Page 59 of To the Moon and Back
Deep conversations happened between Ashley and her nearly every morning.
Then, in the afternoon, Jenna would head to the rehab facility.
Brady worked hardest when she was there, Jenna was convinced. Each morning the therapist would teach him the day’s routine, and when Jenna arrived she’d cheer on his practice. She’d go home for dinner and then return for another few hours with Brady.
Today Jenna parked in her familiar spot and headed into the facility. If things went right, this would be Brady’s first day on his feet. They’d gotten him up several times already, but with a lift and only to keep his circulation going. This would be Brady’s big test, the chance to see the full extent of his damage and just how far he had to go to walk again.
Jenna knew something was wrong as soon as she entered his room. He was sitting on the side of the bed, his shirt off, his muscled back to her. Sweat glistened on his arms and shoulders and his head hung in defeat. He sounded out of breath.
Should she leave or find his therapist? Maybe he didn’t want her to see him right now. She stopped and was about to turn around when he must’ve heard her. He looked over his shoulder and the muscles in his jaw flexed. He shook his head. “Go, Jenna.” His voice was tight, like he was speaking through clenched teeth. “I can’t see you now.”
“Okay.” Jenna stepped out of the room and walked to the nurses’ station. She waited until Brady’s therapist, Kyrie, spotted her.
The woman was from Kenya, a strong, no-nonsense type. Today, though, her face was marked with compassion. She motioned for Jenna to follow her down the hall and when they were out of earshot, Kyrie turned to her. “It was a rough morning for your friend.”
“I see that.” Jenna felt her heart start to pound. “Did . . . did you get him on his feet?”
“I tried.” Kyrie narrowed her eyes. “It didn’t go well. The combination of pain and muscle atrophy. The rods in his thighs.” She shook her head, clearly discouraged. “I have to be honest, Jenna. Some people never regain use of their legs after an injury like his.”
Please, God, no. Jenna could feel the blood draining from her face. She turned and took a few steps in the direction of Brady’s room and then back toward Kyrie. “Brady has to walk again.” Tears welled in her eyes as she looked at the therapist.
“I feel the same way.”
Jenna’s head was spinning. Walking was all Brady talked about. That and how happy he was that she was here, that they’d found each other again. She managed to speak. “Is there a way . . . some sort of test to know? Whether he’ll walk?”
“Not at this point.” Kyrie sighed. “He has feeling. It’s really a matter of whether he can tolerate the process.”
Tolerate the process? Jenna wanted to laugh at the woman. Of course Brady could tolerate the process. He had fallen through a burning roof. He had lived his whole life in foster care with no one to love him. And he had waited for her eleven years without giving up.
Jenna forced herself to sound polite. “Ma’am. Brady can handle anything.”
“Well then.” Kyrie nodded toward his room. “Maybe he needs a little encouragement.”
“From me?” Jenna thought about how he’d looked, how he had asked her to leave. “He sent me away.”
“They all do at first.” Kyrie stood a little straighter, more hopeful. “You say he can deal with anything. So go back in there and get him on his feet.” She patted Jenna’s arm. “I’ll be right back to help.”
A sick feeling came over her. In the weeks since she’d been in Oklahoma, she hadn’t once seen Brady down. Never experienced a single moment of the utter defeat she saw in him today.
Jenna steadied herself and walked toward Brady’s room. With every step she found a new level of determination. If he needed someone to push him, she was up for the task. She reached his room and walked inside. He was still sitting on the side of the bed facing the window, his shirt still off. But his breathing was more normal and he wasn’t as sweaty.
Again he turned to her, his expression a mix of despair and frustration. “I said go, Jenna.” He faced the window again. “I can’t . . . I can’t have you see me like this.”
“Like what?” She set her bag down and walked to him. So she was right in front of him. “Kyrie says you need practice.”
He lifted his face to her. Tears pooled in his eyes and his lip quivered. “Practice?” He laughed, but it was more of a cry. “Jenna, I can’t put weight on my feet.” He shrugged his bare shoulders. “My legs won’t work.”
“They will.” Jenna was acting. All she wanted to do was run out of the room and let Kyrie take over. She was scared to death he might be right. But Brady needed her strength, not her fear. “Come on.” She held out her hands. “I’ll help you.”
Jenna heard someone at the door. She looked up to see Kyrie. The woman had her hands on her hips. “You can do this, Brady. Use your thighs.”
“My thighs?” He was shaking now. As if just the thought of standing again was more than his body could take. “I don’t have thighs, Kyrie. I have metal rods. Remember?”
“Okay, so you’re bionic.” Her voice didn’t hold a drop of compassion now.
Jenna understood. Brady needed tough love. Otherwise he wouldn’t push himself to the next level. She still stood in front of him, arms stretched out toward him.
“You got the prettiest girl in physical therapy willing to help you.” Kyrie clucked her tongue. “Use your metal rods, then. And push from your heels. But get that specimen of a body up.” She raised her voice. “Now, Brady. Do it now.”
