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  He looked at the clock. It was barely nine o’clock, but there was nothing good on TV. Besides, Kathy Nowlin had worn him out today. He’d thought he was rough on himself with his two-a-day workouts, but she’d pushed him beyond his limits. His dad would approve.

  Brian smiled. He had to admit, his physical therapy session hadn’t been the drudgery he’d envisioned.

  His time with Kathy helped relieve the boredom that had set in now that he was home and feeling more like himself. It had been nice having someone to laugh and joke with. Even though, at the same time, it reminded him how lonely he was. Maybe things would be better once he started working. Dad had reserved a place for him in the Hannibal office. As soon as he was finished with therapy.

  He rolled through the converted study to the private bath where he washed up and brushed his teeth. Back in his bedroom he looked around the former study. Mom had tried to recreate his boyhood room in this space.

  She’d never been crazy about his Grateful Dead posters, so those had stayed upstairs—or gone in the trash? He wasn’t sure. There wasn’t room for them here anyway with bookcases covering almost every inch of wall space. Anyplace there was bare wall space between the rows of books and knick-knacks, Mom had pinned the college pennants from his old bedroom at jaunty angles. The pennants had never held any meaning for him. They were apparently what she’d deemed appropriate décor for a teenage boy back then. On his nightstand, the bright blue lava lamp bubbled, just as it had a few years ago up in his old bedroom.

  At his insistence, Dad had jury-rigged his old dartboard on the bookcases to the left of the door. Brian plucked the darts out of the sisal bristles, wheeled backwards a few paces and chucked a couple of throws. One bounced off the board and another pierced the wall. Even though the board hung a bit lower than regulation, being in this chair totally threw him off his game. He lobbed a third dart and managed to wire the double twenty.

  Bored with the game, he wheeled one-eighty and rolled over to his bed. The twin bed with its navy and red corded bedspread would have been made with hospital precision if his mom were home. Now the spread lay in a rumpled wad at the end of the bed. Mrs. Bennett would launder the sheets and make the bed when she came to clean Friday. And she wouldn’t lecture him about the unmade bed either.

  He parked his chair beside the bed and set the brake. His parents had wanted to hire a full-time nurse to care for him, but he’d put his foot down about that. He wasn’t an invalid. He’d learned how to fend for himself in rehab at Walter Reed.

  He’d soon learned that the agony of his personal challenges didn’t hold a candle to the pain of coming home to a nation that didn’t seem to understand—or appreciate—the sacrifice he’d made for his country. Rehab might have taught him how to get around again in the world he’d come home to, but it hadn’t taught him how to be alone in it.

  And alone he was. His parents were halfway across the world, most of his friends had left Hannibal and were either off at college, or still serving in the military as he had.

  He wound his alarm clock and set it for six a.m. Not that he had any real reason to get up, but army life had imprinted a regimen on him, and he did feel better keeping to a schedule. The clock’s tick tick tick pounded like hammer blows on his nightstand in the dead quiet of the night. He twisted the dial on the radio until it caught a signal. As if on cue, the familiar chorus of Gilbert O’Sullivan’s new song came on. Alone again, naturally…

  He gave a humorless snort and clicked the radio off. He didn’t need any reminders. With practiced ease, he transferred himself onto the edge of the mattress and lifted his legs onto the bed. He pulled up the covers and lay back on the pillows, hands behind his head. He tried to quiet his thoughts enough to pray. But as happened too often, his mind began to drift before even two minutes had passed.

  Jeff Porter, his old youth pastor, had offered to pick him up for church on Sunday. He wasn’t sure he’d even know anyone at First Community anymore. And he couldn’t get too excited about parading in front of everybody in that stupid chair. Still, he thought he’d probably go. He looked forward to seeing Jeff and his wife, and it sure beat hanging around here all weekend.

  He tossed off the blankets and fanned himself with the sheet for a minute before letting it settle down over him again. The June heat had left his room too warm, but the thought of getting out of bed and transferring to his chair just to go turn down the thermostat made him weary. Besides, it cost a mint to cool even the first floor of this house.

