28. Heidi
The first two weeks in the rehabilitation center were sheer hell. I dreamed about Logan every night. Sometimes, in the middle of the day, when my mind wandered during the mandatory group therapy, or when I was sitting outside in the sun and I heard a puppy bark, my heart would ache for the little family I’d pretended to have.
The month that followed was so dark, I stopped looking at my phone, so I wouldn’t feel obligated to answer Logan’s texts. He was always careful to keep any conversation on me, but I had access to the Internet, and all the great things he was accomplishing with me out of his way.
I pored over pictures of him surrounded by people, beautiful women hanging on him, begging for his attention. He and Boyden had won an award and a lawsuit, respectively, for their work while I was undergoing my cancer treatments. I was sobbing on a treadmill, trying to lift my left foot at the same time Logan was being recognized for his achievements and being offered a gallery in the Village in New York.
When I looked him up later, lying on my back with my legs elevated and waiting for the pain meds to dull the agony of my workout, I had happened upon a photograph and a blurb. In the picture, he was standing with his arm around a young starlet who had very recently decided that saving wildlife was her life’s purpose. The blurb declared them ‘the couple who will save the world,’ and the author had gushed about Logan’s easy Texas ways as though she was next in line if the starlet didn’t pan out.
After that, I stopped cyberstalking Logan; I stopped waiting for his texts. I put away every electronic connection I had to the outside world and focused every waking moment on my recovery. Logan had moved on, but now, so could I. Almost. The therapists had all agreed that there was at least one other person I needed to make my recovery successful. As I sat in my wheelchair by the nurses’ station with the handset to the phone in my hand, I tried to figure out what to say, but I couldn’t think past the beating of my heart.
Finally, the phone clicked over to voicemail, and I tried to pull my thoughts together to leave a coherent message. I cleared my throat and waited for the beep.
“Mom, I know I asked for space to get better, but I’m at a point where I need to talk to you and give you a chance to talk to me so I can keep improving. If you want to come by, just drop in, anytime. I’m not going anywhere for a while.”
I hung up and took a deep breath, releasing it slowly to calm myself. I’d thought breaking up with Logan would be the hardest thing I ever did. Then I’d failed at even that and left myself open to be replaced with a barely legal actress who defined her life’s purpose by the beliefs of whoever she wanted to screw.
I told the nurse at the desk that I didn’t feel well and skipped group therapy, opting to stay in my room and elevate my legs for a few extra minutes instead of listening to Carl, the victim of a drunk driving accident, bare his heart about how Jesus saved his life. Or Paul, the wounded veteran, walking even though his paralysis was worse than mine. Every time that self-satisfied jerk told me it was my fault I wasn’t walking yet, I wanted to punch him in the face. “Then again,” I said aloud to my reflection in the small bathroom mirror, “Maybe releasing that frustration would aid my progress.” I smirked at myself and dried my hands, then wheeled my chair over to the bed and locked the wheels.
As I lifted my body onto the bed, I wondered how Logan’s older brother, George, had gotten through those first few months. I took my phone out of the table next to the bed and turned it on as I considered calling Callie’s pet store for her husband’s number. She’d been with me the day I checked into the long-term rehabilitation center, along with all the other Hargrave women and my mom. It had been a moment of pride, to see so many women who cared about my well-being, not because of any man, but because they’d already been with me through so much.
I could hate Logan until my dying day. I refused to give up the friends I’d made in his family. If he didn’t like that, I figured he could stuff it. After all, he’d been the one to force them on me in the first place. I didn’t call Callie, but I left the phone where I would remember to later and lifted my legs into a comfortable position by tugging at my pants with both hands and scooting myself into the center of the bed. I laid on my back, panting, and tried to forget the aching, gnawing pain that demanded I call Logan and unleash all my heartbreak on him until I’d cried myself dry.
