Hudson 03 Eye of the Storm Read online

  "You're already ahead. You've got a sense of humor."

  "It's not humor. It's disguised disgust," I said. Suddenly, I was feeling tired. I closed my eyes.

  "I'll let you rest now. but I'll be back to see you tomorrow and we'll talk again. They're moving you to the physical therapy department, you know."

  "Right. I'll be remade."

  "The most difficult thing for us is the realization that our once whole and healthy bodies are no longer fully functional and we're now plagued with a miriad of secondary problems with which to contend."

  "Don't just give me the good news," I said. She laughed.

  "I won't. What you're doing now, your reaction to all this is your self-defense. Learning to accept this condition and coping is almost as devastating as the actual accident was. No one wants to be dependent on other people."

  "Me especially," I muttered.

  "But believe me, the rehabilitation program will help you become independent. Just don't fight it. Learn, listen, be willing to try and you'll regain your self-confidence and become a productive member of society again. Rain. I know dozens and dozens of paraplegics who are."

  "Jeez, I'm so lucky. I just don't realize it yet, huh?" She smiled.

  "No. you don't. Remember my father's If." she reminded me and turned around in her chair.

  I watched her roll herself out and away.

  That's me. I thought. That's me from now on until the day I die.

  I turned my face into the pillow. wishing I could hold myself down and stop myself from breathing.

  They moved me to rehabilitation that evening. Early the next morning, a team of therapists greeted me and explained their roles in my program. They kept me so busy. I almost didn't have time to feel sorry for myself. There were other patients with similar injuries around me, most as Doctor Synder had said, with far more severe damage. Seeing the quadriplegic patients brought that home clearly. I was amazed at how most of them continued and worked on their therapy activities.

  When Doctor Synder returned, we talked about it and she seemed almost proud of them. It was as though we were a people unto ourselves now, and what each individual accomplished reflected on the whole group of us.

  "Every time you feel like giving up," she said. "think about them. The truth. Rain, is that the vast majority of paraplegics do adjust well, as you will," she predicted with confidence, "You'll drive a car, you'll have a full social life and if you want, you'll have a family. too."

  "A family?" I had to laugh at that. "Who'd want me for a wife?"

  "Someone who falls in love with you," she said simply.

  "Sure."

  I had yet to write and tell my father in London or Roy what had happened to me. Deep down I think I was hoping I would pass away during the night and I wouldn't have to tell anyone, but as more and more time went by. I realized it would have to be done soon. What I didn't want was their pity. Doctor Synder and I talked about that and she said. "'Just make sure you tell them how well you're doing in therapy and you won't get their pity. Of course," she added. "you'd better make sure you do well."

  "That sounds like blackmail," I told her and she laughed and said whatever works for you.

  I grew to like her. Just the thought of leaving her made me afraid of leaving the rehabilitation center. When I expressed that, she said it was flattering, but she didn't want me to feel that way.

  "Don't become dependent on anyone. Rain. Fight that and you'll always have your self-respect. I've got a van I drive. The side goes down and I can roll myself in and out. I don't even need anyone to open the door for me. Guess what happened to me last week," she said with a proud smile.

  "What?"

  "I got a speeding ticket. The officer pulled me over, told me I was acing fifty in a thirty-five. I told him I missed the sign, but he said I should be more alert and he was giving me a ticket more because of that than the actual speeding. He was writing it out and then he looked down and saw I was sitting in a wheelchair. He stopped and looked like he was going to rip it up out of pity. That just infuriated me.

  If you're going to give me a ticket, do it," I said. "I have a lunch date.

  "He turned beet red and quickly finished writing it. I thanked him and drove off with a smile on my face. Here," she said opening her purse and plucking it out. "look for yourself. I made a copy to hang on my wall in the office.'

  I stared at her a moment and then I laughed harder than I had since the accident.

  Eventually, I got to the point where I could move in and out of my wheelchair on my own. Take still visited often. He watched me in therapy. If I looked at him suddenly. I caught a sad, glum expression darkening his eves and deepening every wrinkle in his tired face. He was stooping more, not taking as good care of himself either. His hair was unruly and often he looked like he needed a shave. When he was close. I could see the tiny bloody veins in his eyes were more prominent than ever. The moment he saw me looking at him, he brightened as best he could. He would tell me about the house and how it was being well looked after. He brought me mail. too. I had a letter from Roy telling me he was out of the clink and counting the days. Another letter from my father included a flyer announcing the upcoming production at the Burbage School. Of course, he didn't know I was severely injured, but it was so painful to see that flyer and know I would never go back to that school.

  One afternoon after I was back in bed. resting. Jake came to tell me I was getting a visitor.

  "Victoria will be here tomorrow," he said. "If you want,I'll stick around while she's visiting."

  "It's all right. Jake. She couldn't frighten me before all this. She certainly can't now."

  He smiled, yet he still looked so tired.

  "Jake, you're not taking care of yourself," I said. "Grandmother Hudson would be upset."

  He nodded.

  "I'm all right,"

  "I'll be out of here soon and I'll need your help," I told him. That raised his head and revived his eyes.