  Finally, after a few minutes, his eyelids grew heavy, and sleep began to settle over him. But instead of the relief he expected, he found himself trapped halfway between wakefulness and slumber. Some part of his consciousness was aware that his mind was transporting him where he didn’t want to go. Yet he felt powerless to come back from the ledge.

  The air hung heavy with moisture. He struggled to fill his lungs, but instead of fresh air, he breathed in the silt he’d trudged through in the soupy waters of the Mekong River. He lay perfectly still. Overhead, the whup whup whup of a helicopter grew closer. Medevac. Dear God, let that Huey be coming for me. Please God. Don’t leave me here to die. He tried to move, but he couldn’t make his muscles work, couldn’t feel his legs. Couldn’t see them either.

  He managed to lift one hand to his face. It came away sticky with sweat—or blood? He wiggled his fingers, but he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face. All around him was pitch black. He tried to move his legs. Nothing.

  His prayer changed abruptly. Lord, don’t let me live if I can’t be whole. Like a machete hacking through a nipa palm swamp, his prayers cut through the panic. He forced his eyes open.

  The ceiling fan whirred languidly above him. His heart stuttered and slowed. It was okay. He was at home on Cranberry Hill. He was safe. Life would never be the same. But he was safe.

  Wide awake now, he sucked in a deep breath and threw off the sheets. He eased his legs over the side of the bed, transferred to the chair and rolled out into the shadowed entrance hall.

  He couldn’t see the numbers on the thermostat from his eye level, but he reached up and turned the dial two clicks to the left, then two more, until he heard the air conditioner kick on. Satisfied, he wheeled his chair behind the grand stairway to the kitchen.

  In the corner by the pantry, he pushed the button and waited for the elevator doors to glide open. Another fortune his father had spent on his behalf.

  He rolled his chair inside, pushed the button, and rode to the second floor. He rarely came upstairs except for his weekly check of the property. The air up here had a musty, unused odor, and he made a mental note to open some windows before Mrs. Bennett came to clean.

  He rolled his chair into his parents’ room in the northeast corner of the second story. The shag carpet made navigating difficult, but he crossed the room and opened the drapes.

  A full moon had risen, lighting the landscape and silhouetting the sweet bay magnolias that stood sentinel over the property. Through the eastern windows, he could just make out the silver snake of the Mississippi River winding through the hills below.

  There’d been a time when this view of the meandering river had calmed him, brought clarity to his thoughts. But staring at it now, it stirred a troubling chord inside him.

  He stretched to reach the thin cords, and slowly pulled the heavy draperies closed again. Tonight, the Mississippi looked too much like the Mekong River.

  Chapter 4

  “Okay, let’s see if we can make this thing work.” Kathy raised her voice over the drone of warm water running into the therapeutic whirlpool tub. A little smaller than a standard bathtub, this stainless steel model was nicer than anything she’d worked with since her internship at the children’s hospital in St. Louis.

  Brian sat forward in his wheelchair, looking a bit like a little boy in his swim trunks and white T-shirt. “You sure you know what you’re doing there?”

  She laughed. “I know at least as much as you do about it.
Here…” She turned off the water. “Hop in.”

  He gave her a hesitant glance, then maneuvered his chair parallel to the low tub and locked the brake. He raised himself up in the chair and she helped him lift his right leg over the side. He blew out a series of short breaths. “Hang on…that’s hot. What are you trying to do? Boil me till I’m tender?”

  She lifted his leg out, stifling a giggle. “I wanted to start out with the water a little on the warm side. It’s going to cool down quickly.”

  If this is on the warm side”—he grimaced but teasing edged his tone—“I’d hate to see what you call hot!”

  Feigning exasperation, she stuck her arm in the water up to her elbow. “Oh, you big baby. It’s barely warm.”

  He pouted. “Yeah, but I have delicate feet.”

