He’d given me a new call sign.
Too bad I’ll never get to use it.
My stomach clenched and I hit the morphine again.
“You okay?” Jagger asked, concern etched in the lines across his forehead. “Need me to call the nurse or anything?”
“No. I’ll be fine once that kicks in.”
“Ah. They got you on the good stuff. Good. Fuckin’ shame what happened to you. I can’t… I… I should go. There’s a whole line of people out there waiting to see you.”
The pity in his eyes made me want to scream. “I’ll be out of here in no time, Jagger. I always bounce back.”
I can’t do this.
Yet, I did. A steady stream of visitors followed Jagger. Every one of them brought a gift. They were all sorry. They each made a valiant effort not to look at my stump of an arm or talk about the fact I’d never fly again.
Just as I couldn’t handle one more fake smile or get well soon wish, my parents arrived. I’d talked to them over the phone every day since I woke up. They’d wanted to come immediately, but were looking after two dogs and my borderline senile grandmother. They had to wait for my little brother, Damien, to come home from Berkeley and take over their duties so they could fly down.
Mom’s gaze took me in as she stifled a gasp. “Sweet Jesus.” Her eyes filled with tears that she rapidly blinked away. It was the closest she’d ever come to crying in front of me, and it tugged painfully at my heartstrings.
“I’m fine, Mom. I’m gonna be okay,” I lied, betraying every fear and worry bubbling up inside me.
She nodded and a combination of pride and sorrow pursed her lips and hardened her eyes. “Of course you will, baby. You’re a survivor.”
“No, she’s a fighter,” Dad said, hurrying to my bedside and grabbing my good hand. “We came as soon as we could.”
“You didn’t have to come at all,” I said. “I’m fine and the hospital will be releasing me to go home in a couple of days.”
Mom and Dad shared a look.
“Right,” Dad said. “Fill us in on everything. How long are they planning to keep you and what will you be able to do after you go home?”
This is what I loved about my parents: they were problem solvers. They didn’t bother with regrets or emotions, and wouldn’t waste time telling me they were sorry for something they hadn’t done and couldn’t change. Instead, they’d focus on the next steps, which was exactly what I needed. “As long as there are no more complications, I should be able to go home Friday. I’ll have to limit walking for a while to keep my hip from dislocating again, but they’ll set me up with a wheelchair.”
Dad leaned closer. “Is your house wheelchair accessible?”
I thought about the narrow doorways and small bathroom. “No, but I’m sure I can manage.”
“And what do you plan to do after you get home?”
“It’ll probably be a couple of weeks before I can walk. I’ll use that downtime to research my options. I’m sure there are prosthetic limbs out there that can restore most functionality and make my life normal again.”
My parents shared another look.
They could have filled the room with all the shit they weren’t saying, and it was making me nervous. “What?” I asked.
Dad’s expression softened and he squeezed my hand. “Do you plan to try and stay on with the Air Force, baby girl?”
His question cut like a dagger straight through my heart. Dad had always pushed me, always believed in me, but now, when I needed his unwavering faith… He was doubting me? “How can you even ask me that?”
His brow furrowed and he looked at my stump of an arm. “Monica, you have to be realistic about the situation.”
“Don’t.” I replied, unable to withstand the emotion in his voice. “I’m not ready to give up. I’ll research. I’ll find out what I need to do. I’ve beaten the odds before, Daddy. This is just another hurdle I’ll have to jump. I’m determined and stubborn as hell, remember? If I want to be a pilot, nobody in this world can stop me, but me.” The words felt like lies coming out of my mouth, but I clung to them, needing them to be true. “You taught me that.”
Dad tried to say something, but choked up and looked away.
Mom’s eyes glistened as she stepped closer and laid her hands on Dad’s shoulders. “Whatever happens, we’ll be here to help you.”
