In Your Embrace (13 page)

“He what?”
 Draven shouts.

“What have I told you about yelling in the house?” His mother scolds as she enters through the back door. Her well-worn gardening gloves are coated with newly turned earth.
 Not long after the doctors discovered his mother’s delicate sensitivities, they recommended that she take up a hobby.  For whatever reason, gardening was her choice.  Draven would rather eat worms than spend his days on his hands and knees weeding.

“Did you know he was going to do this?” Draven demands, lowering his voice only slightly.

Helen Young nods as she pries her gloves from each finger and tucks them into the pockets of her apron.  “I did.  He felt that it was a necessary action to ensure that you understood the gravity of his decision.”

“But this is insane.
 How does he expect me to get to the hospital now?”

His mother smiles and places a frail hand on his arm. He can’t help but notice how much weight she has lost over the past year.
 It has been a slow progression but over time her unsettled nerves have stolen away her appetite.  “You can do what everyone else does, dear…walk.”

THIRTEEN

A New Friend

Hannah sits on a chair near her window, her eyes closed as she soaks in the early morning sun.
 It’s the same each day.  After breakfast, Art Mendosa comes to collect her for physical therapy.  He always arrives with a wide smile and a new joke.  Many of them she has already heard dozens of times before, but she never grows tired of hearing him tell them.

Art is a kind man.
 His dark skin and coarse graying hair stand out among the other men who work in the basement therapy center.  Most men his age would have retired and moved south to spend their final years enjoying a warmer beach, but not Art.  He loves his work. He’s got a kind soul and a big heart, something that Hannah fell in love with the first time she met him.

“What’s the plan for today,
Miss Hannah?” He asks, wheeling her toward the elevator.

“Same old routine.
 I figure I’ll work a bit on my tan.  Maybe do a few sprints and then head back to my life of luxury.”

Art grins as he slips past her and presses the elevator button.
 “Glad to see you in good spirits this morning.  I was sure worried about you a while back.”

She nods, thankful that with time her spirits have risen.  She knows that she couldn’t have done it on her own. People like Art and the nursing staff have been huge encouragement for her, along with Claire.  They have all helped to remind her that she is not the one in control. Hannah has discovered just how different knowing that truth and accepting it truly is.

“Did your special visitor come by last night?”

Hannah’s smile falters slightly. She lowers her gaze to her hands clasped in her lap.
 “No.  Timothy hasn’t been by to see me in over a week.”

“Ah, now.
 Don’t be fretting none over him.  You know that man is working hard.  There’s a lot of families still without homes. He’s doing his part.  You should be proud of that.”

Hannah’s mouth drops open.
 She feels stunned but quickly recovers as guilt washes in. “I didn’t mean to imply—”

Art squeezes her shoulder.
 “Don’t you fret none either, Miss Hannah.  I know what you meant. It’s not easy to be in a place like this.  Gets mighty lonely at times.  It’s good to have a friend to talk to.”

Her smile returns as she waves at Rebecca, one of her favorite day time nurses.
 She has grown fond of nearly all of the men and women who work here.  They come to visit her as often as they can, sometimes sneaking her small bits of chocolate cake or little Styrofoam cups of ice cream to cheer her up.

“It’s not a bad place to be,” she says as Art wheels her into the elevator.
 “Not a bad place at all.”

The ride to the basement is fast.
 As the doors slide open, Hannah is greeted with a delightful rush of cool air.  “Sure is nice to have that old A/C up and running again,” Art says as he pushes her into the therapy room.  She is the first to arrive.

“Your usual?”

She nods and smiles when she realizes he’s already lined her up for the cushioned bench that she has claimed as her own these past few weeks.  Lifting her from her chair, he pushes it aside with his foot and lowers her gently.  She smiles and draws her hands back from around his shoulders.  “Thanks Art. I feel good about today.”

“That’s what you said yesterday, miss.”

Hannah grins.  “And I’ll say it again tomorrow.”

Art’s lips part into a stunning smile.
 “I reckon you will.”

