CHAPTER 3
Claire
“Claire. Claire! Come fast.”
I drop my eyeliner on the bathroom countertop and head toward my teenage sister’s room.
“What’s wrong?”
“My nose is bleeding!” She shows me her tissue containing a small amount of blood.
“It’s okay, Audrey. It’s just a nosebleed. I get them too sometimes.”
“I don’t know, Claire. I read on Reddit that…” I smile at her comment, tuning her out as I sense her following me back to the bathroom. I need to hurry up, or I’ll be late for work.
“It can also be a chest infection, you know.”
I sigh, putting the creamy blush I applied on my cheeks back into my makeup bag. Then I turn to Audrey, setting both hands on her shoulders. She’s staring at me as if she’s carrying the weight of the world.
Mentally, sometimes I think she is.
Her dark brown eyes are piercing my soul because she’s worried. She’s always worried, and that worries me because the world is beautiful, so beautiful, yet she’s too busy worrying about nosebleeds to notice.
I push a lose strand of hair behind her ear, staring at her big cheeks.
“We’ll monitor the situation, then we’ll go from there. You have allergies too. It could be that.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” She scurries off to her bedroom—no doubt to research more—as I take a deep breath before applying my apricot facial mist.
I’m wearing light purple scrubs today with a matching satin headband. I got a haircut recently, right below my shoulders with curtain bangs.
I’m all ready for another Tuesday with Harvey Stark. I’ve been visualizing finally graduating from the University of Illinois Chicago and being in the workforce, except the first few weeks haven’t gone too well.
Harvey’s quite the moody character.
After finishing college and the licensing process to become a nurse and physical therapy assistant, I took one of the first jobs that I applied for at a rehab center.
Harvey’s PT, Stefan McKleen, is often fully booked, so that’s where I come in. As an in-home patient nurse and physical therapy assistant, I’m able to keep up with Harvey’s daily training routine by following Stefan’s program.
Last Wednesday night, Gemma called and asked me if I would work with Harvey full-time, since she was fully employed now. I agreed, and he seemed aggravated when I told him the next day, as if Gemma hadn’t confirmed this with him.
We’re still on the topic of nosebleeds by the time my sister and I are in the car on our way to her high school. Some days, like today, when my mom has early meetings as a public servant director, I take Audrey to school.
“Did Mom tell you Mrs. Hilton gave me a shit grade on my English essay?” she asks, her feet up on the dashboard.
“Audrey, sweetie, please put your feet down…” I don’t know how many times I have to ask her this—teenagers sometimes, I swear. “It’s more dangerous than a nosebleed.” She’s smirking when I face her, which is when I realize I haven’t answered her question. “And yes, Mom told me, I’m sorry. I know that you worked hard on that essay.”
“I did. That teacher has no idea what it’s like to be me! I have really low energy lately. It took everything for me to finish it. I’m telling you, the audacity of this one…”
I laugh because my sister has a way with words.
She has multiple sclerosis. She was diagnosed a few years prior, and being a teen and one with MS at that, she must prioritize her sleep to combat extreme fatigue.
“My essay was brilliant—poetic, even—and it was completely wasted on someone with an old-school mindset.”
“What was the topic?” I ask at a red light a few minutes away from our destination.
“Shakespeare and love.”
“Oh, Audrey…what did you say?”
Her stare tells me she can’t believe I even have to ask. I already know what my sister thinks of modern love, much less Shakespeare, but color me curious. Besides, I never know with her. She still manages to surprise me after seventeen years.
“I basically wrote how stupid I thought it was… Juliet should’ve married for money, could’ve saved herself the trouble.”
I shake my head before telling her, “One day, you’ll meet someone and understand all about it, girlie. Love is precious. It’s worth it.”
“Hmm, considering Dad cheated on Mom repeatedly then left her to be there for his other family, I’d say that’s a hard pass .”
I sigh, and once we’re parked, she kisses my cheek before grabbing her backpack and getting out of the car.
We have a good life—my mom, Audrey, and me. Our circle is small yet joyful despite the ups and downs with Audrey’s health issues.
Meanwhile, my dad’s always been in and out of our lives and mostly just provides for us financially.
