Compass (Siren Songs Book 2) (15 page)

I grunt, not really in acceptance or disbelief, but just acknowledging I’m listening.

“You have more to live for than most anyone here. You have a wife who needs you, tons of friends, and a great job. You have decades in front of you. Your choice is purely mental, but until you make it, the best doctors in the world won’t be able to help you regain anything you’ve lost. So, you ask how I do this? I do it because I’m inspired by people twice my age conquering things I can’t imagine. The joy on their faces when they take their first unassisted step again, or when they’re able to hold something, or even speak a sentence, those are the victories driving me. I want to see your victories too.”

Every word she utters is genuine; she believes what she’s saying. She doesn’t see darkness here; she sees battles won, goals met. I want to grab hold of her optimism but can’t seem to.

“Maybe you should ask Piper to join us for a session tomorrow.” Her face radiates delight at the suggestion.

“Why would I want to invite my wife into my struggles? I don’t want her to see me like this.”

“That’s exactly why you should ask her to come. You don’t want her to see defeat, and it might encourage you to push beyond your current plateau.”

My plateau. In order to hit a plateau, I would have had to have a climb, and right now I feel lost in a valley.

She nudges my side with her elbow. “What do you say? I think it might make her feel better to know you’re making progress here. She doesn’t like you being here any more than you like it.”

I shrug my shoulders in defeat, or maybe it’s acceptance. “Okay.”

My time with Allison is more productive today than in all the sessions I’ve had put together. I had sent Piper a text asking her to come to my physical therapy session tomorrow, which she had excitedly accepted, and I have to give her something I’m proud of.

Allison spent two hours with me, holding me up with a belt as I clumsily made my way down a hall. I was only able to put together six consecutive steps before she had to catch me and ease me into a wheelchair but it was six more steps than I’ve taken since the stroke. They were ugly, gangly steps, with her right at my side, my knee popping back in hyperextension but they were still six fucking steps, and I own them like a fucking trophy.

In my final session of the day, my speech therapist released me from his custody as well. It’s the only part of my recovery that hasn’t seemed to have lasting effects. By the time I got here, my voice was pretty clear, but there were still concerns about swallowing. He had me take a battery of tests and at the end of the day came by to let me know he was dropping speech therapy from my daily schedule and his time slot will alternate with additional PT and OT. I’m not big on occupational therapy. I should value it as much as I do PT, but right now my biggest concern is being able to walk, OT focuses on work above the waist. It’s shortsighted, but in the long run, if I can walk, I can work. Being able to use my hand but bound to a wheelchair doesn’t help me get back in the game.

M
y palms are
sweaty driving to the hospital. Moby asked me not to visit him last night. It hurt my feelings. I could tell he was in a dark place, and I should be by his side, but I respected his wishes and went home. I caught up on sorting through the bills, and made some calls to different doctor’s offices working out payment arrangements. I had no idea they’d give us discounts for paying in cash and not breaking the payments up. Armed with this knowledge, I organized the bills into different stacks, the smallest first, calling each provider, asking for a discount and wrote checks to every one of them dropping them in the mailbox before I left. I promised myself I’d work on the second stack today.

With those bills in my purse, I’m making the drive to the hospital to join Moby in a physical therapy session. I’m not sure why he wants me to come, but if it’s important to him, I’m not going to question it. Cam waved me off when I asked about leaving for a couple hours. Somehow I’ve managed to catch up at work and continue getting everything done, so she’s remaining pretty lenient. We discussed my need to contact the different bill collectors during office hours, and she essentially told me to do what I need to do and let her know if I need help or get behind.

For the first time in several weeks, I feel like I’m managing everything on my plate and making a little progress. With Moby’s mood last night, I’m afraid what I find at the rehab center will send me backward but I go anyway.

Reaching Moby’s room, he’s nowhere to be found. Finding a nurse in this damn place takes an act of Congress, but an orderly points me in the direction of the physical therapy rooms. I reach the hall, stopping dead in my tracks. Twenty feet in front of me stands the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen. My husband stands upright, taking a step toward me. The beautiful girl flanking him holds a strap in her hand wrapped around his waist; I’m sure to keep him from falling, but with each step he takes my heart beats faster, pounding like a drum in my chest.

He catches sight of me. “Don’t move, Piper,” he calls down the hall with a radiant smile I haven’t seen in so long I wondered if his face had lost the ability to make it.

