When Love Breaks (4 page)

LOGAN

“F
orty-seven, forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty.” I grunt, as I finish the last rep of my make-shift push-ups from the arms of my wheelchair. I heave a heavy sigh, as I realize it’s time to get onto the floor. I hate the floor. Well, it’s not so much the floor as trying to get my ass
off
the floor. It’s something I’ve yet to master. There doesn’t seem to be an easy way to hoist myself back up. Never the less, I reach downward and clumsily plop down onto the carpet.

After a few too many floor exercises, I grab my water bottle and rest. I figure I’ve got about fifteen more minutes or so, before Elora comes back from her shopping excursion. I’ll be in my chair before then. I no sooner think it, when I hear the front door open and close, then hear the rustle of grocery bags.

Shit.

I hurriedly recap my drink and reach up for my chair. Grasping the front of it, I pull as hard as I can, all the while knowing she could come in and find me like this.
I don’t want her to find me like this.
Unexpectedly, the chair begins to tip forward, which forces me to let go.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit!

I try again, as I hear her trundling toward my room.

“Logan? I’m back. Are you in there?”

I see the doorknob turn slightly.

“I’m here, but…I’m not decent. Don’t come in.” My voice is breathy from the exertion, and I know she won’t leave it alone.

“Do you need help?”

Do I need help? I need more than help.

“
No!
” I say, a little too harshly. God, why do I do that? “Just finish putting the food away. I’ll be out in a minute,” I say, frustrated with myself.

“Okay.” Her answer is quiet, and I hear her footsteps fade as they get farther from my door. I sag with relief but realize what a jerk I sounded like.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, I manage to get back into my wheelchair. It wasn’t pretty, but I’m up. I slide my shirt on, slather on some more deodorant, and blow out a steady breath. I look at my reflection. “Be nice. Don’t be an asshole.” Then, I wheel myself to the kitchen.

She’s there, and I watch as she removes the items from the bags and tucks them away, where they belong. She doesn’t make eye contact with me, and I’ve come to learn that she does this when I’ve snapped at her.

Asshole.

“I bought you some more orange juice,” she says, still not looking at me. “I got the kind without pulp. I wasn’t sure if that’s what you prefer, but I figured I’d err on the side of caution.”

“That’s fine. Thank you.”

“And, I bought some coconut oil to cook with. It’s good for all kinds of things. It’s a bit more expense, but you told me to get whatever I needed, so I did.”

“Good. That’s fine too.”

She puts the last item away and immediately starts on lunch.

“Elora.”

“Hmm?”

What am I trying to say?

I hesitate a little too long, and I catch her attention.

“You know, that’s the second time you’ve done that today,” she says boldly.

“Second time I did what?”

“Started to say something but stopped. You should say what you’re thinking. I can’t get to know your needs if you keep things from me.”

I’m taken aback by her words.

“I just don’t always think it’s appropriate to say what I’m thinking without filtering things first. I’m not great at choosing the right verbiage.”

She lets out a small giggle which dances playfully into my ears.

“Did you just use the word
verbiage
?”

I’m confused as to why that’s funny.

“Um, I guess. Why?”

Did I use it wrong?

“It just sounded strange coming from your mouth.”

“And, why is that?”

She shrugs.

“I don’t know. You just don’t seem to be the type who uses those sort of words. Not many people even know that word exists.”

“Are you suggesting I’m uneducated?” My stern expression causes her face to fall immediately.

“No! Not at all. I didn’t mean anything by it. I just…” She’s flustered.

“I read. A lot. I don’t have anything better to do, so that’s my hobby, I guess.” My tone is unnecessarily brusque.

“I absolutely understand. Forgive me if you thought otherwise,” she says, then turns her attention to making lunch again. Silence lays thick like a blanket covering the room.

I sigh. Why does every conversation seem to end with me making her upset? Of course, she didn’t mean anything by her comment. I feel the need to make amends.

“Would you like to eat lunch with me?”

Her jaw goes slack as she turns her head in my direction. I think I’ve shocked her.

“W—what?”

“Now that I know we have a fully stocked pantry, I’m asking if you’d like to eat with me.”
Seal the deal, Logan.
“Please?”

