CHAPTER 12 LITTLE ACORNS
LITTLE ACORNS
Phoenix
W hat asshole thinks I’m well enough to move to rehab?
A knock at the door announced the arrival of a trim woman, wearing a tracksuit and a cheery attitude.
“Hello, Mr. Walker.” The fit young woman with the ponytail of a cheerleader took in all of him, not averting her eyes but looking straight at him, with warmth and competence. She stuck out her hand. “I’m Nadine, your lead therapist.”
“You want to know how I feel about that?” Phoenix asked dryly.
“Funny one. Physical therapist, not a shrink.”
“Well, good luck with that. Not much left to work with.”
“May seem that way now.” She nodded affably, as she checked him out like a side of beef at a Brazilian barbeque. “You’ve got the physique of a twenty-year-old athlete. Best abs I’ve seen in a while. So, how are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been run over by a train,” he answered, aiming to point out the uselessness of her question. However, there was no dampening her enthusiasm for the body that was in her charge.
“I appreciate that it’s hard to see right now, but I promise, it’s going to get better. First, let’s talk about your goals.”
“Goals? How about getting me out of this nightmare and back to my regular life?”
Her tone softened. “It may seem difficult right now, but that’s exactly what we’re going to work towards.
“Okay, tell me about your regular life. What do you do?” She removed a pen from behind her ear and opened up a tattered notebook.
“I run an ad agency, work out, entertain clients, travel.” In the past, anyway.
“Running an agency is, like, a desk job, right?”
“Yeah.” He could see where she was going with this: that even double amputees can sit at desks. He wanted to resist. She was so damned upbeat.
“And entertaining clients means eating at restaurants, am I right?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“I don’t see any problem there. What about workouts? What do you do?”
“Weights. Running, swimming, biking. I’m a triathlete—” He stopped, remembering the last time he’d competed in a triathlon.
Orchid had come to cheer him on. Caleb, too.
Afterwards, something sharp on the beach had sliced open the bare arch of her foot.
That’s when he learned that she couldn’t stomach the sight of her own blood.
Which meant that now, he would be the one to repulse her.
“It’s a long road. You’ll learn modifications. No reason you can’t continue those things. Plenty of muscles left.”
She was experienced at this. Overcoming every potential objection. He wasn’t buying it. “On holiday, I ski, climb, do water sports.” He wanted her to cringe, to see the desperation he felt mirrored on her face.
She maintained equanimity. “Sounds like fun. You’ll have to adapt how you do things. Prostheses have come a long way. We should be able to set you up for the things you want to try. What questions do you have?”
Questions? How am I going to manage? When will I leave this hospital? Will I be independent? He couldn’t even get out of bed on his own or make it to the john. How am I going to go to work, run a meeting? Will I revert to being Mom’s little boy? It all seemed so overwhelming.
“Here are a few questions. Can I live on my own? Do I have to sit to pee? What about getting laid?”
She wasn’t shocked. “You are going to drive, live on your own, don a prosthesis if you want to stand to pee, and have all the sex you want. We are going to work together towards all those goals—except for the last one. There, you’re on your own!”
In spite of himself, he smiled as she walked out of the room.