  She seized one of the size fourteen tennis shoes he’d left sitting beside the tub. “These are not the shoes of a man with delicate feet.”

  Laughing along with him, she helped him ease his leg back into the water. He lowered it a few inches deeper into the tub, but quickly pushed out of the water again, propelling himself with muscular arms. “I’m sorry, but this is going to have to cool down to a medium boil before I dive in.”

  She helped him back into his chair and handed him a towel. She twisted the faucet to cold and let it run for a minute, stirring the water with both hands, while Brian watched. Turning the water off, she flashed him a grin. “Okay, try that.”

  He let her lift his leg into the tub.

  “Better?”

  “Ah…much.” Supporting his weight by bracing his arms on the side of the tub, he slid into the water up to his waist.

  Kathy turned on the whirlpool jets and warm water began to churn and circulate around him.

  He slid down until the water covered his shoulders. “Mmm… That feels good.” Closing his eyes, he lay back and rested his head on the steel rim of the tub.

  She watched him, letting him enjoy the peaceful sensation of floating. The roar of the water was hypnotizing and she had to work to keep her eyelids from drooping.

  After he’d been in the water for ten minutes, she touched his arm. “Hey you…”

  He opened his eyes with a start.

  She smiled. “You’re not in there just to relax,” she reminded him. “Sit and enjoy for another minute while I gather up some equipment, but then I’m going to put you to work. I have some exercises I want you to try.”

  He cocked his head, eyeing her. “Did anyone ever tell you that you are one bossy chick?”

  She nodded. “Yep…right before they thanked me for helping them walk again.”

  “Ooh…” He thumped his chest with an imaginary dagger. “You really know how to make a guy feel lower than a snake.”

  “Mission accomplished.” She snapped a salute, then cringed inwardly, worrying he’d take offense. But he just laughed and flicked water on her.

  “No siree.” She shook a finger at him. “Rule Number One: the water stays in the tub. Every drop.”

  He splashed her again. “Oops.”

  “You!” She tried for her best stern-schoolteacher voice, but ended up breaking into giggles. She was not being very professional. But she sure was having fun. She put a hand on his head and pushed, threatening to dunk him.

  Instantly, his jaw tensed and his eyes went wild, his pupils dilated. He wrapped his large hand around her wrist and pulled her hand off his head, yanking her toward him in one smooth motion.

  Kathy braced her knees against the side of the tub, struggling to keep her balance, struggling to catch her breath. “What…?”

  His eyes met hers and as suddenly as he’d grabbed her, he let loose. She staggered backwards. Her foot caught on the edge of the exercise mat and she went down hard, landing on her backside on the mat.

  He put his hands on the side of the whirlpool and raised up, peering over the side at her. “Are you okay?”

  Still in shock at his almost violent response, she stared at him, rubbing her wrist where he’d gripped her.

  He let loose of the tub, looking dazed. “I…I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”

  She glared at him. “Good grief, did you think I was trying to drown you?”

  He shook his head. “I guess my training kicked—” He stopped short. “Never mind. I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

  She massaged her wrist. “I’m fine.” But she felt responsible. She’d behaved in a stupid and unprofessional manner—not to mention she was flirting with a client—and now he was the one apologizing all over himself. She gave him a sideways glance. “Wheelchair or not, I wouldn’t want to meet you in a dark alley.”

  He raked a wet hand through his hair, a sheepish expression painting his face. “Kathy… I’m really sorry. I’m not sure what happened. I… Something about the way you—” He shook his head. “My instincts just kicked in…” His voice trailed off and a faraway look came to his eyes.

  She remembered a recent article in one of the news magazines that reported how many returning soldiers suffered debilitating flashbacks and recurrent nightmares that sometimes led to acute anxiety and depression. She wondered if Brian might have experienced something similar.

  She tried for levity. “Well, remind me not to mess with you again anytime soon, will you?”

