Family Matters Page 3

  Jen didn’t turn to look back at him. She stalked off and left him standing there, hopeless and alone.

  Chapter Three

  Andrea Kendall entered the room and read the name on his chart. Cody Stratton. Age: Eight.

  She hummed as she flipped through the pages and began to take notes. The interns had called her in on the case early this morning. Mr. Cody Stratton was about to begin the fight of his life.

  “Hi,” came a bewildered small voice from the bed. “Who are you?”

  Andrea could see his eyes peeking out from the bedcovers. “I’m Andrea. Call me Andy.”

  “Are you a nurse?”

  “No. I’m your new physical therapist. I stopped by to take a look at your charts and to meet you.”

  Cody smiled at that, apparently satisfied. “Good,” he said. “This is Mason.”

  “Has he been sitting here with you ever since you got sick?”

  “Yeah. My mom brought him up. He stays at her house usually.”

  Andrea surveyed the charts once more. She wondered how much Cody knew about his condition. “Has your mother been here this morning?”

  “No. I think my dad was here all night. I kept waking up and seeing him over there in the chair. I don’t know where he is now.”

  “Did he talk to you last night after you woke up, Cody? Do you know how sick you were?”

  “Yeah,” the little boy said. “My dad told me.”

  She probed further. “What else did he tell you?”

  He looked her straight in the eyes. “That I won’t be able to use my legs for a while and probably not my arms, either.”

  She sat down beside him and laid one hand on his leg. His little face was grave. “That’s why the doctors want me to work with you, Cody. I’ve got exercises that will get your arms working again. I’ve got others that will keep your leg muscles toned.”

  “Can Mason do them, too?”

  “Of course,” Andrea said, grinning. “I’ll bet he’ll be good at it.”

  There came a knock at the door and the woman who entered was tall and beautiful, her blond hair piled in a fashionable twist atop her head. She nodded to Andy with a smile. “Hello, Cody.” She knelt beside the bed. “How’s my kid this morning?”

  “I’m good.” He said it matter-of-factly. The two women in the room knew it was the furthest thing from the truth. But that was okay. It was what Cody thought that mattered.

  “How’s Mason?”

  “He’s good, too.” Cody glanced at Andrea. “And so’s my new friend. That’s Andy. My new…”

  “Physical therapist,” Andrea helped him out, winking at him.

  “I’m Cody’s mom.” She extended a hand. “Jennie Stratton.”

  Andrea stepped forward to take Jennie’s hand. “I’m glad you’re here. I need to start working with Cody this morning and I wanted you to be in on it so I can teach you what to do when you get him home. You and your husband are going to have to work just as hard as Cody does.”

  Jen said sharply. “Cody’s father and I are divorced.”

  “Who does he live with?” Andrea asked. “The parent he lives with will be the parent to administer his therapy.”

  “He lives with both of us. We have joint custody.”

  “Eventually, then, your ex-husband—”

  Cody interrupted both of them. “Dad was here all night. He slept in that chair.” Then, to his mother, “How come you didn’t stay, too?”

  Jen couldn’t answer. She’d left because she’d been exhausted and scared and angry. What had she expected? Michael to come running after her?

  The therapist straightened the bedding around the little boy and when she took Cody’s hand, she massaged his palms. As she worked, Cody’s fingers began to spread apart. Then she took his hand, pushed it flat and straight against her own, so the little boy would bend his elbow. “See,” she said, grinning at the bunny. “That’s all there is to it, Mason. You can do it, too. What do you think, Cody?”

  “I don’t know,” the little boy told her dubiously.

  “I’ll never be able to do that,” Jen commented.

  “You will. Just wait.” Andrea continued to manipulate Cody’s muscles. “It’ll get to be second nature to you. Every time you talk to Cody or do something with him, you just do this a few times. See…watch this.”

  “What if I hurt him?”

  “It’ll be painful some days. You can’t get around it.”

  Jennie looked doubtful but she gamely rolled up her sleeves. With a deep breath she turned to her son. “You’re sure about this?”

