Chapter 1
The doors clattered open and I pushed my wheelchair over the threshold. A couple of people squeezed in before me. Everyone was always in a hurry to get where they were going. Busy, busy people with busy, busy lives. I was slow, a roadblock. It didn’t bother me anymore. I was used to it- for the most part.
After I got on the train, I pulled a lap throw from my backpack and spread it over my legs. Then I settled in to read. I took a minute to tilt the brim of my cap down to hide my face, ignoring the curious look I got from the businesswoman seated across from me. I wore the hat for just this reason. People always stared. Some were more obvious about it than others. The cap made me at least feel like they couldn’t see me. If they couldn’t see my face then they were just seeing a person in a wheelchair, not the person in the wheelchair. They weren’t staring at me.
There was a commotion on the platform, and I glanced up. A dark-haired man in a suit was making his way down the aisle. It took me a minute to realize that he was hurrying away from a group of men- running, but trying not to look like he was running. He dashed onto my car just as the doors rattled closed and the train began to move.
I don’t know why I did it. Maybe I just know how it feels to be the underdog. For whatever reason, I lifted up my blanket and took off my hat. The dark haired man glanced at me for a mere second before he grabbed them and sat down on the bench next to me. He shoved the cap on his head, squashing his shiny, dark brown hair, and tilted it down to hide his eyes. Then he threw the blanket over his wide shoulders. By the time the train passed the men still searching for him on the platform, he was also in possession of my walker, unfolded and braced in front of him.
He slumped a bit and I went back to reading my book. No one else seemed to notice. Everyone was busy. They didn’t care if he was crazy. We were probably both crazy. After all, we both looked disabled. I knew from experience that many of the people around us were thinking it like it was a dirty word. If they thought about it at all, which they probably didn’t.
After a few minutes, the man sat up and returned my things. His eyes were very green, and had a warm, honest look in them. He waited while I slowly folded up the blanket and put it in my backpack, then hooked the walker over the handles on the back of my wheelchair. Standing, he glanced outside and rocked onto his toes- not impatient with me, I thought. Just impatient to get off the train.
“Thank you,” he said softly. His voice was beautiful, musical.
I nodded, reminding myself not to stare. He had a good-natured face, with a square jaw and a couple of deep lines that bracketed his mouth when he smiled. “No problem.” I wanted to ask him why he was hiding, but I figured that was a rude question. I would hate to be accused of being socially inappropriate. My therapists would be so proud.
He cocked his head to the side, studying me. “Why did you help me?”
I glanced up at the lighted panel over the door as the unintelligible voice announced our next stop over the crackling loudspeaker. Glancing back at the man, I shrugged. “Sometimes I just do things without thinking… impulsivity, I’m told.” The medical world has so many terms for everything.
He chuckled softly. “Well, thank you…”
“Melody,” I said shyly. He was a very attractive man, lean and graceful with a smile that went right to my heart, warming me from the inside out. Attractive men don’t usually bother to waste time chatting me up.
He stuck out his hand. “Melody. It’s a very pretty name. Thank you for your help.”
I liked the way he said my name, with a little lilt to it. When he said it, it was a very pretty name. I shook his hand firmly. If I squeeze hard when I shake hands, it hides the tremors. He didn’t seem to mind. He just squeezed back and gave me a dazzling smile.
The train came to my stop and I frowned. I hadn’t talked to someone new in a while, but I had to get off. I started to push my chair forward, but he stopped me, stepping in front of me to block my path. I would be lucky if I managed to make it out the door before it closed.
“Can I push you?” His smooth voice was confident. I beamed up at him. People have all these rules about what they can and can’t do if you are in a wheelchair. Okay, so some people probably get all offended if you try to help them. I don’t. I like to do things for myself, but sometimes help is nice. Sometimes just an offer of help is nice.
“Sure,” I said eagerly. Now I could tell the ladies at the library about the hot guy that helped me off the train. They would milk it for hours. They were older, so they got out about as much as I did these days.
He gently pushed me over the threshold and across the platform, hesitating for a minute as we reached the sidewalk. He stepped around the front of the chair, and I placed a hand on each wheel to keep from rolling backward.
“Where are you headed from here?”
I nodded at the building behind him. “I work at the library.”
He glanced over his shoulder toward the old brick building and gave me a dazzling smile. “I love that old place,” he said happily. “I’m glad it’s still being used.”
The building that housed the library had once been the courthouse. It was a pretty structure, with lots of history. I loved the building itself almost as much as I loved being surrounded by books. The man stepped back and gave me a dramatic bow, won him a surprised laugh from me. “Thank you for your help, miss Melody.”