  Her tack worked, and a smile lit his eyes. “Um…” He raised himself up in the tub, then slid down again, lifting one wrinkled hand out of the water. “I’m sort of turning into a prune in here. If I promise not to get you too wet, do you think you could help me out of here?”

  Her hand went to her mouth. “Oh! I’m an idiot.” Heat crept up her neck, and she could feel her cheeks turning ten shades of crimson. She was acting like a complete dork. He’d no doubt be calling his father in Cartagena and demanding her replacement.

  She went for dry towels and came back to drape one over the back and seat of the wheelchair. Without speaking, she helped Brian over the side of the whirlpool, and back into his chair. Her mind scrambled for a way to turn back the clock and don her professional persona again.

  But it was too late. She’d been a fool. She’d let down her guard and sabotaged any respect he might have had for her. Not to mention she may well have compromised his emotional well-being in the process.

  He seemed fine now, but her horseplay had triggered that almost-violent outburst from him. She’d read many accounts about the deep psychological wounds many returning servicemen carried. She hadn’t even considered Brian’s mental state. But now, she shot up a panicked prayer that her thoughtlessness hadn’t inflicted any lasting damage.

  Brian peeled off his wet T-shirt and dried off his face, chest, and arms. He patted the towel over his thighs and knees. Kathy took the damp towel from him and dried his lower legs and his feet. She worked a corner of the towel between his toes.

  He squirmed and grabbed the handrims, threatening to roll away from her. “That tickles!”

  She looked up at him. “Oops, sorry.”

  “I told you my feet were delicate.”

  She laughed, glad to be back on more lighthearted territory. “How do you dry your toes when you’re here alone?”

  He grinned. “Why do you think God created shag carpet?”

  She threw back her head and laughed, but stopped abruptly at his touch on her arm. She looked up into serious brown eyes.

  “Hey… I hope I didn’t hurt you.” His expression reminded her of a sad puppy. “I honestly didn’t mean to—”

  “No. Please,” she said. “Don’t think another thing about it. I shouldn’t have been joking around. It…wasn’t very professional of me. I—”

  “Hey, listen, I’m sick to death of ‘professional.’ I know you have a job to do here, and I’ll try to cooperate, but it wouldn’t bother me one bit if I never heard another ‘professional’ word out of you. Not to go over your head or anything, but I think the treatment plan I need most right now is a little bit of fun and a laugh now and then.”

  She finished drying his oth
er foot and straightened. “Yeah, well, I’ll see what I can do.”

  “You could even bring your bathing suit for the next session.”

  It was all she could do to resist snapping him with a corner of the damp towel. But she’d learned her lesson. She settled for a stern glower. “Don’t push your luck, buddy.”

  His laughter was contagious.

  Chapter 5

  Brian placed his right foot on the floor and gripped the rails on the parallel bars tighter. He could easily propel himself the length of the bars using only the strength of his arms, but it was time to make his legs do the work.

  The radio blared Simon & Garfunkel’s “The Sound of Silence,” and Kathy hummed along a half step off-key. Gingerly, he let his weight settle over his knees. It was an odd sensation, feeling the solid floor beneath his feet, letting his muscles remember what they were made for, what they’d done instinctively until a few months ago.

  He took his eyes off the intricate tile pattern of the floor and looked up into Kathy’s face. A renewed sense of resolve filled him, seeing the sheer determination in her eyes. Those amazing green eyes. Any casual observer would have thought she was the one trying to take these halting steps.

  “You can do it, Brian. I know you can do it.” She clenched and unclenched her fists at her side.

  If he could harness sheer willpower, he would sprint across the room just for the reward of the smile of triumph he knew she held in reserve for him. But his muscles weren’t so easily persuaded.

  He planted his feet wide apart and balanced his body the way she’d taught him. His right leg could support his weight for several seconds, but to take a step, transferring all his weight to his left knee, was a challenge. He shuffled forward a few inches, and for a couple of heartbeats, his mangled knee held his weight. But too quickly, his leg wavered, then buckled. He shifted his weight to his right leg and grabbed the bars before he could fall on his face.