Feeling refreshed and invigorated, I spring from my comfortable bed and hit the 'off' switch on my alarm clock, quieting the incessant beeping that wakes me at seven o'clock each morning. I last recall reading the numbers 5:39, so my valiant attempt at fighting off the sleep my body so desperately craved, ended sometime after that. Stretching, I part the curtains and look out my window to greet the new day, wondering what lies in store for me on this already beautiful Thursday morning. As I watch shadows skate their way across the dew-covered ground, I find myself being transported back to the kitchen, replaying the events of last night in my head once again. Trying to pin down the exact emotion I'm feeling right now, I can't help the smile that spreads widely over my face as I realize that excitement is winning out over fear and embarrassment.
Peeling off my clothes as I walk to the bathroom, I turn the faucets of the shower on and step under the punishingly hot water. I watch the rich, frothy lather bubble and foam as I turn the bar of soap over and over within the washcloth. Recalling the feel of Danny's fingers against my cheek, I lean my head back against the cool tile, and close my eyes as my hand moves of its own volition to my breasts, drawing lazy circles over erect nipples. Forcing my heavy eyelids open, I watch as the washcloth moves up and down between my legs, soaping the mound of curls there. Increasing the rhythm of the friction and pressure, my core begs to be stroked and I comply, letting the washcloth fall with a heavy thump onto the shower floor. Remembering the feel of Danny's hot breath on my neck and his lips next to my ear, I tease the swollen nub back and forth until I feel sweet release looming near. I collapse around my own fingers, wishing they were Danny's instead.
As much as I dread the punishment, I force myself to turn the hot water faucet to the 'off' position, and I brace myself as I feel the heat begin to dissipate. The sudden change in temperature causes my teeth to chatter uncontrollably, but I make quick work of finishing the remainder of my shower under the icy cold stream. Shivering as I emerge from behind the curtain, I grab for a nearby towel and wrap myself up, hugging my arms around my body tightly for warmth.
I brush my hair into a loose ponytail and pull on a fresh pair of scrubs. Brushing my teeth in front of the mirror, I study my reflection intently. Dabbing toothpaste from the corners of my mouth with a hand towel, I reach for the makeup bag to my left even though I generally never wear any while I work. But on this day, I lightly dust on a covering of face powder, trying desperately to camouflage the brilliant stain of red in my flushed cheeks that the cold shower wasn't able to mask. With all thoughts of Danny Santos pushed into the far recesses of my mind, I leave my room, ready to begin my day.
It's ten until eight when I knock on abuela's bedroom door. She's finishing up the remainder of her breakfast when I let myself in. Regarding me with a devilish grin, she asks, "Aren't you going to eat anything, dear?" Knowing since the first day of her therapy that I never eat breakfast, she continues to make the offer every day nonetheless.
I bite my lip as I respond in the same manner this morning that I do every other morning, "No thank you. I'm not hungry." Within seconds, we are both reduced to a fit of laughter and I walk over to where she sits, wrapping my arms around her neck and giving her a warm hug. I revel in the maternal feel of her arms around my back as I whisper in her ear, "Good morning, abuela. Did you sleep well?"
Nodding into the crook of my neck, she whispers back, "And you?"
Letting my arms drop, I back up nervously and search for something to say. I briefly contemplate lying, but when I look into her eyes, I know that that is not possible. Instead, I attempt to change the subject. I grab her tray and say as I start to turn my back to her, "I'll just take this to the kitchen and then we'll get started."
"Leave those for Olga, Michelle," she insists, circling my wrist with her tiny hand, preventing my escape. "Please sit down and tell me what's wrong. Didn't you sleep well?"
"Not really," I begin, pausing to choose my words carefully. "I ran into Danny in the kitchen last night."
A look of panic flashes briefly in her eyes as she says, "I see. And he said something to upset you, didn't he? I think it is time that I had a talk with Daniel. I don't want him making you feel uncomfortable here. This is your house too now, and he needs to start accepting that."
My heart swells and I feel tears begin to wet the corners of my eyes, but I fight them back as I reach for her hand and say, "Oh no, abuela... please promise me that you will not discuss last night with Danny. It was entirely my fault. I'm afraid that I overstepped my bounds. I meant well... believe me... but I confronted him about things that were none of my business, and he was rightfully upset with me."
With questioning eyes turned to me, she asks, "What things?"
Looking down to avoid her stare, I recount the events of last night, giving her the censored, PG- version of everything that transpired between us. When I look back up, I see that she is watching as her right hand twists the ring on the third finger of her left hand.
Feeling a sense of uneasiness begin to settle in the pit of my stomach, I try to think of something to say to break the uncomfortable silence. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her shoulders repeatedly rise and fall, and my eyes remain on her bowed head as I timidly ask, "Abuela?"
When she finally looks up at me there are tears in her eyes, and I feel the bile begin its ascent up my throat. She gasps for breath and I rush to kneel by her side, searching for some words of comfort, but finding nothing appropriate to say. Reaching out to stroke my face, she lifts it to meet hers, and I realize that she is not crying at all... she's laughing.
