“She’s strong. She’s doing okay,” Caleb replied.
“I think she misses her friends.”
This had been on his mind for weeks. Mom had little to do, so she was generating activity where none was needed, folding and unfolding his clothes, organizing his things, and who knew what her productivity had done to his apartment over these months. Phoenix was working on convincing her to head home once he’d been discharged to outpatient rehab.
“You’ve got to let go of that Catholic guilt. I think she’s where she wants to be. Her Bunco group can wait.”
“I’m going to encourage her to go back home soon.”
“After your incident in the bathroom? Good luck withthat.”
“That’s ancient history,” Phoenix grumbled, but honestly, there were still days where not existing seemed preferable to his daily struggles.
They finally exited the interstate to a wide avenue that cut through neighborhoods in the suburbs of Bethesda. “You hungry?” Caleb asked, looking around as they slowed from highway velocity to city speed limits.
“Nope. You?”
“No, but Mom made me promise we’d eat regular meals.”
“If you don’t tell, I won’t tell.”
Calebslowedthrough the secondary roads, checking his phone’s map for directions.
“Want me to navigate?” Phoenix offered, holding out his hand.
“No need. We’re here.” Caleb turned into a long drive leading to a complex of white buildings. He headed for a massive guard shack manned by men built like oaks.
“IDs?” asked the first military policeman, and checked his clipboard. Another MP craned a neck thick with muscles to assess the contents of the truck bed, then bent with a flashlight to check the underside of the vehicle.
“Walter Reed National Military Medical Center,” Phoenix read the overhead sign aloud. “Like they need more wounded?”
“Shut the fuck up.” Caleb pulled past the guard shack, following directions to parking. “Open the glove compartment, would you?”
Phoenix pushed the button and peered into a jumble of envelopes, a flashlight and a box of bandages.
Caleb reached in and grabbed a blue and white tag off the top of the pile.
“Great, you’re taking me along because you want better parking?”
“You still don’t get it, do you?” Caleb shook his head. He looped the laminated permit onto his rearview mirror. Phoenix couldn’t identify with the wheelchair stick figure that was supposed to represent someone like him.
They followed a curved path to the car garage. Caleb pulled into an accessible space with a matching blue and white logo.
His brother jumped out and messed around the back of the truck for what seemed like forever. As Phoenix waited, he recalled stories of this place from his military client. Impatient, he finally turned, grabbed his cane and pushed himself out of the car. Leaning against the door, he nudged it shut. As the heavy panel thunked closed, Caleb looked up. He was having trouble untying the wheelchair.
“I just need another minute.”
“Never mind. Nadine says it’s too early for me to be up and around on my own, but if you don’t tell, I won’t. Let’s go in.”
Caleb nodded, catching up with his twin. “MAT-C,” he said, gesturing to the building ahead of them.
“Military Advanced Training Center.” Phoenix remembered the acronym from his client. “This place is famous. It’s one of the best amputee rehab centers in the country,” he said, falling behind his brother’s pace. Every divot and crack in the pavement required his concentration.
Caleb pulled on the metal handle of the door and held it open for Phoenix to hobble through.
The place smelled like a mix of sweat and disinfectant. There was a hum of activity in the corridor that stretched before them.
Caleb shrugged off his leather jacket to reveal a Harley T-shirt and muscular arms.