He smiled and headed off down the street, and I waved goodbye. I sat still for a moment, processing what had just happened. By the time I pushed myself into motion, he had disappeared from sight, lost in the small crowd of people rushing by on the street. It was early enough that people were still heading to work in the mad dash to begin their busy day. It was all too fast to me. I felt like they were all hopping about like rabbits, while I moved at the pace of a tortoise.
Nonetheless, when I made my way into the library, I was still smiling. Janice, one of the librarians, greeted me with surprise. “You look great today,” she said, mirroring my smile.
I nodded at the round, grey haired woman. “It’s going to be a good day!” I said cheerfully. One thing I had learned to accept since my brain injury was that sometimes you have good days and sometimes you have bad days. That the bad days were now much worse just made the good days feel that much better by comparison. It made me appreciate the little things- like talking to a new person on the subway, for example.
I put my things away and went to the pile of returned books, inhaling the scent of paper and bindings, and book that suffused the place. I hummed to myself as I carefully sorted the books onto the cart to be re-shelved. I glanced at each title, keeping an eye out for stories I hadn’t read yet. I stroked the bindings lovingly. Books had been my escape for years now. I couldn’t do much adventuring out there in the real world, but through books, I could go anywhere and do anything.
My job at the library was a godsend. It was one of the few places where people didn’t care if I did things slowly. Mrs. Waverly was waiting at the desk when I returned from shelving the books. The elderly woman held a little scrap of paper with tiny bluebirds on it. A book title was scrawled across it in flowery cursive. “Can you help me find this one dear?” She had been coming to this library every Thursday for at least the last few years.
I took the scrap of paper and wheeled out from behind the desk. “Sure thing, Margaret. It should be right over here.” She took her time to browse the nearby shelves and soak in the quiet atmosphere while I wheeled over to the biography section and slowly scanned the catalog numbers on the tidy rows of books. Finally, I saw the title I was looking for. I locked my brakes and unbuckled my seatbelt. Using one arm, I levered myself up just far enough out of my seat to reach the book. My legs helped but they were weak, unable to support my weight. I plopped back down almost immediately, book in hand.
After I checked out her books and slipped them into her tote bag, Mrs. Waverly reached across the counter to pat my hand. “Thank you,” she said sweetly. “Most people would get irritated with an old lady like me.”
I laughed. “I know the feeling,” I said lightly. “And it’s no trouble at all.”
She shouldered her bag and headed for the door. “See you next week dear.”
Throughout the day, my mind kept drifting back to the guy from the subway. He had seemed nice. And he really was very attractive. I frowned as I recalled the shady-looking men that were following him. Thanks to my overactive imagination, I dreamed up all sorts of outlandish stories as I went about my work. I had the guy involved with everything from a jewelry heist to the mafia. It was better than reading a mystery novel. Only this time, I didn’t have the ability to flip to the back of the book and see how it ended.
*****
The next day was one of the bad days where everything seems to take twice as long as normal and it seems like the whole world is out to get you. I awkwardly rolled over to shut off the alarm, and sucked in a deep breath when a spasm made my reaching arm contract painfully. Once the muscles relaxed, I tried again… and again. It only took me three tries today.
I sat up and pushed back the covers. The bed heaved and Taz, my big chocolate lab mix, stuck his face in mine. I ruffled his soft ears and he lunged to the floor and trotted out of the room. I used my hands to move my legs to the edge of the bed where I let them fall, my feet hitting the carpeted floor with a soft thump.
Sighing, I took a minute to just breathe. I closed my eyes and said thanks. Thanks for letting me wake up today. Thanks for everything I take for granted.
I double checked the brakes on my wheelchair and hiked myself to the edge of the bed. From there I levered myself into my chair, scooting sideways and using my arms to do most of the work. My legs helped, but they were lazy, weak. My brain was sending out the wrong signals, making motor control pretty much non-existent. I sighed and re-positioned my legs. Most people could move automatically, without thought. I had to concentrate like crazy. I tried to scoot back in my seat, and flopped back harder than I had intended. Sometimes I didn’t quite get the movement I was going for. An inpatient doggy whine drifted to me from the kitchen and I pushed myself into motion. “I’m coming, I’m coming. Chill.”
I grabbed some clothes out of my old, beat up dresser and wheeled into the big, open bathroom. Thankfully, once it was determined that my brain injury was a permanent condition, the car insurance company had paid to make my apartment accessible. The first couple of months after I came home had been rough. I had to have someone help me around, not because I couldn’t do it on my own- I had been through rehab at that point- but because there just wasn’t room for my chair or a walker. Now I didn’t have to worry about running into doorframes or getting my wheels stuck in the tight places.
