Eric Hawke, her husband, had been badly burned on one leg while fighting to save Scarlet from the big fire. He’d had a dozen surgeries and months of painful rehab before he’d finally returned to work at full capacity as the town’s fire chief.
Vicki sipped her tea. “How areyou, Megs?”
The question caught Megs off guard.
She didn’t often talk about her emotions with anyone other than Mitch. Still, she answered as honestly as she could, determined not to break down. “I … I don’t know. I keep telling myself I’m fine as long as he’s fine, that the better he gets, the better I get. But this hit me hard. It’s going to be a while before I truly feel like myself again.”
The women stayed, helped with the laundry, then left her to pack up, sending their best wishes to Mitch. Megs thanked them, once again wondering why she hadn’t wanted to move to Scarlet.
She drove back down the canyon, not wanting to be late for dinner. She parked outside the facility, carried in the duffel bag of clean clothes, and signed in at the front desk. Then she made her way to his room to find that dinner had just started and he was in the cafeteria. She set the duffel down on his bed and hurried to join him.
But when she walked in, the place was dark.
“Mitch?”
The lights came on, twenty or so voices shouting, “Surprise!” as well as they could—victims of strokes, brain tumors, and head injuries sitting around a long table, some in wheelchairs, all with their best smiles on their faces.
Then Mitch stood, love shining in his eyes, a cupcake in his hand, a single candle sticking out of it. “Ha… happ …y Bir..thday.”
Happy Birthday?
“Oh!” She made eye contact with everyone at the table, people in rough circumstances, each of them eager to feel and share joy again. “Thank you, all! Would you believe that I completely forgot?”
The gleam in Mitch’s eyes said quite clearly, “I didn’t.”
Chapter 21
Mitch strappedinto the harness for the treadmill, then waited for Rodrigo to double-check it. His walking ability and balance had improved enough that he could probably do this without the harness. But then he’d climbed with a helmet since the 1990s and had only needed it once.
Rodrigo did a safety check. “You’re going to be doing all the work this time—no support. Okay, you’re good to go.”
Rodrigo started the treadmill, increasing the speed gradually until Mitch was walking at a fast clip. “Now I know how you got to the top of Mt. Everest, man. You are one determined dude.”
Then Rodrigo tapped a button, and the theme song fromRockycame over the room’s sound system, Rodrigo singing along. “That’s you, Mitch! Guts and glory.”
Mitch couldn’t help but smile despite a sense of embarrassment. A few months ago, walking on a treadmill without support wouldn’t have meant anything to him. Now, it meant everything. His care team had decided last week that he could be discharged tomorrow and finish his rehab on an outpatient basis.
He’d worked hard these past couple of weeks, buoyed by Megs’ love and her faith in him. He didn’t know where he’d be right now without her—her smile, her support, her strength beside him. Every day, he reminded himself what she’d said about his rehab being a kind of climb. Step by step, day by day, he was healing.
Knowing he could still make love to Megs had made him feel whole again. They’d always had an incredible sex life, and losing that part of himself, that part of who they were together, would have been hard for him to face. He couldn’t wait to sleep in his own bed with her beside him, though, honestly, it had added a little spice lately to wonder whether one of the medical staff was going to catch them screwing in his room.
Megs was in Denver this afternoon, filming her part of the public service announcement that she and the dirtbags were making together. That was Megs—always fighting to turn tragedy into a chance for good. If it saved a single life, then perhaps everything they’d gone through would serve some purpose.
When the session was over, he helped Rodrigo remove the harness and stepped down from the treadmill.
Rodrigo gave Mitch a fist bump. “Congratulations on your last PT session with me. It was a real pleasure getting to meet you. It’s not often we have celebrities here.”
“Thank you, Rod…reego. I am … grateful.”
“Before you leave, can I come by and get your autograph?”
Mitch nodded. “Come … visit … us in … Scar… Scarlet.”
“I might take you up on that.”
Mitch went from there to his speech therapy session, which was as frustrating as ever. Yes, he was putting more words together, but it was still a struggle to communicate. While Megs seemed to read his mind—she’d always been far more sensitive than most people knew—that wasn’t true of the rest of the world. Going home meant facing his disability in a way he hadn’t so far.
Wilma Atcitty, his speech pathologist, was more upbeat. “I know you don’t think you’re improving, but you’ve come so far in such a short time. You’re going to love your new therapist. I’ve worked with Angela before. And now for your favorite part of the day—singing.”
