and I don’t intend to be so harsh, but my emotions are scattered. The last thing I need is for Rowdy to treat me like I’m made of glass.
He doesn’t respond. I’ve hurt his feelings. Wonderful. Ugh.
“Oh, Atticus, how’ve you been, hon?” a woman asks from somewhere close.
They chat in lowered voices and then she tells him she’ll take us to the back. We follow after them and once inside a room and the door closed behind us, Rowdy shows me over to a chair where I can sit.
“Hello?” a pleasant voice chirps, along with a knock. “Destiny Jamison? You in here?”
“Yes,” both Uncle Atticus and Rowdy answer at once for me.
“Are either of you named Destiny Jamison?” the woman asks politely, but with a twinge of annoyance in her tone.
“No, sorry,” Uncle Atticus mutters.
“No need to be sorry,” she says curtly, “but here at the Northern Lights Vision Rehabilitation Center, patient independence is at the top of our core values.”
“I’m Destiny,” I say softly. “This is my uncle, Atticus, and my brother Rowdy.”
Light footsteps glide my way and a lovely floral scent wraps me in a warm hug. “I’m Dr. Gwen Simmons. Call me Gwen. I’d like to shake your hand, Destiny. It’s about chest level to you. Take your time finding it.”
I reach to where she indicated and take her dainty hand in mine. “Nice to meet you.”
“Pleasure is all mine.” She pulls her hand away and then I hear a chair squeak as she sits. “Are you comfortable with your family present or would you like to speak alone?”
“Uh, maybe with them present this time?”
“It’s your decision. Are you saying that because you think they want you to say that?”
Rowdy grunts in disproval. Uncle Atticus softly sighs as though she’s being unreasonable with her direct questions.
“No,” I say firmly. “I want them to be here this time. At least until I know what to expect.”
“Great,” Gwen says, a smile in her voice. “Though I have ‘doctor’ in my name, I’m not a medical one or even in the field of ophthalmology. I’ve gone to school for years and years to earn it in specific studies, mainly specializing in transition for low vision and blind youth.”
My heart sinks. “So you’re not here to fix me?”
“Fix you?” Gwen scoffs. “You’re not broken, my dear.
In fact, part of my job is to help you see that.
To empower you. I’m here to help you build confidence in a literal dark world, provide mentorship and emotional counseling, show you cool tools and independence skills, and most importantly, introduce you to a supportive community to help you navigate through this journey. ”
Oh.
There are others like me? A whole community?
“But what about her eyes?” Rowdy cuts in. “Aren’t you even going to try to find out what’s wrong with them?”
I recoil at his words. She just said she’s not here to fix me.
“Part of this journey will require some medical diagnosis, yes,” she says coolly. “However, her diagnosis doesn’t define her.” Then she speaks to me in a gentler tone. “This is about education and improving your quality of life, Destiny. All aspects and in whatever capacity that will mean.”
It’s strange, but I feel a connection with this woman. She treats me like a person. Not just one of Mom and Dad’s many, many children. Not the girl who was raped and lost her rapist’s baby. Not the girl who’s going fully blind and requires assistance with nearly everything.
I want to be useful and valuable and enjoy my life. I certainly don’t enjoy it now.
“I want to do this,” I tell her, nodding. “And the next meeting, I’d like to come alone.”
Rowdy, though silent, lets his feelings on the matter be known by the cracking of his knuckles. I can tell he’s angry that I want to do this alone, but I don’t care. I’m tired of being suffocated by family who have good intentions but are stifling the real me.
“Wonderful. How about this: I’ll text you a schedule that’ll include some testing, a diagnosis to discover your actual condition name, therapy sessions, and even a meetup with some of the other teens we treat. Sound like a plan?”
“I’d love that,” I murmur, “but I don’t have a phone.”
“That was on my to-do list today,” Uncle Atticus interjects, shame in his tone. “Since my niece and nephew will be staying with me for a while, I know they’ll need them. They can’t get service where they live, so they never needed one.”
Gwen rolls her chair over to me, once again gracing me with her scent of flowers. I bet she’s a beautiful woman. Confident and sure of herself. It’s an aura I can feel radiating from her.
“I’m about to open up a whole new world for you,” she says softly, meant only for me. “I’m so happy you’re trusting me with your care. I won’t let you down.”
A smile tugs at my lips.
Finally, something in my life to look forward to.