I stand in the spot he commanded me to stay in as he awkwardly makes his way to me. Each step appears painful, his knee pops in an unnatural motion, but he’s moving toward me on his own two feet. My hand covers my mouth as tears overwhelm me.

When he reaches me, his therapist by his side, he grabs me, pulling me to him in the tightest one arm hug I’ve ever experienced. As the tears dry up, I push myself back, my hand on his chest.

“When did this happen? Moby! Oh, my God, this is amazing.” I’ve never been more proud of someone in my life. Everything about this man blows me away.

He beams with pride. “Yesterday. I only made six steps then, but I’m on a roll today. That was fourteen!” The girl next to him stands quietly, not interfering, allowing us to enjoy the triumph at the moment while maintaining her death grip on the belt.

Turning to her, I say, “I’m sorry. You must think I’m so rude. I’m Piper, Moby’s wife.”

Something about this girl instantly calms me; she exudes peace. Her creamy white skin is like porcelain, with dark, almost black hair, bright green eyes, she’s thin and relatively tall, strikingly beautiful, but there’s not one ounce of jealousy in me looking at her so close to Moby. With one hand still resting on Moby’s chest, I reach over to her to pull her into a hug, whispering my gratitude in her ear. “Thank you for bringing his smile back.”

She doesn’t respond, but I don’t need her to. I just want her to know how grateful I am.

“We’re heading in to start doing leg exercises. I’ll pull up a chair so you can talk to us. By the way, my name’s Allison. I’m Moby’s physical therapist. He’s told me all about you. Before today, your name was the only thing that brought a smile to his face.” Her words sincerely comfort me, wrapping me in a blanket of warmth I haven’t felt since the day I brought him here. There
is
something good in this building; it just isn’t the paint or the light fixtures.

I watch their banter while sitting quietly in the plastic chair Allison produced. Moby takes her direction well, listens intently, and I can see the will on his face to do exactly what she asks of him. While the exercises seem insignificant, the perspiration forming on his brow, and the concentration it takes for him to complete the most minute of tasks proves they’re not.

He stops moving his leg, even as Allison tries to continue encouraging him. He’s studying his hand, but I can’t fathom what he’s looking at. His gaze darts to me. “Did you see it?” His eyes are wild with excitement.

“See what?”

“Watch my thumb.” He motions for me to come closer. Getting up, walking toward him, he looks like a kid at Christmas about to rip open the biggest present under the tree.

Close enough to him for his satisfaction, he holds his left hand up in his right, focusing intently as if he’s trying to levitate an object; I see the slightest movement from the appendage.

“You saw it, right? I’m not just imagining things?” He’s almost yelling with excitement causing other people in the room to turn to look at him.

I start to laugh, not at him but with enthusiasm. “Yeah, baby, I saw it. I’m so proud of you, Moby.”

Suddenly, he faces falls. “I know it’s not much…” His voice trails off.

Capturing his face in my hands, I force him to look at me. “It’s
huge
! Don’t downplay
any
breakthrough you make. I want to know about them all and I want to see every one of them. Understand?”

Looking into the eyes of my once overly confident husband, I see a man who’s reverted to a child afraid of his own shadow, lost in what life has thrown at him. He nods his understanding but doesn’t vocalize it. The toll this is taking on his self-esteem is written all over his face, and it’s heartbreaking.

Allison quickly launches in, changing the mood. “Moby, tell Piper your other news.”

His face lights up with joy again.

“What’s your news?” I question.

His smile engulfs his face. “I got released from speech therapy yesterday.”

“Wow! I don’t really know what that means, but I assume if they don’t think you need it that’s a good sign, right?”

“That’s an awesome sign. Most of our patients never get out of ST when they’re still in our care.” Allison is as proud of Moby as I am. Knowing he has her in his corner when I can’t be here elates me.

When his session is over, Allison allows us a few minutes alone before taking him to OT. His body shows just how weary he is; I know this is exhausting. I reiterate just how proud I am of his accomplishments, tell him how good it is to see his beautiful smile, and kiss him before I go back to work. I need to ask him about the bills in my purse but decide to make the decision on how to pay them on my own. I can’t bring him down when his day has been so successful. I know he trusts my judgment, but I hate making the decision to cash-in retirement without him.

* * *

S
itting
in my office at Healing Wings an hour later, there’s a light knock on my open door. Standing in the doorway is Sutton. “Hey, friend. Long time no see.” I try to hide the hurt in my voice unsuccessfully.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around. I had reserve training and have been gone the last couple weeks. Don’t be mad.”