I wish my sister could see the beauty in life, in every situation. Mom and Dad could’ve stayed together, but my mom would’ve been miserable because of my dad’s behavior.
I want to tell Audrey sometimes that the way she views love, as nothing more than a financial transaction, is the same predicament my parents are in, and it bothers my sister—a lot.
But she’ll learn as she grows up and meets new people and hopefully gains a new perspective.
I hand Harvey his medication in his room. He shoves them onto his tongue one after the other with as much disdain as he can muster before downing them with water.
It feels inappropriate being here, in his room, but the guy practically lives here!
I’m about to tell him that he should open the blinds in his room to let in sunlight, but I simply do it instead.
It’s too dark. This can’t be good for anyone’s mood.
When I’m finished, though he doesn’t turn to look at me, too busy killing soldiers on his flat-screen TV, he says, “Happy now?”
“Mm-hmm, yes actually.” I smile, despite the sarcasm in his tone.
I am happy though; the sun makes me happy. A lot of things do, I guess. Because why not? We never know when we’re going to leave this world. We might as well make every second count.
Good or bad.
If it’s good, then that’s great, and if it’s bad, then you know that good times are around the corner.
Perhaps I get it from my mama, her free-spirited joie de vivre.
Audrey ended up with my dad’s negative viewpoint. I won’t lie, I feel bad for them sometimes. It must be tiring.
That’s when I notice the mess on Harvey’s lowered desk in the corner of his room. Piles and piles of glasses and some bowls all over.
The mess, the darkness, his somber mood—if depression had a name, his would be it.
My fingers are itching over his desk because I could do it, clean his space, even though it’s not my place to do so.
“Don’t.” His voice is stern, leaving no room for debate.
I blush, knowing I’ve been caught. I pocket my hands inside my scrubs, wishing to ease the awkward tension.
“You know what they say…a cluttered desk means a cluttered mind.”
He scoffs. “Trust me, Claire , a cleaner room won’t diminish my cluttered mind.”
He looks at me with an intense, fevered stare, his blue eyes warning me to leave him be and that he won’t abide changing, before he continues gaming.
“Come out in ten minutes for training.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
I close the door behind me and release a breath.
Then I place all my equipment around the living room, including mats, parallel bars, weights, and straps.
When Harvey shows up, he wheels himself to the kitchen chair next to the bars. He’s wearing a loose white muscle shirt that covers the entirety of his shoulders and gray pants.
I quickly look away, not wanting to ogle him, even though the man is beautiful.
“I don’t need your help,” he reminds me as he gets up from his chair and holds on to the end of one of the bars.
I nod. “Do you prefer me at your front or back?”
“Are you asking me if I prefer being the little spoon or big spoon?”
I laugh, shaking my head at his comment.
“The front is fine,” he says then quietly, looking pensive.
“Okay,” I say, going around one of the parallel bars to stand in front of him. I give him a bit of space, yet I’m close enough in case he needs me.
As he starts taking a few steps, one of his legs is shaking more than the other. His knuckles are white as he holds on tightly to the metal.
He breathes deeply and pauses, a million emotions swimming in his stark blue eyes when our gazes lock.
“I have gloves with a good grip if you want.” I step closer, seeing the perspiration on his neck and arms. The angry-looking phoenix tattoo on his forearm is on full display. And while it looks nice on him, I can’t help but wonder if he’s always had a cluttered mind. Or if his accident was the sole perpetrator of this change.
I read his file.
I know what happened to him.
Still, I wonder…
He takes one more step. His arm starts shaking, so I make the mistake of moving closer to him. His sharp breathing intertwines with mine, and I swallow when he stares at my lips before looking me dead in the eye.
I can almost see it—first, the shock from our little moment, then the frustration of it. It’s as if he’s blaming me for doing my job. I didn’t expect my patient to be this gorgeous twenty-four-year-old. Yet it shouldn’t matter. If I see he’s struggling, I must step up.
“Back off. I’m not about to drop dead.”
I bite my lip, backing away.
He’s so disrespectful sometimes.
I move from the space between the bars and position myself at his back instead.
To avoid having another moment with him.