He turns and wheels the chair away, leaving her in peace.
 It’s what she prefers.  Time alone.  Not that she doesn’t get enough of that each day.  After her parents finally agreed to allow Hannah to remain in North Carolina, her life became less stressful, but it also became a great deal lonelier.

Claire makes every effort to visit as often as she can, but Andrew’s recovery has been slow and taxing for her.
 With funds low and half their downstairs torn away, Claire has taken it upon herself to do much of the repair work.  How she finds the time or energy to do it is beyond Hannah.  Each time Claire comes for a visit she looks like she’s near collapse, but her smile is always readily available as she steps through Hannah’s door.

One of her father’s conditions on allowing Hannah to remain was that she be moved to a private room.
 She had tried to convince him that the added expense was not necessary, but he wouldn’t hear of it.  Finally Hannah relented.  Though she enjoys being closer in proximity to the nurses station, she does find the afternoon and evening hours to be rather long.

Timothy has come to visit her a couple of times over the past month. His visits are sporadic and short lived
, but each time she sees him he always finds a way to make her feel better.  Sometimes he bring her small bunches of wild grasses that grow along the sides of the roads.  This act touched her deeply, that he would remember a comment she made about how beautiful she found the natural setting of the beach to be.  Flowers could never be as beautiful or smell as lovely as those grasses.

Other times he brings her books to read.
 They are well used with the corners folded and some lines highlighted, but they help her to pass the hours.  She was surprised to find that he has such good taste in books, but the one she has cherished the most is Timothy’s Bible.  Although she grew up in church and loves spending time in prayer, there has been little downtime in her life over the past couple of years to allow her to just sit and read.  She had forgotten how much peace can come from these passages.

Hannah has come to realize that
she looks forward to seeing Timothy.  She can tell by the way he fidgets that he is uncomfortable when he comes.  Sometimes he stands and others he paces, but the worst is when he hovers near the edge of his seat, seeming unsure if he should rise or sink back.

They speak of Iris often since that’s a safe topic.
 She has returned home and is recovering nicely.  According to Timothy, she is back to her old fiery self already.  Pastor Justin is healing as well. This news brightened Hannah’s day.  She has often wondered how the man was doing. He has yet to stop by to visit personally, though she has had several of the men from the church bring her news of his slow recovery.  The pins inserted into his leg cause him a bit of grief, but he’s grateful to be alive.  All of the church members seem to feel indebted to her.  They say Pastor Justin will be on his feet soon and that she is the first person he wants to see.

Several of the other patients filter into the therapy room over the next half hour.
 Most of them are older—middle aged and up.  At first this fact bothered her.  It felt odd to be here, to be reminded daily of her ailment, but she tries not to allow it to get her down.  Some days are harder than others.

“Good morning, Miss Betty,” she calls loudly as an elderly woman shuffles past in a light blue hospital gown that is parted in an
unseemly fashion. A heavily wrinkled face turns her way and the droop around her lips lift into a smile.

Hannah has watched Betty Fitzpatrick graduate from painful steps with a walker and now to a shuffle with her cane.
 She was among the lucky ones who was already a patient of the hospital when the hurricane hit.  She fell two weeks prior on her front doorstep when she tripped over her cat and has a new hip to show for it. Hannah watches her therapist Bill help her along, all the while keeping a good distance between them.

Two other men work alongside Bill Newbry, a silent man with wide rimmed black glasses that like to slip down his nose.
 He has only ever said two words to Hannah, but he waves from time to time.  Hannah has a sneaking suspicion that he’s shy around women, because she only sees him work with men if he can help it.

She lifts her gaze at the sound of Art’s voice out in the hall.
 Hannah looks back over her shoulder and sees him standing with his arms crossed over his scrubs and is surprised to see his face set with a deep scowl.  
I’ve never seen him look like that before.

The door opens and a young man steps in behind Art. His bright blue eyes give the room a cursory glance.
 He pauses as he finds her staring and she blushes, instantly turning away.  From the corner of her eye she watches as Art shows him around.  The best she can tell, he isn’t listening to a word Art is saying.