I looked in the mirror and made a face. My thick, light brown hair was flat on one side and poufy on the other. I decided it wasn’t worth the half an hour ordeal just to brush my hair and get it into a ponytail. I ran my fingers through the thick mass and left it hanging loose. My hands were strong, since they did all the work, but they weren’t coordinated.
After I got dressed, I ate breakfast, gave Taz a final pat, and headed out. I had packed up all my stuff and headed toward the door when he intercepted me, his eyes in full-out puppy mode, and his leash dangling from his mouth. My memory was always worse on days like this. I laughed and let him take me for a walk.
In order to get to the library where I worked, I had to take the subway, so I hustled myself out of the elevator and across the street to the little station. Adjusting to all the little changes, like not being able to drive for instance, had been hard at first. Little by little, I was beginning to accept who I was now. The new normal, as one of my therapists had put it. I patiently waited on the small platform, grateful that we had the modest train system in such a small town. Though the population wasn’t very big, Westfall had become a sort of business hub, and lots of people commuted to work here from the even smaller towns surrounding us.
I was pretty lucky to have a job, especially one that I enjoyed and was actually willing to pay me for my time. It didn’t pay much, but it was more than most people with a severe brain injury could have managed. I was lucky to have even emerged from “minimally conscious”- or so I’ve been told. Surviving was amazing. Living on my own was amazing. Working was amazing. Sometimes I didn’t want to be amazing. I would settle for plain old normal, but the drunk who had sent his big truck barreling into my tiny little car hadn’t asked my opinion on the matter.
I got to work late, but my hours at the library were flexible. I suffered from delayed processing speed. That, paired with my motor issues, made me slower than the average person at just about everything. The library paid me a weekly salary, which worked out well on both ends. I could take as long as I needed to do my job duties and I didn’t have to worry about days when I was moving slower than usual.
Janice was working again, and she greeted me right at the door. Taking my stuff, she herded me to the front desk. The wrinkles at the corners of her blue eyes were all crinkled up with merriment. “Look!” she said excitedly. “Aren’t they beautiful? They’re for you.”
I wheeled up to the desk and tentatively reached out to touch the big petals of the white orchid growing in the center of a massive floral arrangement. There was a card on one of those little plastic sticks, and I awkwardly pulled it out and handed it to her to open.
“Where did they come from?” I was puzzled. The only people I could think of that would send me flowers that ridiculous were my parents- and they wouldn’t bother without some reason.
Janice pulled out the card and handed it to me. “A man brought them in. He was asking for you, but he said he couldn’t stay long.” She patted her perfectly rolled hair, and grinned like an addlepated teenager.
I glanced down at the card. Thanks again, it said in pretty, loopy cursive. It was signed Peter. It had to be the man from the subway. He hadn’t told me his name, but I didn’t know any other mysterious, handsome males. I looked at Janice again. That would certainly explain her fluster.
The older woman smiled. “He was real good looking.” I blushed and looked at the flowers again. The orchid was surrounded by various greenery. It looked like it was growing up out of a jungle. I had never seen one so large. “He said he would come back around lunch time,” Janice continued slyly.
I looked at her in surprise. “He’s coming back?”
I glanced down at my clothes and patted my hair, beginning to panic. My wardrobe consisted of comfortable and easy to care for. I was wearing a pair of baggy jeans, a vibrant red sweatshirt, and a pair of old sneakers. I hadn’t bothered to pull my hair up, thinking it saved time to just brush it out and ignore it, and it bobbled around my shoulder in untidy waves.
Janice saw my horrified look and laughed. She patted my shoulder as she made her way back behind the desk. “You look fine, Melody. You’re a beautiful girl no matter what you wear.” Great, even the old lady thought my clothes were hideous.
I shook my head and gestured at the flower arrangement. “How in the world am I gonna get that thing home?” I asked practically, hiding my excitement. “I can barely manage to get all of my crap on and off the train every day.” No way could I manage a giant pot of rainforest on top of all that. Janice just laughed, knowing I was avoiding the real issue here. He brought me flowers. And he was coming back.
I sighed and got to work, losing myself as I tried to get everything done quickly to make up for being late. When noon rolled around, I was organizing the lower shelves and straightening the chairs in the children’s section. I was so intent on my work that I had forgotten about the flowers. Coming around the front of the children’s display, I saw them sitting on the corner of the desk and felt a little flush of excitement. Just then, the bell above the door jingled and the man from the subway walked in.
He looked older today- or at least more polished. He was wearing black slacks and a button-down shirt. His dark hair, which had been a bunch of wild waves the day before, was tamed, brushed back from his forehead to make him look sleek and professional. His green eyes were the same, and I swallowed hard as I tried not to look as flustered as I felt. His eyes found me immediately, and he came to help me straighten a small table the kids had scooted off the brightly carpeted area designated for them.
