Chapter Eight
Grace
Days passed since the incident in his room and things were changing again. But instead of things becoming more hostile, things became colder. More distant. Nothing was said about that night, but nothing was really said about anything. He no longer had an opinion on his grocery list or the types of toiletries he needed from the drug store. He no longer cared to communicate with me about when he was headed to the bathroom or taking a shower. He was alienating me, and I wasn’t sure why.
I was essentially being paid to babysit.
I sat there in the mornings with my cup of coffee in hand. He had the most beautiful view of the city from his breakfast nook. The skyline would light up with the morning sun as it rose high in the sky and it would cast a wonderfully warm glow along my skin. It would paint my coffee in all sorts of colors and help to wake me up, and I would smile as my skin was caressed with its warmth.
Usually, Hayden would roll in on his wheelchair and make himself a cup of coffee. Then he would roll up to the edge of the breakfast nook with a newspaper in his lap. He’d fluff it out and be obnoxious with its noise, like he was announcing the fact that he was there specifically to ignore me and throw up a blatant wall.
But one morning, he didn’t roll up to the breakfast nook. He didn’t come to the table with his coffee and his newspaper and his awkward ‘don’t look at me but know I’m here’ attitude. One morning, he wheeled in and got his coffee, then left. Then another morning, he wheeled in and got his coffee and went back to his room.
Then one morning, he didn’t even wheel in for his coffee.
I decided to pour him a cup and go set it on his nightstand. I assumed he was sleeping. Probably worn out from his physical therapy from the other day. I was working on him with his hip as well as his shoulder, because the stronger his hip could be for surgery the better off his recuperation would be with time. He would sweat through his workouts and remove his shirts and I would have to do everything in my power to not look at him.
But I had to admit, him not coming out for coffee made me worried.
I poured a simple mug of the stuff and headed for his room. The door was closed and I couldn’t hear any noise, so I knocked on the door lightly. No sound emanated from the room and it made me worried. If Hayden was sleeping, I would’ve heard the sounds of his soft snoring.
It had become a soothing sound to me the longer I stayed in his home.
But instead, there was nothing. No sounds of his snores or the shower running or the sink faucet on. There was no grunting or shuffling of clothes or struggling with his wheelchair. I furrowed my brow and reached for the doorknob, then turned it lightly. I swung the door open as my heart slammed against my chest, but what I saw wasn’t what I expected to see.
Hayden was just sitting there. Staring out the window of his bedroom.
“Good morning, Mr. Lowell.”
Silence.
“I brought you some coffee.”
And again… silence.
“Would you like me to bring your newspaper to you?”
But still, nothing other than silence.
His body was unwavering, except for the rising and falling of his shoulders as he breathed. It was like he was in a trance, and I wondered if he could hear me. I took a step into his room and made my way for his nightstand, then set the coffee I’d poured for him down onto it.
I expected him to make a move to take it, but he didn’t.
Not even his fingers flinched.
“Can I get you anything else?”
I looked down into his face as he stared out the window. In a trance-like state, with his eyes unfocused and his hair disheveled from sleep. I looked over at his bed and saw how mangled the sheets were. The fitted sheet at the corner of the bed was pulled away and one of his pillow cases was on the floor. His comforter was bunched up at the foot of his bed and his mattress was slid a little off its frame.
Nightmares.
Hayden was having nightmares about his accident.
I wanted to cry. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and hold him close. This man, who had taken over a billion-dollar family business and stretched it to new heights, was struggling. This strong man who was so obviously used to keeping up with his body and walking tall down the street couldn’t even get the night’s rest he needed to get back to that life.
I looked back at Hayden and saw him staring at me, his eyes focused and his mouth pursed into a thin line.
“Get out,” he said.
“Let me get your sheets back on the bed,” I said.
“Leave.”
“When I fix your bed, I will.”
“Leave it,” he said.
His voice sounded so defeated. Like a small boy who had lost his favorite pet and searched the entire block to find it.
“They probably need to be washed anyway,” I said mindlessly.
I ripped them off the bed and gathered them into my arms as his head turned back out the window. I made my way for the door and looked back at him, taking in his longing reflection in the window. He wanted to be outside. I knew he did. He wanted to be well and back at work and at full strength again.
But he was stuck in that chair, and every time he looked into the mirror, he was reminded of it.
Reminded of that damn accident he was in.
I silently closed the door behind me as tears rose to my eyes. I ached for him. I wanted to help him get better. I wanted him to open up to me so I could talk with him and get to know him and put him on a better mental path so his body would follow. As I walked the sheets to the laundry room and stuffed them in, tears dripped down my cheeks.
I sniffled and rose my hand to wipe them away before I reached for the detergent.
Nightmares were the last thing he needed. With his poor mental state and his frustrations always getting the better of him, he needed that sleep. He needed those eight or nine hours to replenish his body and give himself ample time to heal. It was the most important few hours of his entire day, and he was being robbed of that as well.
