Kathryn
She barely reached the wheelchair in time.
Collapsing into its confines, the fabric groaned and squeaked as it suddenly was pulled taut beneath her. Glowering at her legs, she fought to get them to obey, but they refused. Muscles were shaking like Jell-O, and yet all she’d done was try to walk from the living room to the kitchen for a drink of water.
It should have been a simple task, something menial that before her accident she would never have thought twice about. Hell, even the past few days it would have seemed like a trivial journey. Not today. Today it was like trying to run a marathon. Halfway there she’d realized there was no way she had the strength to stand that long, and she’d turned and raced for the safety of her wheelchair.
Now she pushed it toward the kitchen, trying to fight back the tears. It had been like that all day. Unable to do anything. Even simply standing was hard. Forget walking. Kathryn was regressing, and there was no way she could hide it. She wasn’t feeling sick or had renewed pain. It was simple weakness. There was no way around it.
The glass began to pour over in her hand as she held it up into the sink, having to maneuver in sideways to be able to reach. The weight was suddenly too much and the glass slipped from her hands, landing in the bottom of the sink with a crash. It didn’t break, but it made a hearty racket that brought her mother in a rush.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she snapped, fishing for the lost glass blindly with her right arm, unable to see over the lip of the sink.
“Here, let me get that.” Her mom bustled over to help.
“I SAID I’M FINE!” she shrieked, levering herself up on one hand to find the glass.
“Katy, it’s—”
“DON’T YOU DARE TELL ME IT’S OKAY, MOTHER! I’M NOT IN THE MOOD FOR YOUR USUAL BULLSHIT. JUST LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!”
She finally found the glass and picked it up with an angry effort, the lip pinched between two fingers. The jerk lifted the water-filled cup out of the sink, but as she tried to stop the motion, the wet glass slipped from her grip and fell to the floor, smashing into tiny pieces and covering the cabinets, fridge, table, and her left leg in water.
“FOR FUCK’S SAKE!” she screamed.
“Katy dear, watch your language.”
Kathryn whirled on her mother in a blind rage, words tumbling from her mouth as she spoke things she never would have normally, all her emotions spilling forth in one horrific sentence that her mind never remembered saying.
All through the tirade her mom stayed stoic, only blinking several times until she was sure that Kathryn was finished.
“Very well,” she said, whisper-quiet. “I’m sorry I tried to help.”
The anger fled her faster than water evaporating in the desert. Kathryn’s heart nearly broke at her mother’s tone, the feeling of failure she could see within the other woman. Failure at being the mother her daughter needed. “Mom,” she protested, but it was too late.
Without another word Audrey turned and left the little Pine house, closing the door and locking it with an absurdly heavy finality. Kathryn knew it wasn’t of course, but just then she felt like a pile of trash. What had she said in her anger? All her mother had ever done was whatever it took to make Kathryn happy, to provide her with what was necessary, and to help out.
While she’d been home, cast off by her former fiancé and nearly bedridden from her accident-related injuries, her mother had been the only one there for her. Day and night she’d done whatever Kathryn needed to be comfortable and provided for.
Then her daughter had turned around and screamed at her.
I probably deserve all this after all.
Kathryn was over being weak and feeble. Unable to stand. She just wanted to go back to how she had been before the accident, and before Doug. A young, vibrant woman who enjoyed going to the gym once a week, and daytrips to the beach with her friends. A woman who could provide for herself, physically and emotionally. Who didn’t rely on others to do everything for her, a drain on their time and effort.
The doctors told her she was expected to make a full recovery, and for that, in the back corner of her mind that she refused to acknowledge just then, Kathryn knew she was lucky. Luckier by far than many who were either born or injured in such a way that prevented them from being unable to walk. Luckier than those with diseases that slowly took away their ability to stand. In her thoughts and prayers she gave thanks for that.
But right then she was in a dark place, and none of that mattered. She didn’t think it was ever going to get better, and she hated the world around her, wanting nothing to do with it. She’d called the city up and told them to stop sending anyone. She wasn’t going to be depending on anyone else. From here on out, it was her. Or it was nothing.
Glass clinked against itself as her chair rocked slightly, and she looked around at the disaster that was her mother’s kitchen, courtesy of her overzealous attempt to get some water.
Nothing it is.
Anger at the defeatist attitude welled up in her, and a flicker of energy banished some of the worst of the exhaustion. Looking around she decided that while she might not be able to stand, she could probably get down on the floor and clean up her mess. It was the least she could do for her mother.
She’d just finished getting a bag and some paper towels out from under the sink when someone knocked at the door.
Frowning, she put the cleaning supplies on the counter within reach and wheeled toward the front door. The kitchen was straight back from the door down a little hallway, and anyone could see the mess if they looked, but there was nothing she could do about it.
Reaching the door as it bounced again under a firm rap of someone’s knuckles, she twisted the lock and pulled it open.
“What are you doing here?”
The towering figure at the door frowned at her rudeness. “Good question.”
He stepped past her into the inside of the house, Kathryn pulling back so she could keep him in view. She saw his eyes fix on the broken glass and spilled water in the kitchen ten feet away. He nodded, kept his shoes on, and walked down the little hallway and immediately started to clean up the debris.
“Uh, Callan, why are you here?” she asked again. “I canceled the program.”
“I know.”
“What? You know? And you came anyway?” She almost said she was going to call the police.
“Yes. I’m not here because of the program.” His back was to her as he bent over and swept up the glass shards with a paper towel, absorbing water as he went. The power of his voice carried to her anyway, the gravelly bass filling the tiny kitchen.
“So why are you here?” she asked for the fifth time.
The answer was instantaneous, spoken confidently and without hesitation.
“For you.”