Page 107 of Share with Me

Chapter Thirty-Four

It feltgood to be pampered. Ivan padded out of the kitchen, full of pumpkin pie in his tummy. Who said he couldn’t have pie for breakfast? There was plenty of it left. People from church had been bringing food every day since he came home from Savannah on Thursday. Their refrigerator was packed with food enough to last through Christmas and New Year’s Day and beyond. So he could have another slice of pie if he wanted.

Four days into his healing, his ribs were feeling better. Maybe those extra kisses from Brinley did it.

I know better. God answers prayers.

He winced as he climbed the stairs to his bedroom to get ready for church, taking shallow breaths. The prescription painkillers helped some, but he’d rather be well, thank you very much.

There was something else worse that he was beginning to worry about, that sometimes throbbing, sometimes sharp pain in his left wrist. The dull pain, he could handle. If he didn’t move his left wrist for a bit, then it’d be all right and he could handle the dull pain.

But the sharp pain was more severe. It extended from his wrist all the way to his elbow. He was scheduled to see Dr. Rao on Monday. He’d ask him about it. Meanwhile, he had some painkillers left from the Savannah hospital that could last him past Christmas.

To shower, Ivan tied a small trash bag around his left hand all the way to his elbow where the cast ended. He secured it with duct tape. A simple waterproofing solution. The hot shower relaxed his muscles that he hadn’t known were tense.

Gingerly, he ran his fingers over the bruises on his ribs. At least there wasn’t going to be any scarring there. Since he still had stitches on his face and right arm and legs, he didn’t take a long shower.

He dabbed the areas of his stitches with a clean towel. He was grateful he could get them wet. On the first two days he had been home, he couldn’t take a shower at all.

In the mirror, he peered at those stitches on his face.

Gonna have some scars.

Those stitches might be removed on Monday’s visit to Dr. Rao’s office. Those on his legs might stay there for a couple of weeks.

Ivan prayed that God would heal him quickly. Then he could get back to SISO, finish the season, and call that man from Boston. Whitfield something. Whatever his reason was for being in Savannah at that particular time when SISO was in town, Ivan was glad they had met. He still had the man’s business card. It had been in his tuxedo pocket. At the Savannah hospital, his clothes had been salvaged and put into a plastic bag for him to take home.

Save for that business card, Ivan wanted to forget the entire Savannah episode. Fortunately, the attack had happened so fast and in such a dark area of the street—he had found out later that the assailants had shot out the streetlights—that he only remembered bits and pieces of it before he passed out. He prayed that what he remembered wasn’t enough to cause him nightmares.

Some night it had been. After the assailants had thrown him onto the pavement, they didn’t stop there. He had never been beaten up this badly before in his entire life, not even in high school, and not even when he was walking on backstreets and alleys to get around when he was at Juilliard in New York City.

He could still hear metal against flesh and bones from that Savannah night, feel the slashing pain on his head, neck, and torso, and remember how he had lifted his arms and injured wrist to protect his head.

Thank God I don’t have a concussion.

Art had it worse. They had tried to kill him to get to the Stradivarius. He did his best, taking two bullets and getting bashed into the side of the SUV. Finally, to save his life and Ivan’s, Art gave up the violin.

Good for you, Art.

Ivan found it a hassle to put his clothes on with one arm, and he couldn’t get his cast into his usual oxford button-down church shirt. If only someone could help him dress. He found a turtleneck and a wool sweater, both with sleeves that could stretch over his cast.

He winced again.

Lord, I beg You. Please heal my wrist. I don’t care about the other scars. But my entire career is in this wrist.

In about six weeks, the cast would come off. They told him he’d do some intensive physical therapy to get his old movement back. He had to recover a hundred percent mobility on his left wrist. He had to. If he didn’t, Warren Yamaguchi would get his job. If he ended up being second violin, he’d quit SISO altogether.

Or should he?

Everyone knew he was a better violinist than Warren.

Yeah, but Warren doesn’t have a broken wrist.

He picked up his iPad and went downstairs.

Grandma Yun was waiting for him in her usual rocker, talking to Brinley, who must’ve arrived while he had been in the shower. Otherwise, he would have heard her vehicle from his upstairs bedroom. Vehicles made a lot of noise on their gravel driveway. Someday when he had some money he’d pave that entire driveway with something nice. For now, it was dry enough, and Georgian rains hadn’t washed away too much of it. It was functional. No one complained.

“My two most favorite ladies in the world!” Ivan declared as he entered the living room. “I’m ready to go whenever you are.”

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