Thoughts of what he would say to Farah when he went inside barraged him, making him feel like he’d consumed more beer than he had.
Lightning threaded across the sky, flickering in pulses that lit up the neighbors’ yards. Rain hammered against the roof of the car, and he decided to make a run for it before the storm intensified further. The icy drops were like cold needles as he jogged to the front door and slid inside, the warmth and dryness of the house embracing him. Evan peeled his soaking jacket off and threw it in the dryer, listening to the sounds of dishes being stacked in cabinets. When he entered the kitchen, he saw Farah straining to put away the heavy crockpot on a high shelf, her round body shaking with effort.
“Jeez, Farah, let me help you,” Evan said, hurrying across the kitchen and taking the crockpot from her hands.
“Oh, I would’ve got it, I’m just short, that’s all. Put it up there every other time, you know.”
Evan closed the cabinet door and turned to his son’s PCA. The retired nurse looked like the embodiment of Mrs. Claus, with her curled white hair and miniature features. The red color in her cheeks from the effort of lifting the crockpot only furthered the likeness.
“I know, and I’ve told you, you don’t have to put away the dishes.”
Farah waved a hand at him and grasped a gallon of milk from the counter. She stowed it in the refrigerator. “Shauny’s resting, so I thought I’d do something useful until you got home. Nice that it’s Friday, huh? Glad to be done with work?”
Evan opened his mouth, an insane giggle wanting to burst out. “Yes, definitely,” he said, sitting at the kitchen table. He pulled off his damp socks.
Farah paused. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, perfect,” he said, without raising his head. “How was he today?”
“Very good. He did magnificent at physical therapy, took a dozen steps using only the rolling walker.”
“That’s great. Did we get anything in the mail from the doctor?”
Farah walked to the counter and sifted through a short stack of envelopes. Evan eyed the pile with distaste; no doubt, it contained mostly bills and past-due letters.
“Ah, yep, here you go,” Farah said, handing him a thick envelope.
He took the letter and set it on the table. “I asked for more information on the seizures he had two weeks ago. I wanted to know if that’s something we can look forward to from now on.”
Sickness soured his stomach as the memory of Shaun shaking and jittering on the floor washed over him. The overwhelming helplessness of that morning hadn’t diminished in the least.
“I asked Lindsey today if seizures were common with TBI, and she said that they were.”
“I knew they were, but he’d never had one before, so ...”
Farah nodded. “We also did some flash cards this afternoon, he remembered ‘hammer’ and ‘window’ this time, so that was good. He had a bath, and he ate great at supper. He wanted to watch one of his little shows, so I put one in, and the poor thing didn’t even make it through the credits before he fell asleep on the couch.” Farah’s face crinkled with a smile, her eyes glimmering warmth.
It wasn’t the first time, or the hundredth, Evan felt a swelling of appreciation at having such a wonderful caretaker for Shaun. But the stabbing knowledge that he might have to let her go became too much, and he stood, moving through the archway to the living room.
Shaun sat propped against two overstuffed pillows on the couch. The dancing light from the TV illuminated his son’s delicate face with myriad colors. Evan knelt beside the couch and took one of Shaun’s soft hands in his own. Shaun’s light hair fell in a sweep across his forehead, and Evan brushed it away. It was longer than normal, another reminder of Elle’s absence. She used to always cut Shaun’s hair, in his medical chair under the bright lights of the kitchen. Evan remembered the sound of Shaun’s laughter as his hair fell beneath the clips of Elle’s scissors, his small legs kicking with glee.
Shaun’s eyes opened into slits, and Evan blinked back a layer of tears, determined not to cry in front of his son again.
“Hi, buddy.”
Shaun smiled, gripping his hand tighter. “Da.”
“How was your day?”
Shaun’s mouth worked, and he licked his lips. After a few moments of struggling, his forehead wrinkled. “Yesh,” he said, and frowned.
“Farah said you did great today. She said you walked a mile.”
Shaun giggled and wiped at his eyes, tried to sit up but only managed to slide down farther into the pillows.
“Here, buddy,” Evan said, hoisting him into a better sitting position. “You can go back to sleep again if you want.”
Shaun shook his head and pointed at the TV. “Tains.”
Evan glanced at the television, where Thomas the Train raced along beside another tank engine.
“Okay, you watch your trains,” Evan said, and tousled his son’s hair, feeling the rough scar tissue on the left side of his scalp.
When he turned, he saw Farah watching them from the kitchen. She moved aside to let him pass, but her eyes remained on the little boy.
“He’s doing so good,” Farah said, finally turning away.
“Yes, he is. I think we’ll try tracing again tonight, if he’s up to it.”
“Sounds like a plan. Well, I should get home to Steve, he’ll be worried, what with the storm. But I whipped up some hot dish, it’s in the fridge.”
“Thank you,” Evan said.
He followed her to the foyer, where she donned a plain set of slip-on boots as well as a light jacket.
“I’ll see you both Monday morning then, bright and early,” Farah said, gripping the door handle. She glanced at Evan and must have seen something flit across his face, because she stopped, her eyes penetrating. “Are you okay?”
He swallowed. “Yeah, long day.”
Farah smiled sadly and grasped his arm in her short fingers. “You’re doing splendid, you know?”