He stared at her, the magnitude of his adaptations dawning on him one icy trickle at a time.Does this mean I’m going to become a suction-cup brush-carrying freak?If he had to think about how to wash a hand, what other thousand things would he have to do differently?
The nurse, moving to the next task, wheeled his chair adjacent to the toilet.
“First, we’ll practice. Just put one hand here,” she said, indicating the right-hand grab bar, “and an elbow here.” She pointed to the wheelchair’s armrest. Her stern expression left him no choice. He did as instructed. She steadied an arm around him, helping him push up from the upholstered seat to sit on the porcelain one.
His brother, watching from the doorway, scowled, hands on hips.
Phoenix was clothed and this was just practice, but still, he felt the loss of privacy.
“Sitting to pee for the rest of my life is going to suck,” Phoenix said, trying to keep the sharp edge in his voice more ironic than self-pitying.
“Who cares,” Caleb declared. “I’m goddamned grateful to see you mobile again.”
“This isn’t fuckin’ mobile.”
“Language,” Mom scolded.
Caleb’s glower deepened. “That’s mobile enough. You could’ve died. I freakin’ said goodbye.”
The nurse reversed their steps and situated Phoenix back in his chair.
“Sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Phoenix said, chastised. Nothing felt right. Not only the burning through his limbs and unclear thinking, but also his moods which swung as wildly as a carnival ride.
The nurse pushed from behind and dragged the IV pole. “Let’s get you back to bed. I want to give you medication so I can change your bandages, check the swelling, and let you rest. Then the psychotherapist will be in later.”
Psychotherapist?Great. What lies will I have to tell to keep this therapist off my back? That I’m adjusting? Glad to be alive?
Good thing ad guys excelled at spinning stories.
CHAPTER 11
I THINK I FOUND THE CULPRIT
Phoenix
Sascha hid any shock over Phoenix’s bandaged injuries with a cherry red pout. “Hullo, luv,” she said, cupping his cheek and leaning over his hospital bed for a kiss.
She stood back studying him with a cock of her head, not breaking eye contact.
Smart move; don’t look at the missing parts.
Then she loosened the drawstring of her knapsack. “Caleb and I stopped by your place. He’s parking the truck.”
Out tumbled familiar white T-shirts and navy-blue gym shorts. Folded, the emblazoned logos weren’t visible. Even so, he knew which ones represented his undergrad and graduate schools. Not long ago, those institutions seemed to hold importance in his life. Now, nothing did.
“How are you?” she asked, piling up workout gear on top of his bedspread.
“What doyouthink?” he snarled.
“I think you’ve had a run of tough luck, and it’s a good thing you’re strong.” She stacked the neat pile on his side table, then shook out a shirt and shorts. “How about these?” she asked, holding up the items to model them for him.
He ignored the clothing. “I’ll tell you the God’s honest truth. I’m not strong enough for this.”
She put one hand over his, the flowing sweep of a tattooed pattern made visible as her sleeve hiked up.
“I think you’re strong enough, luv. So does Caleb. So does your mom. And you’re not alone. Look how many people care about you.” She waved a hand to indicate the flowers and cards that lined the dresser top and windowsill. “Now let’s get you out of that hospital gown.”
“Sascha, are you crazy?” He felt like exploding. “Who cares what I’m wearing?”
