Chapter Four #3
“Mr. Ramesly, you cannot just walk away,” Kelly said as she chased him with the walker.
“I think you hurt his feelings,” Max was still chuckling while he wiped his eyes. “Come back, cranky pants.”
Michael walked straight and with pride. He had been the head of a multi billion dollar company. Cranky pants!
“I am sorry. I apologize. I was entirely unprofessional saying that. It slipped out. I sometimes call my son that when he is having a bad day.”
He ignored her and counted doors in his head.
“Please don’t let my boss know. I need this job. I love my job and normally I am very good at it,” Kelly had to lengthen her stride to keep up. “I have a son which I need to provide for. I know that is low, to bring him into this but I really need this job.”
Michael stopped at his doorway. He sighed. He was sighing a lot these days. He looked down at Kelly.
“I am so sorry,” she repeated the apology. “It will never happen again.”
He nodded. It was not like he could complain to anyone anyways. Perhaps he had been a little moody today. Then again, it had not been the best morning.
“Thank you! I promise, you are released from the belt and walker,” she said excitedly and hurried the offending piece of equipment back to the physical therapist.
“Feeling a little better after that temper tantrum?” Max asked, amused.
Michael gave him a look, his expression telling Max not to start anything. He turned and went into the room, sitting down on the edge of the bed.
“You are looking a lot better than yesterday,” Max remarked, still smiling. He took the chair and put his feet up on the bed beside Michael. He looked entirely relaxed. Michael looked at the feet pointedly, but Max didn’t move them.
“I talked to the nurses at the station. They say you have an appointment with a speech therapist today. Plus, more head scans,” Max folded his hands on his stomach, slouching comfortably. “I heard you refused the pain pills this morning.”
His pain had been at a two out of ten. It was manageable. He did not feel the need to swallow pills for it. As for speech therapy, Michael didn’t even want to think about that waste of time.
“Hey,” Max dropped his feet and sat up, suddenly serious. “I get that you don’t want to be here. No one likes to be sick in the hospital, least of all one of us. I would hate to be in your shoes. But you could cut the nurses some slack. They are trying to help you.”
Michael sighed and gave a half nod.
“Good,” Max grabbed the remote to the television. Michael wanted to say that he had not bothered to have it hooked up. “Here is the game.”
Baseball. The Yankees were playing Boston. Max must have paid to connect the television service up. Or added it to Michael’s hospital bill. Max had gotten comfortable in the chair again, feet up on the bed. Michael didn’t even push them off. He simply leaned back in the bed to watch the game.
∞
Ann had gone home and taken a long hot shower.
She switched out some items in her bag and cancelled a couple of appointments that she had.
They could wait. She even managed an hour nap before heading back to the hospital.
On the way, she bought a day planner so that she could start managing Michael is personal life with it.
Ann would keep track of his appointments and medications with it.
This morning had been a disaster. She felt like Kelly was rushing Michael.
Getting out of bed to shower and getting dressed when it was obvious that he was dizzy had been a bad idea.
Especially right after breakfast. Fortunately, Ann had not gotten any of the vomit on her.
Poor Michael had worn most of it. He looked so pale, in pain and completely mortified.
Kelly had simply and cheerfully called in reinforcements to get him into the shower.
They had told Ann to go away for a while.
Michael was scheduled to go walking so there was no point in her waiting, staring at the walls.
Ann had protested their plans. Michael did not seem in good enough shape to do what they were asking of him. Kelly had firmly and merrily pushed her out of the room. Ann hoped they knew what they were doing.
Now she was returning, fully expecting Michael to be spent.
Instead, she could hear Max arguing. She picked up her pace.
“He was out! No question about it,” Max exclaimed loudly.
Ann slowed her pace and looked in the room. Michael was giving Max a look like he was crazy and made the universal ‘safe’ sign.
“You need glasses. So does the ump,” Max slouched back, his feet on the bed where Michael was comfortably reclined, one leg bent as they both stared at the television. “See! Right there, the ball beats the runner.”
Michael grimaced and pointed to the television.
“Well, from that angle sure, but from the first angle they showed, he was totally out,” insisted Max. He winked at Ann then turned his attention back to the television.
Both of them suddenly groaned at one of the plays that were made.