  “I’m sure about it,” Andrea said.

  “I’m sure about it,” Cody said.

  Andrea held on to Jennie’s hand, helping her feel the way it should move against Cody’s muscles. “There you go. Look at that!”

  “Great, Mom!” Cody cheered from the pillow.

  “Hey,” Andy told her. “You’re a natural at this.”

  “Go, Mom!” Cody said, grinning. And with a sinking heart, Jen realized that this was the moment he ought to give her a high-five, only he couldn’t.

  Michael stood in the shower, his back against the tile, hot water running down his skin. Every muscle ached from sleeping in that chair. He stuck his head under the steaming water and held his breath. The pain in his muscles began to ease. The pain in his heart did not.

  Jennie’s words from the night before continued to echo in his head. Just as they’d done all night long.

  “Why couldn’t you have done something?”

  And it turned into a futile prayer. Dear God, why couldn’t I? I have helped so many others, why not my own son?

  He stayed in the shower until the hot water ran out on him. Shivering, he stepped out and toweled himself dry.

  He had already telephoned his receptionist and instructed her to cancel his appointments for the rest of the week. A colleague had agreed to take care of emergencies. Michael had nothing left to do except dress and get back to the hospital again.

  Jen would be there.

  He still knew her, knew how she thought, knew how she struck out in frustration. He’d heard the same words so many times. It seemed she never tired of letting him know how he failed. She never stopped making him question himself.

  Why couldn’t you have done something? Why couldn’t you have been with him? Why couldn’t you have seen it coming?

  He stood in the center of his Spanish-tiled dressing room and stared into the mirror without seeing. Where had his life gone? What had happened to everything that he’d once held dear?

  Negligence, Michael. He heard her voice as clearly as if she’d been in the room with him. He focused on a snapshot of Cody he had taped up above the light where he shaved. A boy in his Little League uniform. There were other pictures, too. Michael’s mother and father holding hands at the Honolulu airport. Cody in the bathtub, a pointed beard of bubbles hanging off his chin.

  He had taken that one at Christmas. He couldn’t remember the year. Maybe 2003. The only thing he knew for certain was that his wife had been there, standing beside Cody just out of the eye of the camera. They’d been playing Santa Claus, trying to make Cody understand, though he was only two years old.

  “You look just like Santa,” Jen had told Cody as she scooped up another mound of bubbles and let them dribble down his chin. “He’s got a long white beard and he’s going to come on Christmas Eve and bring you everything you’ve ever dreamed of.”

  Everything you’ve ever dreamed of.

  It happens, Michael reminded himself. Some people get what they dream of. Others, well, they have to go a different direction.

  As Michael stood there measuring the fractions of his life, it honestly surprised him how he’d been able to edit Jen out. Five years ago, he had thought cutting her out of his life would be impossible. But he was living on his own now, enjoying an occasional dinner date with a lady friend if he ever found the time, this row of glossy photos and three-and-a-half days a week with h
is son.

  Michael yanked a comb through his hair harder than he had intended. He’d already been away from Cody too long. He pulled on a pair of jeans and buttoned his shirt. He looked in the mirror and sighed. A sigh that came from the very depths of his soul.

  As Jen watched Andy now, she could tell Cody was exhausted. “Now this,” the therapist told him. “Push your hand against my hand. See if you can do it just enough so I can feel the pressure.”

  “Can’t you stop now? He’s getting so tired,” Jen insisted.

  “Let me show you this and then we’ll quit. This exercise will make his muscle tone come back. But you must perform it with him at least thirty times each day. Like this…”

  Cody groaned at last. “I don’t want to do any more. It hurts.”

  Jen said, “Please don’t hurt him.”

  Andy stopped and stroked back his hair just the way she had seen his mother do it. “It’s going to hurt sometimes, little guy. And sometimes it might not hurt but it’s going to be uncomfortable. I’m sorry. But it’s the only thing that’s going to make you better.” She sat down beside him on the bed. “I’ve got lots of exciting things planned for you, Cody. In a month or two, you’ll be ready to go into a therapy swim program. Water therapy’s great. My brother’s been working with kids just like you and they have a great time.”