Releasing a shaky breath, I listen as she says, "I think you are going to be a very good influence in my Daniel's life, sweetheart. You spoke to him honestly and from your heart, yes?" I nod my head, letting her continue. "Never apologize for that, my dear. Never. It is high time someone set that man straight. I may be old, but I'm no fool. I know about the endless parade of women he brings into this house." I can't help but smile and it is impossible to contain the laughter building in my throat. Chuckling a little herself, she continues, saying, "The very idea. You'd never know that he is about to turn thirty at the end of this month. He needs to be thinking about settling down and starting a family, not just getting his rocks off and sewing his oats like some horny teenager."
I am doubled over now, laughing uncontrollably as Olga enters the room to remove the tray. "What's so funny?" she asks.
My side feels like it's splitting in two from laughing so hard, but I finally compose myself enough to say, "Nothing really. Abuela just told me that Danny acts like a horny teenager, that's all."
"What else is new?" she asks, sending me into yet another fit of giggles.
"Enough," I say with mock sternness as I wipe the tears from my face with the backs of my hands. "Abuela... no more stalling... it's after eight," I inform, pointing to the clock atop the fireplace mantle.
"Let's see what milestone we can reach today," I say cheerfully, flipping on the light switch just inside the door of the exercise room.
Looking at me with hopeful eyes, she says, "I hope that I can try a few steps today."
Not wanting to give her any false hope, I offer, "Why don't we just take it slowly and see how you do with your exercises first? Then we'll think about walking, huh?"
Nodding her head, she says nothing as I transfer her from the wheelchair to the massage table. Helping her lie on her left side facing me, I grab a couple of pillows and place them between her knees for comfort and support. I walk to the refrigerator in the far corner of the room and retrieve a cold pack from the freezer. Easing down the elastic waistband of her pajama bottoms, I place the cold pack on her right hip. She winces and then relaxes as she adjusts to the temperature. Her hip was shattered upon impact the night of the accident and although she was in a coma, she was rushed to surgery to repair the damage. There is quite a bit of scarring starting from the top of the buttocks and running down the side of her thigh. Underneath, rods and pins hold the bone together and in place. Still feeling a great deal of pain, I insist that she take a pain pill one hour before each therapy session.
Picking up a five pound free weight from the floor, I hand it to her and we begin a series of strength exercises for her right arm. She is making excellent progress, having already reached about eighty percent of her potential. Next, we practice a series of exercises to increase the dexterity, flexibility, and strength of her right hand. Handing her a large rubber ball, I ask her to squeeze it between her fingers and palm. This increases circulation and stimulates the muscles. I have compared samples of her handwriting from before the accident to ones I asked her to do yesterday, and I can tell that she is well on her way to reaching her full potential. I feel my own sense of victory with every bit of progress she makes, no matter how seemingly small or insignificant.
I remove the cold pack after several minutes, replacing it in the freezer. Rolling the ultrasound machine over to the massage table, I turn it on and open one of the drawers on the cart, retrieving the gel. Squirting a generous amount on her hip and leg, I place the wand against her skin and begin my work, setting the timer for forty-five minutes. This is clearly her favorite part of the therapy session and the pulsing of the light waves against her aching muscles generally puts her to sleep. But today she looks at me with wide eyes as I move the wand in small, slow circles. When I smile down at her, she says, "So... tell me about this friend of yours. Bill, right?"
Smiling, I remember telling her about inviting Bill over for the weekend during our conversation earlier. I nod and answer, "Yes. Bill."
"So? What's the story there?" she prods, not giving up.
"There is no story, really. We grew up together. He's my best friend... nothing more." The last two words come flying out of my mouth before I know it and I immediately look into her eyes, gauging her reaction.
A half-smile crooks one corner of her mouth as she says, "Well, what does your best friend do for a living?"
With a sigh, I respond, "He's working on his Master's degree in computer engineering at Springfield University. But to make ends meet, he works for his dad and uncle's construction company." She doesn't ask anything more, but looking into her eyes, I can tell that she wants the unabridged story of my relationship with Bill. Sensing that there is no easy way to escape her imploring eyes, at least for the next forty-five minutes, I decide to tell her about some of the times we shared growing up. Fishing at Cross Creek with his grandpa H.B. in the summer... sharing our first kiss... Bauer barbecues together... him breaking into the medical files on the computer at Cedars to help me find the person who had my mother's heart, ultimately leading me to Jesse... graduating from high school and college. Before I know it, the timer is buzzing and I reach to turn it off. "I guess I got a little carried away," I say, dabbing at the gel with a towel, carefully stroking over the delicate, scarred skin.
"Nonsense," she insists. "I love listening to you. It sounds like you and Bill are very close."
"We are," I say, nodding as I place a hot pack on her hip and turn it to the 'medium' heat setting.
Grabbing my hand as I retract it from her hip, she says, "I think having Bill here this weekend will be good for you... and good for my Daniel. I trust that Daniel doesn't know the nature of your relationship with Bill?" she asks, and I shake my head 'no'. "Good. I think Daniel needs a wake-up call, and it sounds like Bill is just the man to provide it."
