Falling From the Sky

  Ugh.

  Again she’d strayed way too far outside her comfort zone, and would now have to bear the uncomfortable consequences. Callie had always thought of herself as an intelligent person. But lately there was a startling amount of evidence to the contrary. Hank made her into a bumbling fool. That had been true since the very first time she’d been introduced to him.

  As her brain circled endlessly around this spectacular lapse in judgment, she began to worry about the fallout. Hank wasn’t going to tell on her. He just wasn’t that kind of guy. But what if someone saw her kissing a patient? Not her patient, of course. But that wasn’t the kind of detail that would shine through if the story ever made the front page of the local newspaper, would it? Local Doctor Molests Patient. Film at eleven.

  Film. Did the hospital have security cameras in the therapy room? The very idea made Callie spring up off her sofa and head to the kitchen for a glass of wine. “I am the world’s biggest idiot.” Callie spoke this sentence aloud, and her condo was so still that the words practically echoed right back to her.

  Counting up every move Hank had made didn’t reassure her. Because she was the doctor. She had a duty to him and not the other way around.

  Callie fell into a distracted funk, and didn’t sleep well for the next several nights. Her conscience shamed her late into the night. And it didn’t matter that there was a contradicting voice, a tiny one, which pointed out that she’d made Hank feel good, and that he’d needed that.

  What she did was still not okay. And she heard it like a drum beat in her head. Not okay. Not okay.

  Meanwhile, her work schedule was grueling. After spending yet another busy day at the hospital, she came home to her condo one night to find Hank sitting on the bench outside.

  She tried to keep her face from falling, but she was too spent for polite conversation.

  “Hi,” he said quickly. “Got a minute?”

  Not really. Callie hoped he hadn’t been waiting long, because she really needed to do a face-plant on her sofa right now. “What’s up?” she said, sitting down beside him.

  “Well,” his voice was low. “Last time I came to apologize to you, it didn’t go so well. So I just wanted to tell you again how sorry I am that I embarrassed you before. You have no idea how highly I think of you.” He chuckled nervously. “Well, after last Friday, maybe you do.”

  Callie withheld a sigh. “We don’t have to talk about it anymore. I told you—no hard feelings.”

  He reached over to her hand where it lay on the bench, massaging it briefly with his warm palm. “I know you did. But I still want you to understand. The reaction I had the other day… Things don’t usually work that well for me. I was awake half the night trying to convince myself that it actually happened.”

  Callie needed to extract herself from this conversation and go inside. “You know, there are specialists who deal with this all the time. I’ll bet most of the guys in the therapy program see a urologist.”

  “I know. I already made the appointment.” A silence settled over them, but it was not unpleasant. After a few moments he spoke again. “Right after my injury, my girlfriend dumped me. I went from being a…” He paused.

  “Man whore?” she supplied.

  He rolled his eyes. “I prefer ‘player.’ Anyway, I went from the guy girls threw their panties at, to the guy who couldn’t keep it up. My girlfriend dumped me when I still had a catheter up my…” He glanced up at her. “She said, ‘I’m an athlete, and I need a real man,’ and she took off.”

  “How old was she?”

  “Twenty-four.”

  “And were you a paragon of wisdom at twenty-four?”

  “Only when I was stoned.”

  Callie sighed. “So you let a twenty-four-year-old witch convince you that you’re no longer a sexual being?”

  “Well, when you put it that way…” He sighed, too. “Look, I just wanted to tell you again that I’m sorry things went so wrong between us. I don’t have a high tolerance for humiliation.”

  Callie felt the sting of inconvenient tears threaten at the back of her throat. “Funny, but neither do I.”

  He cleared his throat. “I know. I’m sorry I ever caused you any.”

  “I know you are. But you’re not the only one sitting here who was recently dumped, and told they weren’t sexy enough anymore.”

  His eyes got wide. “Who would say that to you?”

  “My live-in boyfriend was a doctor at the hospital.” She looked away. “I caught him cheating on me with a nursing student.”