Ann leaned in the doorway. She had been so worried and here he was, enjoying himself with Max.
Max had a real way of connecting with people and bringing them out of their shell.
Ann had missed him over the past few years, and she was glad that Michael and Max appeared to have repaired the rift in their relationship.
Michael saw her and smiled. She walked over to the bed, and he made room for her. There was nowhere else for her to sit unless she sat on Max, so she decided to share the bed. It was not like a million people hadn’t already seen her snuggled up to him sleeping.
Max raised an eyebrow, but she ignored him. “What is the score?”
“Boston is spanking the Yankees. Michael keeps telling me they will catch up. I think it is a done game. Bottom of the seventh.”
Michael shrugged. He mimed a walking figure with his hand.
“No way. Strike out.”
“What?” Ann looked at Max.
“We are predicting what is going to happen with the new batter. Michael says he is going to walk.”
Ann watched the pitch fly in. It was a ball. “Pitcher is going to bean him.”
Both men looked at her, so she asked, “Why not?”
“Unlikely,” Max said.
“It could happen,” she insisted. “If I were pitching, I would bean him before I walked him. Especially looking at his stats.”
“Well then it is a good thing you don’t pitch.”
“I used to,” revealed Ann.
Michael knew she had pitched for her competitive high school team.
His private investigator had turned up the information because yes, he had yielded to the temptation of spying on her.
Ann even had been offered a college scholarship to pitch.
She had turned it down to come work for him and Michael had no idea why.
Now he supposed he would never get to ask her.
“You what?” Max asked absently.
The pitch was made and sure enough, even though the batter jerked to try to get away, it hit him off the ankle. He danced around in pain.
“I pitched,” Ann said in satisfaction.
Michael made a motion with his arm. He already knew the answer but put in the question like he didn’t.
“Nope. Not windmill. Regular pitching. I was supposed to go to college pitching. They thought I might make it to the state ladies’ team and maybe even go national.”
“Why didn’t you?” Max asked, suddenly interested.
“I didn’t want to. I loved to play the game but to make it into a job? No thank you.” She smiled remembering. “I did recreational for a while but got so busy with work that I just gave it up.”
Michael thought that was a little sad. Ann had given up a sport that she loved.
“Mr. Ramesly? It is time for your speech therapy appointment.”
Michael grimaced but got up to dutifully to go with the nurse.
Ann immediately grabbed his arm. “Are you going to be okay?”
He nodded, gave her hand a squeeze then followed the nurse.
“Ann, I know you want to protect him after all he has been through. We all do. But we need to let him decide what he can and cannot do,” Max admonished softly.
“You didn’t see what he went through this morning,” frowned a concerned Ann.
“No, but I did find him capable of what he was up against this afternoon,” Max chuckled. “One of the nurses called him cranky pants.”
“What?” Ann was angry. “Who?”
“He deserved it,” said Max. “Plus, it motivated him. I would not get upset over it. The whole episode was good for him. Michael needs to do things for himself rather than being pandered to.”
Ann fell silent. Max was right. Eventually they were going to have to let Michael do things on his own. Maybe not everything though. “You are right, I suppose.”
“I am always right,” Max said confidently. “Except when I am wrong.”
Ann smiled. “Tell me about this girl you are engaged to.”
“My favorite subject,” he smiled happily. “Her name is Piaget, and she is the most talented, kind, amazing woman who for some strange reason, likes me.”
Ann watched Max get animated as he described the woman he loved. That was what she wanted. Someone who would be happier just for having her, for loving her. Her heart ached with a bit of envy.
∞
Michael did not envy the speech therapist his job.
Ted shoved his glasses up his pudgy nose again and showed off the cartoonish picture cards proudly.
He explained that while Michael would never be able to use the word cards, there was no reason that he could not learn to communicate with the picture cards.
“For instance, if you wanted an apple, you might grab the card that has fruit and show it to the person behind the counter in the cafeteria,” Ted held up the card for emphasis. Michael wondered if he had ever worked with adults before.
“Then the clerk might ask what type of fruit you wanted. You could point and nod until you got the apple.”
Maybe he only worked with mentally challenged or brain damaged adults.
Brain damaged like him. Michael resolutely pushed the thought away.
“Or you might want to take a walk. Then you could hold up the walking guy here,” Ted tapped the card.