  Just then, it all sounded too overwhelming for Cody. “I don’t want to do all this stuff,” he said as big tears began to roll down his little cheeks.

  Andy encouraged Cody as best she could. But then, “Hey, kiddo,” asked a jovial voice from the doorway. “What’s wrong? What are the tears about?”

  Jen glanced up to see Michael standing in the doorway. She didn’t think she’d ever been so glad to see someone. After all the accusations she’d flung at him he’d stayed the night here, and here he was again, ready to stand beside Cody. She didn’t have the time or desire to examine the relief she felt. She just let it spill.

  “We’re over here learning about therapy,” she said. Michael’s breath caught a little when he saw how, for the first time, the smile she’d given him went clear to her eyes. “Cody’s been doing fine. But he’s exhausted now. I’m worried about him.”

  “Don’t get discouraged, Jen.”

  He read her perfectly. She was surprised he could. But maybe she shouldn’t be after the hours they had spent together in the waiting room holding each other up. “I am. Silly, right?”

  “No,” he said. “Not silly. Just human.” He’d counsel any of his patients this way. But because he was telling Jen it meant more.

  “Dad.” Cody addressed him from the bed. “This is Andy. My new friend. My—” he glanced up at the stranger, trying to remember the right word. This time he did “—physical therapist.”

  Now Michael saw the cheerful-looking woman waiting quietly on the far side of Cody’s bed. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise.” Then, without more preamble, “I’ll work with you, too, of course. You’ll need to know these exercises since you have joint custody of your son.” She made a note on Cody’s chart and then she was out the door. “See you tomorrow, Cody.”

  Cody didn’t answer. He was already asleep.

  Michael looked at her pointedly. “I see you explained our situation to her.” Then, “She worked him hard,” Michael said. “What did she tell you?”

  “Enough to scare me,” she whispered.

  “I was afraid of that,” he said.

  “Yeah,” she said. “Me, too.”

  She gave him a sad little smile. “I wish you didn’t know me so well.”

  For one long, poignant moment, neither of them spoke. Neither of them moved. Neither of them even breathed. They just waited—for what, neither of them knew—matching gaze to gaze. Finally Michael picked up Cody’s chart and read it to break the tension. “It would have been harder to go through this alone.”

  “No,” she said. “Nothing can make this harder than it already is.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” he commented.

  She sounded so certain when she agreed. “I am.”

  Chapter Four

  The therapy swim session had almost ended. Megan, the youngest girl in the group, shivered in her bright red bathing suit as rivulets of water ran down her legs and her crossed arms. Her teeth chattered.

  Mark Kendall handed her a towel. “Here you go, kid.” He helped her drape it over her head and around her little body. “What’s with the goose bumps?”

  “The water’s c-c-cold….” She pulled the towel so tightly around her that he could see her small, bony shoulder blades jutting through the terry cloth.

  “We’ll take care of that.” He grabbed another towel and started to dab at droplets of water glistening on her arms. “You did great today, Megs.”

  “You think so?”

  “I think so.”

  Megan grinned.

  “Tomorrow we’ll get you to swim a little farther.”

  She wrinkled her nose at him. “I got tired today.”

  “You can do it, though. I know you can. When you do, you’ll be really proud of yourself. Just wait and see.”

  “You think so?” she asked.

  “I think so.”

  “I’ll swim farther tomorrow—” Megan bargained “—if you’ll let me get a Pepsi out of the machine today.”

  He laughed at her. “You sound like Wimpy. ‘I will gladly pay you Tuesday for a hamburger today.’”

  She looked blank. “Who’s Wimpy?”

  “You know. Wimpy. On Popeye.”

  Megan still looked lost.

  “Oh, great.” He slapped his forehead with the heel of his hand. “This girl doesn’t know about Popeye!”