I had forgotten she was out of town and now feel like a total ass. It’s not like she can tell Uncle Sam she’s going to be a no-show. “I’m sorry. I’m not mad.”

“What’s got you down then?”

I hand her the stack of bills, not just medical, but the bills from the condo, the house, utilities, cell phones, and everything in between. She looks through them, looking up with pity in her eyes.

“Don’t do that, Sutton.”

“Do what?”

“Look at me like I’m pathetic. I’m going to be okay; I’m just a little overwhelmed. I was so proud of myself yesterday, I got rid of a huge stack of medical bills and saved a bunch of money paying them, but they just keep coming, and they’re going to for a long time. I don’t know how long I can keep us afloat without Moby’s income.”

“What about disability?”

“I’ve applied for short-term through his insurance company, but according to his case worker at the rehab center, it can take weeks to get it started, but it maxes out at five hundred dollars a week. That’s less than half of what Moby normally brings home. Don’t get me wrong; it’ll help, but I’m terrified of what this could do to us financially.”

“How’s Rachel coming with selling the condo?”

“We still own it so not good. She’s on my list to call today and tell her to drop the price. I have to unload it.” Sutton nods her understanding unsure of what to say. The truth is there are no words to make this better. Time is the only thing to heal these wounds. And a money tree. A money tree would heal a lot of them quickly.

The silence in the room is heavy, suffocating almost. I’ve become the friend people don’t want to be around because they don’t know what to say. My world is so foreign it’s easier to not enter it. As if she read my mind, Sutton smiles her quirky smile.

“Let’s go out tonight. Just the Fish.” She’s bouncing in the doorway, excited by her own idea.

“I don’t know. I need to go to the hospital, and I have this to deal with.” I hold up the papers she handed back to me flapping them like a fan.

She grabs them from me, holding them up. “
This
will be here tomorrow, and so will anything else you think you need to do. I’ll round everyone up; we can all go to the hospital, take Moby some dinner, eat with him, and then we can go out for a couple drinks and leave the guys with Moby. It’ll be perfect. He gets guy time, you get girl time, and all the other bullshit gets put aside for an evening.”

“Sutton, it’s late in the afternoon, I’m sure everyone already has plans.”

Of course, Cam walks by the instant it comes out of my mouth. “Who has plans? What are we planning?” She crowds in the office with us.

“I’m trying to convince Mopey Molly here to let me round everyone up, go see Moby for dinner, leave the guys there and the Fish go out for drinks. She’s not going for it.”

“That’s perfect!” she coos. “I’ll get Dax to call the guys. Sutton, you call Charlie and I’ll call Rachel. We can all meet at the hospital at six. I’ll grab dinner for everyone on the way.”

“You’re not grabbing dinner for eleven people, Cam. I can buy my own dinner.” I refuse to also become the girl who mooches off everyone she knows because things are tight.

“Shut up, Pipes. If I want to buy my friends and family dinner, I will.” She dismisses me with a wave of her hand. “I’m going to find Dax. If I don’t see you guys again before you head out, I’ll see you at the hospital.” She flits out just like she floated in, always gracefully. I’d kill for an ounce of Cam’s poise.

“I’m going to take off too, but I’ll see you tonight.”

“Thanks, girl.” She winks at me but doesn’t stop walking. As much as I don’t want to go out tonight, I need my friends. I’m desperate for a normal night, even if it’s only a disguise for an evening.

Moby’s elated to see everyone. He hasn’t said anything, but I know it hurt his feelings no one has come to see him. His parents have only visited him a couple times in almost two weeks. His room packs with our friends and his brothers when Dax walks in without Cam.

“Where’s your girl? She was supposed to bring food!” Joey calls from his seat next to Moby. Moby smacks him across the chest. “What the hell, man? I’m hungry.”

“She’s coming. She stopped to get dinner. We’re in separate cars today anyhow.”

“I didn’t know you let her out of your sight,” Landis ribs him.

“Fuck off, Landis. Where’s your wife? Oh, that’s right, you’re slapping your monkey into a sock for easy clean up on Mom and Dad’s dime.”

The manly insults start flying while my Fish and I just laugh at their antics. It’s been too long since we’ve all been together just being us.

Cam sneaks in carrying bags of food that smell like pure grease—the aroma is wonderful.

“Jesus, kitten, where did you get the food?” Dax will not be down for whatever is in her bags. He eats like a damn rabbit and can’t stand her love of anything resembling fast food.