She smiles politely at my offer and sets down the butter knife she’s holding.

“Thank you for the offer, but I was planning on studying while you ate lunch.”

“Oh? What are you going to school for?”

“Nursing.”

“Really. You like taking care of grumpy old men that much?”

She smiles broadly, and it’s as if the sun has suddenly entered the room. Then, a giggle escapes. I could get used to that sound.

“Some are grumpier than others,” she says, still smiling, and I know she’s referring to me. I shrug.

“Some have a good reason to be grumpy.”

“And some should look at what they still have, instead of stewing on what they’ve lost.”

My instinct is to lash out at her. How the hell does she know what my life is like now without the most basic of functions? She has no idea what I’ve lost, aside from my legs. My life is crap now, and there’s not a thing anyone can do about it. Her smug expression remains, so I take a deep breath and choose my words wisely, implementing every filter I have.

“You’re right. Maybe some men would find the good in even the most tragic situations, but some, would-be nurses, might want to be a little more understanding too.” I smile smugly right back at her, and her mouth twists.

“Touché. I hope those grumpy men and would-be nurses come to an understanding someday and learn that things aren’t always black or white.”

I raise my glass.

“Here’s to that hope.”

ELORA

I
t’s one o’clock in the afternoon, and Logan has just eaten the last of his turkey sandwich. He rolls away from the table and toward the hallway.

“Do you need any help?” I ask as I look up from my books.

“No. I’m just going to wash my hands. The bathroom sink is a bit easier to reach for me.”

I nod, understanding how much more complicated his life must be now.

He wheels himself down the hall and into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. I’m just putting away the last of my papers when I hear a loud thump. I inhale sharply and sprint toward the sound.

“Everything okay in there?” I ask through the door.

“I’m fine,” he says, but his voice is strained.

“Are you sure? I can help you.”

“I said I’m fine. You can go!” His voice sounds as though he’s trying to reign in his temper. “I meant you can go in another room, not go home,” he adds.

I smirk. It’s a small triumph, but I’ll take it.

“Okay,” I simply say, then I move away from the door. I know he’s a proud man but really, what am I here for, if not to help him?

When he emerges back into the kitchen, he looks flustered. A silent conversation takes place between us where I ask him what’s wrong, and he tells me he’s fine. I don’t buy it though. Boldly, I speak up.

“You know, it’s not unheard of to ask your home health aide to help you in the bathroom.” His expression is one of horror.

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not? It’s not like you have anything I haven’t seen before.”

“You’re not helping me in there.”

“Modest, are we?” I flutter my eyelashes, imitating shyness.

“Not modest, just proud.”

“And in need of a hand or two, wouldn’t you say?”

“No, I wouldn’t say,” he says, adamantly.

“Okay, but you’ve got to be tired of struggling every time you’re in there.”

I hear his frustrated sigh.

“Look, while it’s true that I still haven’t mastered certain things yet, you can be damn sure I won’t ask
you
for help.” His irritated tone tells me I’ve struck another nerve, and I need to change the subject. I hold up my hands in surrender.

“I get it. It’s fine. I’ll stick to cooking and cleaning.” I stand and walk toward the sink.

“Elora—,” he starts, then stops, seemingly grasping for the right words. “I’ll be in my room if you need me.”

If
I
need
him
? I almost giggle at his wording, but nod.

The end of my day has arrived sooner than it did yesterday. Well, it hasn’t really. I guess it just seems that way because it went a little better. I’m putting the finishing touches on the lasagna I made, when Logan rolls back into the kitchen.

“All right, the lasagna is done and keeping warm in the oven. Just have Michael take it out when he gets home. Is there anything else you need before I leave?” He shakes his head sort of sadly. “Well then, I should go.” He nods, and I eye him suspiciously. Something’s wrong, but I just don’t know him well enough to pry, so I let it go.

“Elora?” he says as I’m about to open the front door. I turn and look at him.

“Yes?”

“…Be careful going home.”

I grin appreciatively.

“Thank you, I will. See you tomorrow.”

“I’ll be here,” he says, then smiles very contently.

