CIRCE
Two days ago, I fell apart. I’d had enough. After weeks of being here, I still no nothing about Wyatt and Marca. My waking mind and every thought are damaged. What if I hadn’t switched seats? What if my phobia of the back had saved her?
Nurse Sali, my mother, and Dr. Callie tell me it’s not healthy to worry about the past, about what I can’t do anything about. I shouldn’t worry about failures and unfixable situations.
Today is about fixable situations. I’m getting out of this bed, this room, and trying my first day of physio. If I thought it was hard to breathe lying down, sitting upright in a wheelchair has been goddamn near impossible. The pressure is difficult. It’s like laying a ten-ton weight across my breastbone.
Excited to get up and about as soon as I was given the go ahead by Dr. Callie, my mother helped my ass into the unloving stiff beast. Venturing out of my room on our floor, we passed a commissary, two nurses stations, a treatment room in the cancer wing, and a chapel. There were a ton of police and professionally dressed men. None of them gave us a moment’s notice.
When I was a kid, my parents were religious to a fault, so of course when we passed the chapel, she asked if I felt the need to give thanks. Truly, I’m not sure if I’m thankful after everything that’s occurred, or if I feel like railing at an unforgiving being that has caused me so much heartache. For now, I told her that I wished to bypass it.
My high hopes that I would see Whiskey, or Wyatt’s sister China in the halls was excessive, as we didn’t see anyone I knew. Making me mourn a bit more, the trip down the hall felt wasted. The pain I was suffering was worthless.
Most days, my mother visits early. Now that I’m allowed out, she’s taken me on rides through the castle, then left just after I passed out in the afternoon. I’m starting to look forward to our talks too. We’re catching up, learning who we are as adults, not as mother and daughter. It’s funny. There are some things we now have in common that before were polar opposites.
She has a love affair with sappy love stories and raunchy sex novels. We both hate broccoli. We believe that espresso is a necessary evil, and that even though I didn’t own a single pair, I still have a penchant for shiny, expensive shoes. One day, she actually brought over a pair of my shoes I left behind, and it reminded me that I was truly a troll when I headed out of there without a word. Funniest part is that the shoes still fit. I grew up, but didn’t grow out.
It’s been another week of the same routine, and today, I’m at another physio session with Crane, my therapist. Learning how to do things with my right hand has been a blunder. I’ve been told it’ll be at least three more weeks before they remove the cast to put on a soft one. It totally sucks moose balls.
“Try again, Circe,” Crane says as I’m learning to lift a pencil in my opposite hand. It’s awkward as fuck.
“Good.” He’s happy with my progress. Disappointed in myself, I shouldn’t feel like a helpless toddler.
Turning the pencil, I lean into it, looping letters the size of a baseball across the page. It’s worse than a kindergartener.
“Do you praise everyone? Or did you just decide to be kind today, Crane?”
“No. I only praise when someone does something right. It’s true, you suck. But at least you’re trying. That’s good.”
“I’ll keep trying, Mr. Happy.”
“Did you work on the breathing exercises I gave you too?” Showing him my progression, as I huff and wheeze like a smoker, it feels like I’m trying to work out at a Lamaze class, but I do as I’m told.
“Okay, you’re done for today. Return to your jail, madam.” He smirks, man giggles, then pushes my chair toward the door where my mother is. She’s looking at her phone, and I know damn well she’s looking through the Tinder account that I setup for her. She places the phone in her pocket, stands, then smiles at me.
“Better today?” she asks Crane, twinkling like a teenager. He’s cute for an older guy, but she stares at him like he’s the best man candy on the planet. He’s taller, around six-six, with black and white tattoos covering both arms, a neatly trimmed moustache and beard, and a loosely slicked back, peppered haircut.
“Yes. She was, Natalie.” Crane makes it sound sexy. It still makes me laugh to hear my mother addressed by her first name, instead of ‘mom’. He watches her intently for a moment or two, then he winks, causing her to blush. Loving that the heat rises in her features, he stares her down like prey, It’s nice, actually.
Spinning in my chair, I try to avoid the awkward silence and blatant sexual friction that’s flowing between them. “Ready, Mother?”
With a quick nod, she wheels me out to the hall, toward the room. Slamming straight into the oversized elephant, I ask, “Sooo?”
“Nothing, Circe. Crane is just—”
“Yummy?”
“Yes, he’s yummy, but not something I need in my life right now. My priority is you.” That’s a bow chicka wow wow moment. I mean, my mom just called someone yummy. It’s funny as hell. Admitting that she found him sexy as all get, and that she’s avoiding it like the plague to care for me is bogus.
“So, when I’m out of physio, out of the hospital, well and repaired, will you then take a shot at Crane?”
She thinks about it for a second. I can physically see the wheels spinning as she considers her words wisely.
“No.”
“No?”
“No, Circe. I’ll think about a man when it’s time for me to, not when the time accommodates your schedule.”
“Fine,” I laugh, “I’ll leave you alone about—” Pausing mid-sentence, my heart stops. Seeing someone I never expected to see, my mother frets over my sharp intake of air.
“Are you okay, Circe?”
Standing casually beside the nurse’s station is one person I’d know anywhere, and excited to see. “China?”
Freezing in place, she slowly looks over her shoulder at me, like a scared rabbit. “Hi, Circe.”
Nervous, giddy, and unsure, I blurt out. “Are you here to see me?” The first time I might have a chance at answers, and she’s standing right there.
“No, sorry. I’m just talking to the day nurse to see if I can grab a few more blankets. Some moron turned up the a/c in our room. I figure if I’m freezing—” catching herself saying something she doesn’t want to, she stops. Her mouth is set harshly as she tries to hold in her words.
Knowing she’s hiding something from me, I break the pregnant pause. “China. Is it Wyatt? Is Wyatt okay?”
China’s shock is visible. She didn’t expect me to push her further. Taking in the my old man cart she smiles. Genuine and sincere, China steps forward with her hand outstretched. “And you are?”
“Natalie Matcheson. Circe’s mother.”
“Even though I’ve never heard about you, it’s nice to meet you.” Wow. Nasty, cutting, and sweet as she avoids.
“It’s nice to meet you too, China. Over the past few days, Circe has told me quite a bit about you and your family.”
Seeing China’s face drop, it shows fear, sadness, despair, doubt, anger, rage and sympathy. Schooling her face to look calm and composed, China smiles tightly. “I’m sorry, but I need to get these blankets back to the room.” Spinning on her heels as fast as possible, China starts down the opposite hall from us, off to where I assume Wyatt and Marca are guarded. I feel horrible, but I have to push it. I need to know.
“China, please. Please tell me.” I plead.
Stopping, then turning back, her face is set in a hard line. “I’m sorry,” Is all she says moving away without another word.
“China! Please,” I yell, “Please. Tell me something!”
Tears choke me, pain surrounds me, and the need to jump from this prison like chair is all I can think of. Attempting to rise, my mom gently presses her hands into my shoulders, holding me in place. “Circe, no. Let her go.”
Resigning, dragging in a deep breath, I hold in the emotions attempting to flood forth. “Can we go back to the room? I’m tired all of a sudden.”
“Sure.”