  “Wait…that skinny dude with the glasses? The one who asked you to cover his shift?”

  She shrugged.

  “Hang on, girl. So this little shit got caught in the act. If he said you weren’t all that, he only did it to try to share the blame. He’s a coward, Callie. I hope you told him so.”

  “Not really. Instead, I just carried around the echo of his words in my head. But I still…” She swallowed. “I was still willing to go there with you. And look how that turned out.”

  “I did not reject you, Callie.”

  “I know you believe that. But if you could try to put yourself in someone else’s shoes, you’d see how it looked to me.”

  “Shit. I’m sorry, okay? I was afraid.”

  “I know you were. And now so am I. So, thanks for that.” Her voice quavered as she said it, and his face fell. “I’ve been at work for twelve hours, Hank. I’m too tired to have this conversation in a way that doesn’t end in…” She almost said tears. “…Me being crabby,” she said instead.

  Hank grabbed her hand and raised it to his lips. He kissed her palm gently. “Do you have any days this week when you aren’t working twelve hours? Because I’d really like to take you out to dinner.”

  Callie’s insides swooped and then dove. “I can’t say yes,” she said in a small voice. “It wouldn’t be ethical for me to date a patient in the therapy program. I shouldn’t have ever…” She cleared her throat. “What I did the other day… That was wrong.”

  His face fell. “That can’t be true. Because what you did the other day gave me something I haven’t felt in a long time. You took me out of my head and shook me up. And it really sucks to hear that you feel bad about it now.”

  Callie felt a lump in her throat the size of New England. Because it occurred to her that there was something else at work here. Maybe Hank was attracted to her only because she was a doctor. Who would a paralyzed man turn to if he needed help understanding how his post-crash body worked? A doctor. And preferably one who had just read everything on the planet about paralysis.

  “I should go,” Callie whispered. “I’ll see you at the hospital.”

  She chanced a look at his face, and then immediately wished that she hadn’t. Because the regret in those deep brown eyes was soul-deep. “Take care of yourself, Callie girl.”

  “You, too,” she said with a hard swallow. Then she walked away.

  Twelve

  In Hank’s dreams, there was never a need for a wheelchair. When his eyes were shut, moving under his own power was easy again. Now, Hank dreamed of walking the hospital corridors, which didn’t make any sense, because he’d never been there until he could no longer walk.

  But that was the way of dreams.

  He passed through to the men’s locker room, and then beyond, to the pool-deck door. He stepped into the steamy, chlorinated room. The place was largely deserted, the water in the therapy pool glassy. But a single figure sat alone in the hot tub. A certain doctor relaxed there, her head tipped back, eyes closed.

  The only sound was the burble of water as Hank walked to the edge of the tub. When he put a hand on the side to climb in, she opened her eyes.

  Wordlessly, Hank slipped into the water. And just as easily, he drew Callie against his body and began to kiss her. This being a dream, no discussion was really necessary. And when she climbed onto his body, straddling him, he realized that neither of them was wearing any clothes. There w
as only heated, slippery skin against aroused skin. With a groan, Hank leaned into the curves of her body. Reaching for her, trying to get more of her into his arms, Hank…

  Woke up.

  Blinking in his sunlit bedroom, he took stock of the situation. Callie was nowhere to be found. A week had passed since their depressing conversation, and his dreams were the only place he’d seen her lately. He had to hand it to his subconscious, though. The hot tub was a nice touch. Too bad the only accurate detail from the whole dream was his lack of clothing. Hank had always enjoyed sleeping in the nude, and breaking his back had not changed that habit.

  Hank lifted the covers and cast an eye down his body. His penis looked up at him, mostly erect and jutting over his belly. Dropping the sheets back into place, Hank lay still for a moment. There was no place he had to be today. It would be easy to just close his eyes and drowse for a while longer.

  Instead, he slid one tentative hand down his body and stroked himself. Immediately the doubts began to kick in. This probably wouldn’t work. And when he went soft in a few minutes, it was going to depress the hell out of him. Again.