Having no idea how to respond, I pull my hand away from hers and begin to put up my supplies, pushing the ultrasound machine back into its proper place. When I turn back, I see that her eyes have fluttered closed and I know that I have a small reprieve.
After about twenty minutes, I remove the hot pack, turning it off as I help her into a sitting position. "Do you think I can try a few steps now?" she asks with eyes full of hope.
"How about we try standing again first?" I offer, and she accepts the compromise with a nod.
Wrapping her arms around my neck like I taught her, I wrap mine around her waist and pull her onto her feet. "I'm going to release my grip slightly," I warn. Feeling her nervously shaking, I release my right hand from her left side. "Now abuela... I want you to slowly shift your weight onto your right leg. I'll keep supporting you until you think you can do it on your own, ok?"
"Ok," she whispers. I feel her slowly trying to shift the weight onto her weak leg. Hearing her shriek of pain above my left ear, my right arm instinctively snakes back around to offer support, and I transfer her back to the wheelchair quickly and kneel before her.
"What happened?" I scream, tears springing forth in my eyes and spilling down my cheeks when I see her crying.
"The muscles in my leg started to throb and ache. Why did this happen? How come I could do it yesterday?" she asks, sobbing between words.
Rubbing her arm in an attempt to comfort her, I answer honestly. "I don't know. This happens sometimes, but you shouldn't get discouraged. You have been steadily progressing since we started... you're allowed a setback every now and then."
Calming considerably, she wipes her face before patting my hand and whispering, "Thank you."
"Did you take your pain pill this morning?" I ask, and she nods her head. "Hmm... well, I tell you what... how would you like to have your first hydrotherapy session today?"
Looking at me somewhat confused, she asks, "What do you mean?"
Smiling, I explain, "Well... Ray told me that I could use the jacuzzi if I wanted to. The whirlpool action of the warm water can be wonderful therapy for sore muscles. It's such a beautiful day. What do you say we go for a dip today after lunch and your nap? Have you got a swimsuit?"
Laughing now, she nods, saying, "Yes, I've got one. I think it sounds like an excellent idea."
"I think so, too. It's a date," I say cheerfully, turning off the overhead light as we leave.
Returning to her bedroom, we find Olga already there waiting with two trays of food. "How was the session?" she asks, and I shake my head side to side from behind abuela's chair.
Olga understands, but for abuela's benefit, I answer, "Not as good as yesterday's, but we think we're going to try something new today."
Olga raises an eyebrow as I walk around the wheelchair and face abuela. She gives Olga a wink as she addresses her, saying, "Yes Olga. I need you to help me find my bathing suit. Michelle and I are going out to the jacuzzi this afternoon before I try to take my first few steps."
"I see. Well that sounds like a lot of fun, Ms. Maria" she says, looking at me with a smile.
"Abuela... if you don't mind, I'm going to have lunch in my room today." Disappointment clouds her eyes, but she relents when I continue, "I have a phone call to make."
"Of course, dear," she replies as I pick up my tray and head next door.
I nibble on the corner of my club sandwich and drink a sip of tea before anyone even answers the phone. "Lewis Oil. May I help you?" a young woman finally asks.
I ask for Bill and after a fairly lengthy wait, Bill's familiar voice drifts over the line, saying, "Bill Lewis speaking."
Exchanging a few minutes worth of small talk, I finally get around to the purpose for my phone call. "Got any plans this weekend?" I ask.
"What did you have in mind?" he asks in a fake seductive tone.
"Cut it out Bill. I'm serious." I can hear the muffled sounds of laughter, and I get a mental image of Bill sitting behind his desk with his hand covering his mouth, reveling in my impatience. "I wanted to know if you wanted to come spend the weekend here with me. Rick and Abby are going out of town, and I am going stir crazy here."
"Oh, and I'm your last resort, huh?" I sigh into the phone heavily, and he asks in all seriousness, "Why don't you just come visit me?"
"No offense Bill, but the boarding house is not my idea of a relaxing weekend. You ought to see this place Bill... it's a mansion. There's a pool, jacuzzi, tennis court. Come on," I plead, sounding like a whining child.
"All right. You twisted my arm. How's ten o'clock on Saturday morning sound?" he asks.
What I know must be a huge, goofy grin spreads across my face as I squeal, "That's great! It's the Santos compound. Grab a pen and I'll give you directions."
Exhaling sharply, he asks, "Santos? You work for the Santos family? As in, Danny Santos of Sancorp?"
"Yeah... why?" I inquire, curiosity getting the best of me.
"No reason," he answers quickly. "Don't bother with the directions, I know where it is. Gotta go... see you Saturday."
"Bye Bill. See you then." I hang up the receiver and stare at it for several minutes. I wonder what it is that Bill knows. My mind begins to race wildly and I shake my head, quickly replacing worry with euphoria. I can't wait for Saturday to get here. I can't wait to see my friend again. I can't wait for Danny to meet Bill. I can't shake the sudden urge I feel to high-five someone.
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