“There’s a spring in your step. Did you have a better day at work?” Daniel asks.

“Yes. I got an apology from my client, and I think we’re starting to bond, which is a good thing.”

“Good. Let’s hope it lasts.”

“Tell me about it,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“So, he’s a double amputee? Was he injured in the war?”

“Yes and yes. Well, at least I think so. He doesn’t talk about it,” I say, curious myself.

“I guess I don’t blame him. War isn’t pretty, and I’d hate to think about all he’s seen on his tours of duty.”

“Yeah.” Then, I remember something. “Ugh! I have a test coming up that I didn’t study very much for,” I say as I move away from him. “I’ll be in my room, with my nose in a book, if you need me.” I stalk off toward my bedroom.

“What about dinner?” Daniel shouts at my retreating back.

“Just microwave something from the freezer,” I call out, before closing the door to my room and sinking into nursing student mode.

3

ELORA

L
ogan is eating the breakfast I prepared. He made an effort today. He shaved, combed his unruly, brown mop, and put on fresh, clean clothes. I noticed immediately, and was sure to compliment him on looking more human. When the unintentional joke at his expensive came across my lips, I wasn’t sure what his reaction would be, but his mood is great today and so was his ability to laugh at himself. It’s so nice to see him smile.

“Earth to Elora,” Logan says to get my attention. I perk up immediately.

“Huh? Oh, sorry. I guess I was day dreaming. Do you need something?” I walk around the counter and come to stand in front of him.

“Yes, actually. Why don’t you have a seat and eat breakfast with me? I know the chef personally, and she wouldn’t mind.” He smirks, as he refers to me.

I smile at his thoughtfulness.

“I don’t know. I’m not very hungry,” I say.

“Did you eat before you came?”

“A little. I had a piece of toast.” He frowns.

“That wouldn’t keep a bird alive. There are more eggs in the fridge. I’d offer to make them for you, but I’m not sure you’re into eating charcoal briquettes.”

I laugh.

“No, I’m not, and thank you, but no. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, maybe lunch then,” he says.

“Why are you always trying to feed me? Do I look like I need to eat more?” I chuckle at my own words, hoping not to sound as though I’m offended.

“Not at all. I’m just trying to get to know you. Besides, don’t most people converse over a meal? It just feels natural.”

“I suppose.” I rub my chin, thinking about his proposal. “Okay. I’ll have a little breakfast with you, but don’t think this’ll become a habit.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Besides, I’m sure you have terrible table manners,” he says in jest.

“I totally do. Elbows on the table, slurping soup—the whole nine yards. You should see me eat spaghetti.”

He makes a face of disgust, and we’re both smiling. It’s really nice.

An hour or so goes by, and we’re still at the table talking. I’m telling him about my life, or lack thereof, as a nursing student, and he’s explaining to me how the simplest movements are so much harder for him now. I could’ve guessed that already, but he’s talking, so I let him.

“So, why didn’t you do occupational and physical therapy while you were still in the hospital?”

“They wanted me to, but I was so bitter about my situation, and I was the furthest thing from cooperative. Without my legs, all I wanted to do was die. I had no interest in learning how to get along in a world that I no longer wanted to be a part of. It was all or nothing for me. It still is in a lot of ways.”

“But why? Lots of people lose limbs and function just fine in society.”

“I know. It’s hard to explain. My brother’s been amazing though. He moved here from California, just to help me adjust to everything. Luckily, he has a job that allows him the freedom to travel, so his company just let him transfer to their Ohio hub. I don’t know where I’d be without him.”

“Wow, he sounds great.”

“Yeah. We have our moments, but I can never repay him for all he’s done.”

I nod, and a weird silence hangs in the air. I feel the need to break it.

“Well, it sounds to me like you need some lessons on how to modify your behavior to accommodate your new lifestyle.” I stand and begin to clear the table.

“Huh?”

I laugh.

“You need to go back to therapy.”

“No,” he says, and I get the feeling that he’s not going to budge.

“Why not? It can only help you. What are you afraid of?”

“I’m not afraid of anything. I just don’t want to do it. I’ll figure it out on my own.”