  Heaving a sigh, he withdrew his hand.

  There was an irony at work here. Before his accident, teaching his body new tricks had been practically all that Hank did all day. To be a freestyle snowboarder was to constantly hurl yourself into the air, scrambling to achieve that extra half rotation into the trick before gravity won. When Hank had been working on a new trick, he always crashed dozens of times before he made it work. And then as soon as the trick became part of his repertoire, he’d choose some new punishing feat and get to work on it.

  Crash. Get up. Crash. Try again. He’d been doing that since he got his first snowboard at age seven. Even during those rare times when he was visited by doubts, he didn’t quit. Because noodling with his snowboard was what he did. Stopping would not even have been possible.

  For the first time in his life, a physical challenge had him tied in knots.

  Hank sat up in bed. Tapping the phone dock beside his bed, he started a Pearl Jam playlist. Now there was a mood lifter. Transferring to his chair, he wheeled into the bathroom. But instead of starting the shower, Hank opened a drawer in the vanity and removed a blister pack with colorful tablets in it. The urologist had given it to him two days ago. Extracting one from the package, he studied the pill. The idea that anything so small could solve his problem was pretty ridiculous. But the doctor had been very encouraging. “It’s like gas on the accelerator,” he’d said. “I’ll be stunned if these don’t help you.”

  Hank tossed the pill in his mouth and then drank a glass of water.

  But now what? The pill needed half an hour to take effect. He rolled back into the bedroom, where Eddie Vedder was singing “Black” from the excellent stereo speakers he’d added during the renovation. Tossing himself onto the bed, Hank stretched out. He dropped his hand between his legs and cupped his sack. Closing his eyes, he called up the dream he’d been having. The warm water. Callie’s naked body.

  Just relax, he ordered himself. The doctor had also said not to worry if he didn’t get the reaction he wanted on the first try.

  Hank took a deep breath and sank back onto the bed. Getting comfortable, he exhaled, quieting his mind.

  “Hazardous, are you back here?”

  Even as his brain registered his sister’s voice, a knock came on the bedroom door.

  Hank yanked up the covers. “Stella? I’m getting dressed.”

  Her voice was muffled by the door. “I came to take you to brunch with Mom. Please, will you come with us?”

  “Mom is here?” Hank turned off the music. Then he transferred to his chair and began to get dressed.

  “No, she’s meeting me at the Maplewood Inn, and I was hoping you’d come with us. I should have called, I know.”

  Hank zipped up his jeans very carefully. Though his sister’s timing was awful, he couldn’t deny that he was happy to hear from her. His little sister hadn’t stopped by in ages. And if she wanted to drag him to brunch, then he was game.

  He rolled over to his closet and opened the door. “Hey, Stella? Can you come in here a second and find me a shirt that says ‘brunch with Mom.’”

  She opened the door and gave him a once over. “Jeans?”

  He shrugged. “I’m going along to absorb some of Mom’s disapproval, Stell. What do you care what I’m wearing? Besides, this is Vermont. There’s no dress code. Even at the Maplewood.”

  “Don’t get your panties in a bunch.” Stella stepped around his chair and picked through the shirts. “I just need to know so I can choose the right thing. I’ve always liked this.” She held out a black shirt cut from some kind of sueded moleskin cloth for his approval.

  He beckoned with two fingers, and she unbuttoned it from the hanger, tossing it to him when she was done.

  “Socks?” she asked, walking toward his dresser and opening the bottom drawer.

  “I’ll get ‘em. You don’t have to baby me.” Although it hadn’t been long ago when Hank had been so laid up that people were actually dressing him. Not a fun memory. He buttoned the shirt, taking care to leave it untucked and hanging down over his crotch, just in case the pill he’d taken was more effective than he bargained for.

  “I’m not babying you. I’m rushing you. That’s different.”

  “Good to know.”

  “Hank?” She paused with her hand on his bedroom door. “Thanks for coming with me on, like, zero notice. I know you’re not just sitting around, eating bonbons.”