“Thanks,” I awkwardly gestured at the table, and he smiled.
“No problem. Did you get the flowers?” He looked around until he saw them sitting on the edge of the front desk.
“They’re so pretty,” I said hesitantly, scrabbling to put my thoughts together. “You really didn’t have to do that, but thank you.”
He shrugged. “You helped me out, even though you didn’t know a thing about me.” He studied my face. “I wanted to do something nice for you.”
I shrugged, and we were both silent for a minute. It could be that he just pitied me. But it sure didn’t feel like that. I had no idea how to handle this. I hadn’t dated since I was eighteen years old- before my accident. Not that I was thinking of him as my boyfriend or anything, but I hadn’t talked to a good-looking guy in a really long time.
“Um…so your name is Peter?”
He smiled and held out his hand. I couldn’t help grinning in response. He had a beautiful smile… captivating. “Peter Marcellus.”
I shook his hand firmly. “Melody Westcott.”
Gesturing toward the door, he raised an elegant eyebrow. “Well, Melody Westcott, would you care to eat lunch with me?”
I nodded immediately. My parents would have a fit if they knew I was about to leave the premises with a strange man. Of course, my parents tended to overlook the fact that I was twenty-three years old and not nearly as cognitively disabled as they believed.
After I let Janice know I was leaving for lunch, Peter helped me across the threshold and out into the sunshine. Spring was just breaking. Birds were chattering, even here in town, and several of the brave Michiganders passing by wore sleeveless shits and sandals. I let out a sigh of contentment as the warm sun touched my skin. Peter paused in the threshold to snap open a pair of dark sunglasses, and I was disappointed as he hid those amazing eyes from view.
He gestured down the street toward the local park. “Would you like to eat outside?”
I smiled up at him. “Very much.” My smile faltered. “But is that okay? I mean,” I gestured to his neatly creased pants and starched shirt, “you look so nice.”
He shrugged and waved away my concerns. If it makes you smile like that, then we are eating outside.”
After that, I couldn’t do anything but smile. It turned out Peter worked at a small law firm just down the street from the Library. He had to be back to the office by one o’clock, so we grabbed a couple of hot dogs from a vendor and sat in the park watching the pigeons. He snagged a spot on a bench, in the shade of a big oak tree, and the sun cast dappled shadows on him as we chatted. I put myself directly in the sun, angling my chair so I could see Peter but still feel the warm rays on my face.
“Are you a lawyer then,” I asked curiously.
He shook his head and tossed a piece of his hotdog bun to one of the braver squirrels that had inched close to us. “I’m a paralegal, actually,” he said dismissively.
I frowned at him. “How is that different?”
He considered for a moment. “I help the lawyers prepare their cases, and I help with… investigation, fact-finding, that sort of thing.”
I smiled. “Sounds cool,” I said enviously, “kind of like a private eye or something.”
He snorted. “It can be rather exciting at times, but usually it’s just a lot of boring paperwork.”
I stuffed the last bite of hotdog in my mouth, noticing that Peter had barely touched his. He was probably used to eating something a bit classier than street vendor hotdogs, and I suddenly felt embarrassed and awkward. Seeing my gaze on him, he smiled and took a big bite. I knew it was for show, but I appreciated the gesture. He looked so funny- in his nice suit, with his slicked back hair and expensive sunglasses, holding a paper wrapped hotdog- that I couldn’t help but laugh.
When it was time for Peter to get back to work, we made our way back toward the library. I was sad to think that this was probably the last time I would see him. He was one of those rare people who make you feel like you’ve been friends for years. I was surprised when he hesitated on the threshold. He was still wearing those ridiculously dark glasses, and I couldn’t read much from his expression.
“Do you work tomorrow?” He asked hesitantly.
I nodded. “Sure, I work every weekday.”
“Would you eat lunch with me again?”
Really, you cannot imagine how much that floored me. He wanted to see me again.
I looked up at him, puzzled. “Why?” I asked frankly.
He didn’t pretend not to understand the million questions behind that one word. He squatted down to put us at eye level. It was nice. He was quite tall, and he loomed over me when he was standing. “Because I find you interesting.”
Fed up with not being able to read his expressions, I reached over and lifted up his sunglasses. He didn’t look startled at my invading his personal space. He was pretty interesting himself. He gazed at me seriously, his strange emerald eyes sharp. “May I spend my lunch breaks with you?”
I nodded agreement and he broke into that dazzling smile again. I couldn’t look away from those eyes. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, standing in a smooth motion. I waved and went back inside, completely flustered.