The man had no reprieve, and I didn’t know what I could do to fix that.
I wasn’t sure if I could.
He didn’t come out of his room all morning. I brought him lunch and set it on the side table and noticed his coffee hadn’t been touched. I took the mug back to the kitchen and poured it out, then placed the mug in the dishwasher to be cleaned. We weren’t traveling down this road. If Hayden refused to eat, I had ways of making sure he got the calories and nutrition he needed. I.V. bags I could hook him up to and hospitals I could admit him to if I felt it was necessary. I could handle the anger and I could handle the distance. I could even handle the nightmares.
But I wouldn’t allow him to handle not eating.
If he wasn’t going to sleep and he wasn’t going to open up, then the only other thing I had to keep him on track was his nutrition.
“Mr. Lowell! I’m headed to the grocery store again. We’re out of milk. Do you want anything?”
I knew he wouldn’t answer me, but I wanted to proceed as if things hadn’t changed. Sometimes, a solid routine for patients like Hayden was a necessary evil to keep their heads above water. I stood there for a few seconds to see if he would answer me, then I grabbed my things and headed for the door.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes!”
The truth was, I had been doing some research. Combing through the books in his library and making my way upstairs whenever he napped after his physical therapy. I saw pictures of him and an older man that looked a little like him. The smile on his face lit up his eyes, and I would stand there for what seemed like hours staring at those pictures. I saw pictures of him and his sister and him with his mother. Family vacations and beautiful scenery pictures of the beaches and places he had visited.
But there was always a common element.
Flowers.
He was an outdoors kind of guy, and I couldn’t imagine what this type of injury was doing to him.
I ran to the grocery store, yes. But then I made a stop by my old floral shop. I hadn’t resumed the flower arrangement deliveries because I wasn’t sure what kind of space we would be working with. Some picky apartment complexes in the city didn’t allow certain types of arrangements to be delivered to their places because of allergies or other rules. But now that I’d gotten a feel for the place I had an idea on how to make Hayden feel better.
“Grace!”
“Hey there, Emilia,” I said with a smile.
“Oh, my gosh. Come give me a hug.”
I embraced my friend and held her tightly as I breathed in the scent of the flowers around me.
“Job that hard?” she asked.
“How could you tell?”
“That sigh of yours. It’s always telling,” she said. “Come. Sit down and talk with me.”
“I can’t, actually. I have milk in the car and I need to get back soon.”
“That man giving you a run for your money?”
“I don’t think there’s a statement to describe the type of difficulty Mr. Lowell is,” I said.
“That’s what happens when you strip a man of his ability to showcase his strength. It’s that fragile male ego.”
“It’s more than that, but I don’t have enough time to get into it. I do, however, want to resume the floral deliveries.”
“That’s great! That means I can see you more often,” she said with a grin. “Where to?”
I rattled off Hayden’s address before Emilia looked beyond her glasses and into my eyes.
“You know that place has a strict ‘no exotic flowers’ policy, right?” she asked.
“I do.”
“So that mean no orchids.”
“I’m aware.”
“What kind of arrangements do you want then?” she asked.
“Is it possible for you to deliver floral arrangements of daffodils and carnations?”
“An odd choice. Any reason why?”
“I’m trying to find a way to cheer my client up and he strikes me as an outdoors kind of guy.”
“So you think flowers will help?” she asked.
“His father and him planted and cultivated an entire backyard garden as his parent’s home when his father was still alive. They had daffodils lining the outside and the area around a hot tub they installed and carnations are what lines the walkways that weave throughout the structure they landscaped.”
“Wow. Okay. Sure. How many arrangements and how often?”
“Two arrangements every other day,” I said.
“You know daffodils and carnations will last longer than that.”
“I do. I want to slowly fill some spaces he enjoys sitting at more than most with the flowers, then change them out as you deliver them once they begin to wilt.”
“Creative, to say the least. How do you want to pay?”
“I’ve got my card you can charge. Heaven knows they’re paying me enough for this job. Might as well put that money to work for me,” I said.
“Perfect. When do you want the first delivery to be?”
“Can you make it tomorrow? Or is that too soon?”
“If it means I get to see you again tomorrow, then it’s not too soon at all.”
“Thank you so much, Emilia. Really.”
“Don’t have to thank me. Thank that cranky patient of yours. He’s bringing me in all sorts of business,” she said with a grin.
Then I paid for the arrangements, put the recurring order on file, and left.
I wasn't sure if my plan was going to work, but it was worth a shot. If he didn’t enjoy it or the flowers kicked up some sort of reaction, then I’d simply toss them out, clean the place down, and stop the orders. But I was desperate to bring some light into his world so he would cheer up and help himself when it came to his recuperation.
Because with the mental state he was in, his hip surgery was going to be torture on all of us.
Especially him.