Instead, I filed my feelings away alongside the jerk from group, my former boss and sexual harasser, Chad, the boy from track team, and my selfish, weak father. All the hurt and anger and broken trust filled the hole inside me. The anger was pure and clean and free of the guilt that I’d carried for so long, wondering what I could’ve done to be a better daughter, be more desirable to men, be a better friend.
I was almost asleep and already dreaming of the revenge I’d one day take when I walked into a room on my own steam and made Logan regret the day he’d humiliated me. A sharp rap at the door made me jump, and my heart leaped to my throat.
“Who is it?” I gasped.
My mother poked her head in at me. “You said to drop in, and I was already in the neighborhood, so I thought I’d take you at your word.”
I chuckled and sat up in the bed, trying to hide how weak my left leg still was.
“Oh, my God.” I glanced at my mother, and she was pointing at my lower body with both hands. “Look at you!” I froze and waited for the inevitable criticism. “I can’t believe how much better your right leg is working. And you have muscles again! You must be working so hard.”
I gaped at her for a moment, then finished adjusting in my bed.
“Who are you, and what have you done with my mother?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at her.
She swatted at me, then sniffed as her eyes got glassy with unshed tears.
“What’s wrong?”
“You aren’t the only one the doctors sent to therapy. It started as a support group for parents of children who are struggling through difficult collateral damage of their cancer treatment.”
“What happened?” I sat up all the way and pulled my left foot toward me so I could sit cross-legged. It had become a habit for me, and I didn’t think twice about it until I saw my mother staring.
“You don’t seem to mind at all, anymore. In the hospital, you wouldn’t even let me visit because you couldn’t stand to know I could see you.”
“I didn’t let anyone see me, Mom. Not you, or Logan, or Callie and the ladies. Only doctors, nurses, and the nice Philipino lady who always brought me extra dessert because she thought I needed the calories.” I laughed, thinking about how the lady had scolded me. “She was even smaller and meaner than you.”
My mother flinched, then chuckled. “I bet you didn’t think that was possible.”
I smiled and leaned toward her. “I assumed it was possible. I just never thought I’d see it.”
She leaned forward and smacked my leg, then sat back with a gasp and stared at me wide-eyed. “Did I hurt you?”
I shook my head. The truth was, it hurt a lot. But not because of the surgery or the nerves that had been damaged. I’d been working so hard on trying to walk again, my legs ached like every day was leg day at the gym, and I was simply dealing with the normal muscle aches of pushing too hard. Only, too hard was a simple matter of standing without using handrails or taking fifty steps on a treadmill at one mile per hour.
I hated every second of the work I did. Not because it was difficult, but because every moment that I spent unable to complete routine everyday tasks was a reminder that I was a failure. Add to that a couple of sanctimonious men who had to explain my shortcomings at every group therapy session, and I was beginning to wonder if I couldn’t do better on the outside.
“I need to get better. I’ll never walk without aid. The damage is too extensive. But I’d be happy to walk with a cane if it meant I was walking at all.”
“You look like you are a lot better to me. What does Logan think?” she asked then cringed as I felt flames lick at my cheeks.
“He’s gone, apparently dating an actress, and we’re never going to speak of him again.”
Something flashed across her face, but she didn’t argue. Instead, she told me that since she’d started therapy, she’d signed up for a dating site and was trading emails with a nice family attorney in Austin, but she kept putting off meeting him because she’d decided that disappointment was her lot in life.
“I’m glad I’m talking to someone one on one now,” she admitted finally.
“You mean, from the dating site?”
“No, in therapy. I finally started talking to someone. Let’s just say, my personal idea of a victim was called into question.”
“So, you don’t see yourself as a victim of my cancer anymore?” I quipped, arching one eyebrow at her.
“No, I see everyone who loves you as a victim of your cancer. I just stopped pretending I don’t blame you for having it.” She laced her fingers in her lap and I gaped at her.
“Well, this was a nice visit. Really, glad you stopped by. I like your new, happy look. It suits you,” I rambled as I got into my wheelchair and wheeled myself to the door to open it for her.