To avoid frustrating him further.
If ever he needs me, I’m right here behind him, ready to come to his rescue, and letting him save face because it doesn’t take a genius to understand that his pride is tremendously wounded.
I wish I could make him laugh or see the beauty in everyday life.
But I’m not here for that.
I’m here to assist him with physical therapy, ensure he takes his meds, and make sure he moves around during the day.
A part of me is relieved that he has good bladder control and can shower by himself.
If our breathing in close proximity does something to me, imagine my seeing him naked. Now that would be pretty awkward.
I’m a professional though. If I needed to, I would.
Harvey takes one more step, then another, before his legs shake horribly. I put my arms around his torso just in case.
“I have you,” I whisper, helping him get through this moment.
He clears his throat, a bit out of breath. “I’m fine. Today’s not a good day. Let’s just do the other exercises.”
“Okay, grab on to this bar.” He puts his hands around it while I take the other bar closer to the wall. I bring his kitchen chair over, and he sits on it without any struggle.
“Thanks. You’re not going to give me a speech about not finishing?”
I’m taken aback by his question. “Of course not, Harvey. You listen to your body. If today’s not a good day, then perhaps tomorrow will be.”
A solemn expression comes over his face, and he simply nods. Then he proceeds with weight training and wrist exercises.
I don’t bother him.
I just tell him what I want from him. Otherwise, I stay quiet.
The only thing speaking is our eyes. He’s barely looked away from me since I made that comment about listening to his body.
I muster every cell within me to remember that he’s my patient and he has a girlfriend. Yet as he hands me back the weights after multiple sets and then pushes his hand through his disheveled straight blond hair, I wonder for a split second what it would be like to see him sweat without a shirt on.
I take the weights back to the corner of the mat, knowing I need to relax. The last thing I should be doing is lusting after him.
So I shift my focus.
I avoid his gaze and simply take notes on my work iPad to finalize his chart. I let him know that we’ll be working on legs tomorrow.
“Alright” is all he says before transferring to his wheelchair and going off to his room. He shuts the door louder than necessary, as if I’m responsible for ruining his day.
I sigh deeply.
I don’t know what his problem is. I don’t know if he’s always like this or if he simply hates me.
Later, I text Audrey to tell her I’ll pick her up from school. She spends the entire ride home and while I’m making dinner chattering about girls in her class who post slutty videos online. I remind her not to judge and to keep doing her own thing, but her gossiping tongue can’t resist.
When my mom comes home later in the evening, we all eat together, listening to Audrey recapitulate her day. When it’s time to clean up afterward, though, my sister’s off to her room in no time, while I’m stuck putting the dishes in the dishwasher.
“You cooked, Claire. I’ll do it,” my mom tells me, shooing me away.
I don’t object. I prepare two teacups for us and bring them to the dining table, where I sit, watching my mom, her medium blonde hair tied back smoothly.
I can still remember my younger days when I looked up to her and wished dearly and enthusiastically that I could grow up to be just like her.
I admire her.
She works hard, and despite her busy career, she always managed to prioritize me and my sister.
“How was your day with your patient?”
Patient. It feels weird calling Harvey that.
“His name’s Harvey. He’s…difficult.”
“More difficult than your baby sister?” She smiles, wiping her hands with a towel once she’s done cleaning everything up.
I laugh. “Yes, way more.”
“Well, I’m sure he’ll come around,” she says, sitting down. “Give it time.”
“I know.”
I drink the hot liquid, watching my mom do the same with such calm. I wonder sometimes what she saw in my dad or how she birthed my sister, since they represent powerful storms.
But perhaps that’s what they don’t tell you—that there’s power in serenity, that calmness is a pure state of mind, a powerful state of nature. In the heat of chaos, calmness can be the hardest thing to master, yet here she is, my beautiful mama, the epitome of it in my eyes.
“Sometimes even a decade in school can’t prepare you for the real world,” my mom adds. “You won’t learn until you’re out there, on your own. Once you do it, though, it’ll be easier.”
“Yes, you’re probably right.”
She winks at me, her acrylic fingertips tapping my hand. And that’s all the pep talk I need.