“Okay,” Grant interrupted and he put up his hand. Nothing had changed from before; the writing on the wall was bright red and clear.
“But I don’t know how long you’ll be here…”
“I already said okay.”
Scott looked like he didn’t want to leave. His eyes scanned the room and he pointed out the blankets, he asked if Grant was hungry, he was stalling, and Grant didn’t know why.
“Mr. King,” Grant said after there was an awkward break. “I’m going to be okay. You can go if you want.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll be back. Running the blood work. Here, I need a swab too.” Scott uncapped a long cotton-tipped stick and instructed Grant to swipe the underside of his cheek with the tip. Then he capped it back and put it in his coat. “Thank you.” He hesitated and then left; there was a distinct clicking and locking, and then the sound of retreating footsteps on tile.
Once Grant thought he was alone, he went over to the door and turned the knob, but it didn’t budge. Then he turned and rested his back and took a look around. He couldn’t help but grin: from one closet to another. Except this time he was alone. And there was no chance of clandestine mobility. And he hadn’t asked Lucy’s dad about going to the bathroom.
While sharing a small space with two girls had been occasionally annoying, he also enjoyed Lucy and Salem’s company during their time in the Pacific Lake storage room. He knew that this would be different.
Grant took a step forward and stared at the procured poster. An odd offering, to say the least. Yet, he was comforted by the small act of kindness. Scott King told him that it wouldn’t change his future, and perhaps that was true, but it did give him a strange sort of hope.
Hope wasn’t bad. Hope could sustain him.
That, and the thought of Lucy somewhere in the EUS Two: enjoying time with her family, eating a hot meal, maybe playing a game with her brothers, reading a book to her sister. He closed his eyes and pictured her enjoying a bath. A real bath.
“Father God,” Grant prayed out loud, unsurprised by his own voice in the small space, “let her just forget I’m here. Just for tonight. Please? If she wants to take up a ‘Free Grant’ cause tomorrow, then I’m all for it. And you know that I’m asking because she deserves just some time…to adjust to her family. I, of all people, can understand that. Just protect her. And have her forget about me. I want her to feel normal again. I don’t want her to hurt anymore. Amen.” Even as the request left his mouth, he knew that he was asking God for a miracle.
CHAPTER TEN
The den was comfortable. Light poured in during the day. A fire flooded the room with an amber glow in the nighttime. Sometimes Ethan asked Darla or Ainsley to crank the Victrola and he’d listen to the scratchy records over and over—there was a surreal quality to his life, and the lack of electricity and the old-fashioned music helped transport him to a different time completely. His pain hadn’t subsided, but his general disposition moved into a more melancholy state, with brief periods of acceptance. When Ethan felt sad about his leg or angry that he wasn’t whole, he let himself daydream about Nebraska.
His family would come for him. And then, when they did, maybe he would be in a place where a prosthetic was a possibility. Dreams of the future sustained him.
“And crabwalk to the bookcase with a beanbag on your head!” Teddy giggled and Ethan smirked as Darla sighed and then set a blue beanbag atop her head and shifted into the crabwalk position.
Darla’s parental resourcefulness crafted a game that kept Teddy busy and amused for long periods of time. The rules were fluid and the activities ever-changing, but the basic idea was the same: they would spread out 52 playing cards out along the carpet of the den. Seven of them were marked with a black X. The rest were marked with symbols that stood for Story, Activity or Task. While the activities varied, the person who drew the seventh X was the loser and the other remaining opponent the victor.
Bemoaning introducing Teddy to the idea of the crabwalk, Darla shifted her body backward. “Mom is getting too old for this,” she huffed and then collapsed, sloughing the beanbag to the floor. Ethan smiled; it was a rote parental complaint—Darla was lithe and in shape, and her continual exploration of the surrounding neighborhoods was a daily activity.
Teddy crawled over and gave his mother an impromptu kiss.
“What was that for, Buddy?” Darla asked, smoothing his hair across his forehead.
The child wrapped himself up into Darla’s lap, silent, and contemplative. Then he looked at her with watery eyes. “I miss Mama,” Teddy said. “I want to go to heaven too.”
“Don’t say that!” Darla snapped at her son and Teddy recoiled, his eyes wide. She then self-corrected and spun Teddy to face her, and she cupped his chin in her hands. “Mommy needs you here, with her. Mommy misses Mama too.” She rocked him and kissed him. “Mommy misses Mama every day. But Mommy needs you, Teddy. We are a team now, okay?”
Darla hadn’t talked about the death of her wife—a moment that Ethan had been present for at the Portland airport, amidst the chaos and pain of Release day. For either Teddy’s benefit or her own, she didn’t continually dredge up the loss. Ethan was impressed by her strength and resilience and he envied her.
Ethan glanced away from the mother and son, to give the duo a bit of privacy, and his eyes locked with Ainsley who was standing in the doorway, shifting uncomfortably as if waiting for an invitation to come in. He motioned for her and she hesitated and then entered, shuffling her feet as she walked over to his dad’s desk—she palmed a baseball on a stand, a souvenir from a Giants’ game down in San Francisco. Scott King had caught a foul ball. The scientist juggled and almost dropped the trophy, but emerged victorious. In the eyes of his young sons, Scott was the hero of the day—saving the bored Kings from the doldrums of their own vacation.
Whenever the family wasn’t sure if a day could improve, Scott would say, a smile on his face, “You have to wait. It’ll get better. I haven’t caught the ball yet.”
Out of loyalty and deference to the memory, Ethan wanted Ainsley to stop touching that prized possession. It belonged to his dad; it meant something. It wasn’t just a trinket for everyone to play with.
“Hey,” Darla said, looking up to Ethan, and tears stained her cheeks. “Ted-bear and I are gonna go have some time together. You mind?”
“Why would I mind?” Ethan asked and he shifted on the couch. The stump of his leg was exposed; he’d grown tired of the blankets.
Darla sniffed and stood up—like an octopus, Teddy wrapped his arms and legs around his mother’s body as she walked out. The two were melded together, like one person. And once they were out of sight, Ethan turned to Ainsley and tried to smile.
“Hey, Ainsley,” he started in that familiar tone that indicated he wanted her attention. “I’m sorry…for the other day.”
The girl shrugged and deposited the baseball back on its stand. He relaxed as he watched her hand release it.
“No,” Ethan continued, determined. “I had no right to kick you out. You were just doing what you had been asked to do. It was stupid. I was wallowing.”
“Of course you were,” Ainsley said matter-of-factly, and she walked out from behind the desk and took a step toward Ethan. One arm hung at her side and she grabbed it with her other arm, scratching her fingernails into the flesh around her shoulder. “I know I’m not…” she paused and gnawed on the inside of her cheek, “always the best communicator.”