“Don’t be like that. No one is more a victim of the cancer than you. That’s what I needed to remember. That no matter how much I was hurting because you were sick or how painful it was to watch you suffer, my pain would never be more than a shadow of yours. If you could suck it up, I had no choice but to do the same.” She closed the door and waited for me to move back to the bed.
“Well, let me know when you get to the point of being the good example, instead of recognizing you should follow mine, and we’ll throw you a party.”
“You’re angry that I’m finally happy and I’m in a good place.”
“I’m angry that you crapped on me for my whole life, and now suddenly, you’re better, and you don’t even feel the need to make restitution to the person you hurt the most. You finally figured out how you sabotage your own life; well, bully for you. What about the child whose life you ruined repeatedly?” I scrubbed my face with my hands and tucked my hair behind my ear. “Where’s my apology?”
“Obviously, I never meant to harm you.” I saw the mother I knew and mistrusted glaring out at me from those eyes as she whined.
“It doesn’t matter if that’s what you meant to do, Mom. When you hurt someone, you say, ‘I’m sorry I hurt you.’ It’s a simple thing, but it matters.”
She sighed and shook her head. “And the times you hurt me?”
“When did I ever do anything to hurt you, Mom?”
“You never call.”
“That’s self-preservation. But I’m sorry that it upsets you. If we ever have a relationship that doesn’t center around you blaming me for everything bad that ever happened in your life, I promise, I’ll call you all the time. I want a mom, just like everybody else. But I’m the child in our relationship. You’re supposed to be the grownup.”
She stared at me for a long time, but she didn’t seem to look at me, so much as through me. I watched the gears tick in her head the way they’d done or my whole life, and I finally realized she was really thinking about what I’d said. My legs ached and screamed for my bed, but I held out for a few minutes, hoping if I didn’t argue with her or interrupt, we could end the visit on good terms.
“I know you’ve sold your place and packed everything into storage. But I’d like you to come stay with me. I’ll get your stuff out of your old room and move up there, and you can stay in the bedroom on the main floor.”
I gaped at her and frowned. “You think we’ll get along?” I asked, torn between hopeful relief and cynicism about our ability to cohabitate.
“You won’t be there forever. I need the chance to be your mom again. I miss being there for you.” She sniffled and reached out for my hand.
“You were always at your best when I needed you the most. When I was the sickest, at my weakest, you were always Wonder Woman.” I sighed. “I wanted to be with Logan, Mom. I miss him.”
She came over to the wheelchair and wrapped her arms around me. Her thin frame felt frail against all the new muscle I’d gained in rehab, but her embrace launched me back into my memories to the day we found out I was cancer free. She’d wrapped those thin arms around me and cried in deep, racking sobs into the top of my head until my hair was soaked in her tears.
“We don’t always get along,” she sniffed, kissing my hair, “but I will never leave you.”
I pulled her down in front of me so I could see her face, and she fell into my lap with a thump. I groaned as my legs complained, then laughed and held her there. She startled, eyes wide, then laughed with me, loud enough that a nurse came to check on us.
“Just a little role reversal, Darlene, we’re good.”
Mom braced herself on the arms of the chair and lifted her butt off me. “I’ll come back whenever you want,” she reassured me after checking her watch. “I’m really glad you’re still with us. I don’t care about anything else.” She leaned in and kissed me goodbye, then left with me with my thoughts.
I knew she would still be the same old Juliette most days, harping on my tiniest flaws and handing me responsibility for her happiness, or lack thereof. But, in a way, I was glad I’d gotten sick again. For the first time, my mother had admitted that her way wasn’t working and reached out for help, instead of using me as her crutch. I’d thought Logan’s promise to be waiting for me was my silver lining to being in this place. But, maybe, I’d found something better in the one person who had stuck with me through my journey, for better or worse. After all, romance wasn’t everything.