  "Anything you need, of course." he said.

  "I need you to be well." I said. "One invalid on the property is all we're permitted. I read the zoning ordinances."

  He nodded, laughing silently.

  "Okay, Princess," he said. "I'll shape up." "Good."

  After he was gone. I was left to ponder and anticipate my Aunt Victoria's visit and intentions. There was no doubt in my mind she believed she had the upper hand. I was sure she had been plotting with Grant against me, but I couldn't help being curious about them all, especially my mother, despite how much I wished I could put them out of my mind forever and ever.

  Just as I returned to my room after a therapy session. Victoria appeared. I wasn't even in my bed. I was sitting in the wheelchair and I had just turned on the television set to continue with the soap opera I had been following. I heard the familiar click of her heels on the corridor floor and then she was there, pouncing on the entrance as though someone had dared forbid her coming. For a moment she was confused. I wasn't in the bed. Then she saw me and straightened up quickly into her usual ironing-board posture.

  "Well, how are you?" she asked.

  "How do I look?" I countered.

  She was clutching her purse under her right arm, pressing it against her hip like a pistol and holster. Dressed in her usual dray skirt suit and blouse with those thick-heeled shots, she looked as firm and as formal as ever. However. I could see she wasn't comfortable in the hospital setting. Her eyes shifted about like a frightened chicken. She had put on a dab of lipstick and what looked like a touch of rouge.

  "You look remarkably well,' she replied. She spotted the chair and went to it. For a moment we just looked at each other. "When I was a teenager. I had a temporary fascination with horseback riding. I started to take lessons. but I was never graceful or relaxed enough and always came away with an ache here or an ache there," she said indicating her lower back and her thighs.

  "Megan was very good at it. My father bought her a horse. A beautiful Arabian. It
cost a fortune to maintain it for her occasional rides. She soon grew bored with it, of course, and finally my father had the sense to sell it. It was months before Megan even knew he had, months before she even asked about her horse. She never told you?"

  "We didn't have a long enough mother-daughter conversation for any of that," I said dryly.

  "I suppose not. You know, her taking you back, bringing you to our mother and forgetting about you is just in character for her. She has no attention span, whether it be new clothes, children, horseback riding, golf, anything, even her own husband."

  "How is she?" I asked.

  "She's actually.., as much of an invalid as you are these days. She's out of her room, but she doesn't get about anywhere near what she used to she's of absolutely no use socially and politically to Grant. They don't have any dinner parties and he's had to attend most functions by himself. I happened to have been there to escort him to one affair." she added.

  "How kind of you to make such a sacrifice," I said, She either deliberately or actually missed my sarcasm.

  "I do what I can. I still have all my

  responsibilities here. She knows what's happened to you." she added after a short pause during which she looked at me. "Has she bothered to call?"

  "No."

  "I'm not surprised."

  "I'm not either, but not for the same reasons," I said,

  "Oh stop that." she snapped. It felt like a slap. It was so unexpected. I could only raise my eyebrows. "'There's no reason for this self-immolation. You're not being punished for something you've done to Megan, believe me. What happened to Brody was all her fault. Her not calling you is just her way to find a scapegoat. She's always been like that. She's never accepted responsibility for her actions before this. She certainly won't now.

  "Anyway. I've come to tell you that I'm seeing to everything."

  "What do you mean?" I asked, expecting her to drop her bombs now.

  "Everything that has to be done for you will be done." she declared in her characteristic take-charge manner. "Once again. I have to fill in for Megan, do what she should be doing. I've done it so much. I don't even mind it anymore."

  "What exactly are you doing?"

  "I've had a downstairs bedroom prepared for you at the house. I've had the medical equipment company provide what is needed. I've hired a fulltime maid who has had experience as a nurse's aide. Her name is Mrs. Bogart. She'll be there when you arrive."

  "Arrive?"

  "I've been in continuous contact with your doctors and therapists here. You're going to be discharged from this facility in two days."

  "Two days!"

  Just the thought of leaving and going back into the real world was terrifying.

  "That's what they're telling me. I've arranged for a therapist to be at the house three times a week at minimum."

  "Why are you doing all this?" I asked.

  "Why?" She smiled. It was more like a silent laugh. "Why? Because it has to be done and there's no one else to do it, especially not your mother.

  "Oh. I've kept her abreast of it all. and Grant, of course." she added. "He wants you to know he harbors no ill feelings toward you. I assure you, he doesn't blame you one iota for what happened to Brody," she emphasized. "Now that he has had time to consider the why's and wherefor's," she added.

  She crossed her long, thin legs and sat back with a look of Grand satisfaction rippling- across her thin face. Her eyes were almost electric with glee. So that's what she's doing. I thought. She's using me like a thorn to keep between Grant and my mother. She's finally found a purpose for me in her overall

  I thought about the advice Doctor Synder had given me. It was essential not to become dependent upon anyone. That was doubly true in regards to Victoria,

  "How do you know I even want to return to that house?" I asked.

  She tilted her head as though the thought weighed down her brain on one side and threw it off balance.

  "Where else would you go now?"