  She clambered up to plop onto his lap. Along with everything else, he thought as he winked at her, I feel old. “Popeye is a cartoon. Where this guy eats spinach and he gets strong and he beats up this bad guy named Brutus.”

  “It doesn’t sound like a very nice story,” she said primly. “Beating up people.”

  “Oh, it’s okay.” Mark was quick to defend his hero. “He gets the girl, too. A real cute one named Olive Oyl. All because he eats a lot of spinach.”

  “If I eat lots of spinach, will I get strong?” Megan asked him. “Will I be able to use my arms better so I can swim really fast?”

  Mark hugged her. “Nope. It’s a nice thought, little one. But it’s all pretend stuff. The only way your arms are going to get stronger is by doing what we’re doing. Lots and lots of hard work.” Mark glanced up and waved at his sister, who’d just stepped inside the door. Andy waved back.

  “Do I get a Pepsi now?” Megan asked.

  “Nope,” Mark told her. “That’s your mom’s department, not mine. Here she is, too.”

  The familiar car had pulled up outside the doorway. Mark saw Megan’s mother lean across the front seat to open the door for her daughter. He held the double glass doors open for Megan. “See you next Tuesday,” he shouted as the little girl climbed inside the car.

  “’Bye, Mark!” Megan hollered back, her little arm fluttering at him outside the window.

  He turned inside. Andy was shaking her head. “I can’t believe Megan,” she commented. “She’s doing so well.”

  Mark began to gather his supplies. “I know.” He picked up dented kickboards, several mismatched pairs of water wings and a ball, then pitched them into a plastic laundry basket. “Her arms are getting so much stronger.”

  Andy tossed one wayward ball in his direction. “I stopped by to tell you I’m going to have a new team member for you soon. I have a new patient. When he gets stronger, I think you can do him a world of good.”

  Andrea and Mark were as close as twins could be. Their father, George Kendall, had spent his life in a wheelchair after a helicopter crash. Together, Mark and Andy had watched him cope. He’d taught them everything they needed to know about courage, about pushing ahead to tiny victories each day. He was the main reason they’d both grown up to
work with patients who needed help.

  “You want a hamburger?” Mark grabbed the bundle of folded towels and tucked it under one arm.

  Andy shrugged. “Sure.” She didn’t have anywhere else to go during her lunch hour. “You pick the place. I’ll drive.”

  “You drive and I’ll buy.” He picked one of his favorite restaurants.

  When they arrived, the hostess seated them at a little table for two covered with a red checkered tablecloth. “Onion rings,” Mark said, grinning. “It’s been ages since I’ve had onion rings.”

  “Me, too.”

  Mark lowered the menu and eyed her. “So…now that I’ve got you here, how are you really doing?”

  She screwed up her mouth at him. “Is that what this is? You bring me out for lunch and then interrogate me?”

  “I’m not interrogating you. I just want to know.”

  “I’m fine. Really.” She switched to a safer subject. “You’ll like the little boy I just started working with at Children’s. He’s a resilient one. I can tell he’s probably going to surprise everyone.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Eight.”

  “You think he’ll beat the odds?”

  “The doctors aren’t certain yet, but I am.”

  Mark toasted her with his soda, which he almost felt guilty for drinking after Megan bargaining for Pepsi. “My sister. The person who won’t let herself ever expect anything but the happy ending.”

  “It’s the exact way Dad was—” she said quickly, her face softening at the memory. “He always found the good side of things.”

  Their conversation lulled. Someone flipped a TV on over in the corner and sports scores blared into the restaurant.

  “The city council voted down funding for the swim team again,” Mark commented offhandedly.

  “Oh, Mark, I’m sorry.” She leveled her dark eyes on his. What a tremendous blow to him. He’d been working on a proposal for funding for months.

  “We’ll keep going, I’m sure. The YMCA’s said we can use this pool for at least another six months. We need to build a therapy pool that isn’t so deep, though.”