“That’s stupid.” His brow furrows at my audacity. “What? I’m serious. They have methods that could enhance your day to day life. You wouldn’t have to struggle as much.”

He scoffs, as if that’s not possible.

“I’m a smart man; I’ll do it on my own.”

He’s so damned stubborn. I’m aggravated at the notion that he won’t take help from anyone. I wish I knew more about the types of things a therapist could teach him. Then, maybe, I could guide him, until he’s more comfortable with it. What the hell is he so afraid of?

“And, will you build yourself a new set of prosthetic legs too?” I cross my arms in a defiant stance. I’m irritated.

He glares at me.

“I don’t need plastic and metal holding me up in some vain attempt to make me appear normal. And, don’t stand there lecturing me about what I should and shouldn’t be doing. You have legs. You can walk and run, if you want to. You can jump and for God’s sake, you can walk up those stairs right there!” He points toward the living room. “I can do none of that. So, no, nothing you say, nor anything a therapist can do for me, would bring my legs back, which is the only thing that could give me back my life. Until you lose a limb or two, you have no right to say a fucking word!”

His face is red from his angry outburst, and I feel terrible. He’s right. I don’t understand, and I probably never will, but he’s wrong too. His life can get better. He does have the chance to walk and run again. He could most definitely walk up a flight of stairs, and do everything anyone else with their natural legs can do. He just has to believe it’s possible and put in the work. I bow my head in defeat, and I don’t stop him from leaving the room. He needs space, and so do I.

While sitting alone in the kitchen, self-doubt about my care giving capabilities creeps in again, and I wonder if I’m the best home health care worker for this man. I’m agitating him more than I’m helping him. Maybe, I should cut my losses and get out before I get too attached to him. But, deep down, I realize I already am. I know the man from the picture is still inside him somewhere. I have yet to meet him, but he has to exist. I feel like maybe, just maybe, if I can get him to see how his life can improve, I might coax out the old Logan. I’ve got to try, and I know what I have to do.

Lunch time comes and goes, and Logan refuses to come out of his room. I knock several times, announcing that his lunch is ready, but he says he’s not hungry. I wrap up the sandwich and place it in the fridge. Then, I occupy my time with menial tasks, such as laundry and dusting, but still, Logan stays hidden. It’s nearly five o’clock, and I’ve just finished dinner. Placing it in the oven to keep it warm, I walk toward his room. Tentatively, I raise my fist and knock gently.

“Logan? It’s time for me to go. Do you need anything?”

I wait anxiously for his reply.

“No,” is all he says.

A strange urgency fills me, and I realize I need him to say more than that. I don’t want to leave it like this, so I try again.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” His tone is clipped.

My heart sinks. Is he that upset with me? Did I go too far this time? I feel tears start to well up, but I dash them away quickly.

“Okay then. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Knowing that he’s not about to open the door, I let the floodgates open. Although I don’t make a sound, my tears run down my face and onto my scrub top. I wipe them again, and walk away.

“Elora?”

I turn to see Logan’s face. It’s riddled with concern. I’m suddenly embarrassed to be crying over something so stupid, but I can’t seem to stop them. I can see the apology written on his face.

“Elora, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” He sighs.

“It’s nothing. I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say, then turn back around, desperate to be out in the fresh air. He says nothing more, and I leave without another word.

“Where does he live?” Daniel says angrily. “I don’t care if he’s got legs or not, he has no right to be such an asshole!”

I touch his chest, holding him at bay.

“Stop it. I’m fine. I just had a rough day—
we
had a rough day. It’ll be better tomorrow.”

“It had better be,” he says, then placing his hands on my shoulders, he bids me to look at him. “Are you sure this is what you want to do? Taking care of people who couldn’t care less about your feelings?”

I push away.

“That’s not how it is. There’s a nice person inside him somewhere. I just have to help him find himself.”

“Elora, that’s not your job. Your job is to take care of his physical needs, not be his shrink.”

“That’s part of it though. Look, I’m the only aide who’s come back. All the others stayed only for the day. He’s tried chasing me off too, but—”

“But, you’re too stubborn,” he interrupts.

I smile.

“Yes. I am.”