  Ah, but it was nearly true these days. He was either at the hospital or here. But didn’t that sound pathetic? “Lucky for you, I’m free,” he said. “And starved.” But that wasn’t really the reason he’d hopped to when Stella came through the door. It had been a long time since his little sister sought out his company.

  Right after the accident, Stella had been great. And when she’d eventually stopped coming around, Hank had assumed she had her own life to lead, and needed to get on with it. So he hadn’t thrown any guilt her way, or made a big deal about it. But after their little chat at Rupert’s, he should have realized that she was hurting, too.

  “Should I start the car?” she asked. “Mom is such a freak about being prompt.”

  “I’m doing my best here, babe.” He propped up his leg on the bed and put his sock on. “Hey—is there any background dirt that you want me to have before we get there? Are you still lobbying Mom about your trip to Valdez?”

  She gave her head a sad little shake. “I’ve given up, honestly. She wants me to sit out a year. But that’s just code for hoping I find something more worthy to do with my time.”

  It sucked that his sister’s life was in as much flux as his own. What a shitty year they’d had. “Have you talked to Bear, by any chance?”

  His sister’s face did something weird then. A peculiar flash of dismay crossed her features, before she chased it away again. Stella cleared her throat. “Bear? Why?”

  “He wants to make a film. He was trying to get me to narrate it, but I turned him down. Anyway, he mentioned heli-skiing, so I know he was thinking about big mountain shots. Maybe he’s going somewhere you haven’t been yet.”

  A moment went by before she answered. “Wow. Okay.”

  “Actually, I’m supposed to see him next weekend. He was going to pass me some of the details. I’ll ask then.”

  “Thanks,” she whispered.

  “You’re welcome, sweetie. I know Mom is cramping your style, and it’s all because of me.”

  “That’s not your fault, though,” she said, her voice low. “Hank, I’m sorry I haven’t been around.”

  Aw. He hadn’t meant to give her a guilt trip. “Come here.” Stella walked close to him, and Hank pulled her down for a hug. “We’re still on the same team, right?”

  “Always,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

  Hank gave her a squeeze. He’d been so distracted by his own misery l
ately that there hadn’t been any room for Stella’s troubles. But it had been juvenile of him not to see that his injury had hurt everyone at the same time.

  “Glad to have you back,” he said, his voice gruff. “Now, let’s get Mom to buy us an overpriced breakfast. Can you grab my keys off the hook?”

  “Can I drive your Porsche?”

  “Never,” came Hank’s quick reply.

  “Damn it.”

  Thirteen

  The following Sunday, Callie drove toward the hospital, past the scarecrows and the pumpkin patches. It was a perfect sunny Vermont day, and almost sixty degrees outside. But the gorgeous weather made her feel grim. She was on her way to work yet again, subbing a half shift for none other than Nathan. She should have turned him down on principle, but she had nothing better to do. And there was always the overtime pay to cheer her. Callie’s student-loan account flourished even while her social life was as dry as the Indian corn decorating doors all over Vermont.

  Traffic slowed on the approach into town, and Callie realized why when she saw tents set up on the town green. Today was the annual harvest festival. Braking to a stop to allow a departing car to slide into traffic in front of her, Callie realized that a piece of homemade pie might cheer her up. She had twenty minutes to spare before her shift, so she nabbed the newly vacant parking spot and killed the engine. If the line wasn’t too long, she could even listen to the band for a few minutes, or check out the used-book sale.

  The festival was a big deal in tiny Hamilton, and so the food tent was packed. Callie paid for a piece of apple pie with crumb topping, then tried to thread her way toward the outdoors. Her progress was halted by a tall man who had managed to trip on something. For a moment, Callie thought he was going to end up face-first on the grass. But he recovered, muttered a hasty apology to someone in the crowd and scurried off.

  When he moved away, Callie realized that the thing he’d tripped on was a wheelchair. And its occupant, complete with hot, mirrored shades on his face, sexy stubble on his jaw and familiar tattoos on his arms, was looking right at her.