Why isn’t he wearing scrubs too?
 
She glances at him again, noting how tight the white shirt is stretched across his broad chest.  His jeans hang on his hips and drape over his shoes in a very casual manner.  
Maybe he’s checking out the place for a family member?

“Your dad sent you down here to help and I can use it. We’re shorthanded all around, so whether you like it or not, you’re stuck here
, so I’m putting you to work.  Now that lovely lady right over there could use your help,” Hannah hears Art say to the young man but she dares not glance up.  Heat licks at her cheeks as she feels his gaze fall on her.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Draven says
.

“Oh, no
,” Art says. She focuses hard on the floor as she hears Art clap him on the back and steer him directly past her. She breathes out a sigh of relief.  “I’m talking about Miss Betty here.  She needs to do two more laps around the room before she’s done.  Make sure you stick close by her in case she gets tired. Let her rest if she needs it.  We don’t want her falling again.”

Hannah catches the scent of the young man’s cologne as he passes and breathes deep.
 It smells clean and fresh, so unlike the musk that her father likes to wear.

“Betty, I’d like for you to meet our newest volunteer.
 This is Draven Young, and he’ll be here if you need him,” Art calls as he leans in close to the older woman.

Hannah smirks behind her hand as she hears the man’s groan.
 It’s obvious that he doesn’t want to be here and judging by what Art said, it sounds like there’s a very good reason for that.

When she glances up as Betty shuffles past she finds Draven’s attention fixed on her.
 She offers him a smile and looks away again.  
Focus.
She scolds.  
You’re here to get better, not gawk at a cute guy.

Returning her attention to her feet, Hannah concentrates on her left big toe.
 She stares at it until her eyes begin to water and her jaw aches from gritting her teeth.  She sighs and shakes her head.

“Hey Art?”
 She looks up at the young man’s call.  He stands several feet away from Betty, his nose curled with disgust.  Art’s posture is rigid as he approaches.  She can tell he’s working hard to be polite.  “I think Betty here forgot to mention that she needed a toilet.”

Art’s expression softens as he reaches out and takes the woman by the arm, waiting for her to look at him.
 “Alright now, Miss Betty. Let’s get you cleaned up and then I’ll have Bill take you on up to your room.”

Hannah feels sorry for the woman as she nods and slowly allows Art to guide her to the bathroom on the far side of the room. She glances at the young man and is startled to see him looking back.

“It doesn’t look like you’ve made it too far,” he observes, walking closer to her.

She laughs and shakes her head.
 “Yeah, I know.  I set such high goals for myself everyday hoping that today will be the day, but so far I’m averaging a big fat zero on the success meter.”

“Well, surely your goal can’t be that hard.”
 She can hear the slight confusion in his voice as he grabs a chair and sinks down beside her, straddling it backwards.

“You would think,” she muses, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “but it’s easy to take for granted the simple things in life.”

“Well, if Betty can make it around this room I’d say you should be able to sprint it.”

She blushes as his gaze falls over her casts.
 They are new to her, far smaller and less constricting than her previous body cast.  The casts now only cover from ankle to upper thigh.  A normal person would gain a great deal of mobility from this, but she isn’t normal any more.

“I wish I could, but that’s not really an option anymore.”
 She offers him a smile, knowing by the narrowing of his gaze that he must sense a bit of hopelessness seeping into her voice.  Not wanting to upset him, or herself, Hannah decides to shift the topic.  “My name’s Hannah, by the way.  Did I hear Art call you Draven?”

“Yeah.”
 He rubs the back of his neck.  “My parents thought they were being clever by picking something unusual.”

Hannah tilts her head to the side and smiles.
 “I like it. I think it suits you.”

He seems pleased with her response.
 “So, you come here often?”

“Every day.
 Same time.  Same spot.  I’ve claimed it as my own, I guess. No one else seems to want it.”

Draven leans back and surveys the cushion.
 “Seems pretty nice to me.  I can see why you chose it.”