  "I could go back to England." I said. It was such a pipe dream that even I had trouble saving it convincingly. She stared for a moment.

  "And do what?" she asked.

  "Whatever I'll be doing here."

  "Nonsense. For one thing, you wouldn't have the support system you'll have here. Everything's more expensive there. You're not a citizen. You're not going to benefit from their health programs.

  "I've decided not to sell the house anyway," she said. "With all that's happened to you, you can't think clearly and sensibly. You'll have to rely on me and that's that. My mother would be furious if I deserted you now."

  She stood up.

  I didn't know whether to laugh or not. Since when did she worry about what Grandmother Hudson would think? Didn't she think I could see through this false new sense of responsibility? Didn't she think I knew exactly what she wanted and what she was doing?

  Yet, what choice did I really have? Take advantage of it. I thought, Take advantage of them all.

  "All right." I said. "For a while anyway."

  "It will be more than a while. Rain," she said. "There's no point in being like your mother and living in a world of dreams and illusions. When you face up to facts and reality, you get stronger and in the end, you're happier."

  "Are you happy. Aunt Victoria?" I shot back at her.

  Her smile came out as if it was actually a blooming flower stored too long under that hard shell of a face.

  "I'm getting there," she said. "Finally."

  She looked like her eyes were filled with all sorts of pleasing images. Then she blinked, looked down at me, and straightened up again.

  "I'll see to the transporting of you back to your home the day after tomorrow. I understand Jake visits you frequently. Convey any requests through him and I'll see that whatever is within reason will be achieved.

  "Is there anything you need or want at the moment?"

  "Just my legs again," I said.

  "Yes, well each of us has a burden to carry."

  "What's yours. Aunt Victoria?" I asked.

  "This family," she said without a beat. "It's always been."

  She said goodbye and marched out, her heels clicking away and fading as she went down the corridor and out the door.

  .

  That night I wrote my two hardest letters, one to Roy and one to my real father, telling them both what had happened to me and what I had been doing as a result. I followed Doctor Snyder's advice and filled my letter with optimism, almost making my tragic accident sound like a little fall.

  "For a while," I concluded in both letters. "I want to remain at home completing my therapy. Some day in the near future, I'll reconsider my plans to return to England."

  I told them both not to worry about me and I promised them both I would stay in touch.

  I had the hardest time falling asleep that night. Writing the letters had stimulated happier memories. My father had filled me with such hope and promise and I had been looking forward to seeing him again and becoming part of his family more than I had looked forward to anything in my whole life. Now that seemed impossible,

  I thought about how terrible Roy was going to feel and how he would somehow blame it on himself that he wasn't here protecting ine. I was afraid he might do something else to get himself in trouble and I had warned him in my letter not to do anything that would make me feel worse. I hoped he would listen, but I knew how headstrong he could be.

  Everyone came back to me that night. I saw myself with Beneatha at dances. I saw myself walking with Mama and listening to her happy chatter. I recalled my long walks with Randall Glenn in London, our touring of the city and our strolls along the Thames. My memories were all memories of me moving. How terrible it is to lose something we all take so much for granted. I thought.

  Before long my pillow was soaked with my tears and I had to turn it over to try to sleep on it. I didn't fall asleep until almost morning and I wasn't very good in my therapy sessions. Doctor Synder came to see me t
o talk about it.

  "I'm glad you're moping about and crying about yourself," she said, which surprised me. "Hate yourself for what and who you think you are and that will give you more motivation to improve and change and become the woman I expect you to become."

  She reached out and seized my wheelchair wheels, turning them around so I had to look at myself in the mirror.

  "Go on, stare at that girl. Is that who you are. Rain?"

  "I don't know who that is," I said.

  "Exactly. Drive away this stranger who has taken over your body. Drive her out through your therapy and your determination to take control of your destiny again."

  "I'll never hold a man's hand and walk again. I'll never dance."

  "You will."

  "How?"

  "You will hold his hand and roll along with him and you will dance in your mind and you'll be so strong, he won't see you as anything but standing beside him. That's the way it is between my husband and me and that's the way it will be for you," she assured me.

  "Go on, get out of here and take charge of your life. Rain Arnold."

  I smiled at her.

  "Will you come to see me?"

  "No,'" she said. I lost my smile. "You'll come to see me." she corrected and I laughed. "That's more like it. I've got to go to see some patients who really need me now," she concluded and started out.

  "Doctor Snyder."

  "What?" she asked turning. "Thank you."

  "Thank you," she returned.

  "Why?"

  "Every time I see determination in a patient's face. I get stronger myself. You'll understand. In time, you'll understand." she said.

  I watched her wheel herself out and then I sucked back my renegade tears and reached deep down inside myself to dip into that well of grit Mama Arnold had created in me.

  I will get stronger. I chanted. I will.

  Early the next morning Jake appeared. I was already dressed and in my chair.

  "Well now," he said. "don't you look pretty?"

  I had taken some time with my hair and put on some lipstick. I was so nervous my hand shook and I had to wipe the lipstick off and do it again. As I sat there waiting for Jake, my stomach had filled with goldfish swimming in mad circles and tickling my insides.