Love Notes Read online

  “Your patellar reflex is intact in both legs.”

  “Speak English! What does that mean?”

  Sanbourne took no offense. “Those nerves are working.”

  “How do I make them work?”

  The doctor shook his head. “You can’t, you don’t. They’re reflexes. We have no control over them.”

  “Then why is it good news?” He wanted to grab the white lapels of the stitched lab coat and shake the doctor. But he couldn’t; he’d already figured out that he’d fall over if he moved his hands.

  “It means the nerves may heal.”

  “May?”

  “May.”

  Chapter 2

  TJ felt the walls closing in. The one thing he wanted to do was bolt. But, in great mockery of his feelings, his legs still refused to work. He had stared at them, exerted every last drop of will, and still they wouldn’t move. The only thing he could do was grab and lift them like heavy logs. And, like logs, they fell immediately back to the bed.

  If he wanted to escape, he’d have to hijack a wheelchair and make for the elevator. The whole thought was so demeaning that he simply lay there, resigned.

  The doctors had left him there, the one guy hadn’t said anything the whole time, but just before he left he picked up the bedside table and pushed it closer. The girl had disappeared into the hallway and returned with a fresh pitcher and cup. She reset the table without a word. After they left, he wondered if it hadn’t been a cruel joke. His hands hadn’t grasped the pitcher as tightly as he had thought and it slipped.

  The water puddled on the table top and ran across the side to drip a pancake size pool onto his sheet. It took three tries to get upright and pull the thin blanket from the bottom of the bed to sop it up. He was now pushed to one side, not that he could feel the cold spot.

  Using two hands, like one of Kelsey and JD’s little kids, he poured himself a drink. At least he got some liquid down his throat.

  Pain pushed at the backs of his eyeballs. He remembered the sensation from childhood. He was on the verge of tears, but they didn’t come. TJ figured his body had forgotten how.

  He had nothing but time to think.

  There was no band with a lead singer in a wheelchair. Wilder had pushed boundaries from day one, combining country and punk genres. But a wheelchair was a boundary that wouldn’t get crossed. Either this year’s tour was over before it started, or the guys would have to find a new front man.

  And he played guitar. Not as well as JD or Craig, but he added music onstage and he’d started working on his piano skills. Playing was the only thing he could think of, besides being on stage, that he truly enjoyed.

  And it was over. His fingers wouldn’t function independently.

  “Hey.” The voice cut into his thoughts. He knew it like he knew his own heartbeat.

  “JD.”

  In the space of a breath, JD was beside the bed, seated, and leaning his elbows onto the mattress. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t.” TJ raised his hand, stalling the “but you brought it on yourself” that he was certain wasn’t coming, but everyone was thinking.

  JD nodded. “The doctors said there’s hope—”

  “Hope for what?”

  “A full recovery, TJ.”

  It didn’t sound as good to his ears as it obviously did to his brother. “There’s also a good possibility that I’ll work my ass off and get nowhere.”

  JD nodded. “That’s true.”

  He didn’t say anything else, thank God. Then TJ remembered that God had let him go. No wonder. He would have cut himself loose long before this.

  JD’s hands went into his hair, something both brothers did when they were frustrated. But TJ only did it when he was alone.

  JD’s voice cut through his thoughts. “You can come live with—”

  “No.” He squashed that before it could get started.

  Kelsey and JD had six kids, from Daniel at twelve down to newborn baby Amy. There wasn’t enough money in the universe to get him to live in that house. Holidays were enough. He loved every child, but after a while there was just something about being there amid the chaos and noise that rubbed him the wrong way.

  JD simply nodded. “Then what are you going to do?”

  TJ shrugged. At least that still worked.

  “They’ve got you slated to stay for observation for another week.”

  TJ wanted to nod, but couldn’t.

  “Then we have a week to figure something out.” His brother gave a half-smile, the face so like his own. JD was older by two years, but these days no one could tell by looking. TJ partied hard enough to age himself beyond the actual difference. TJ was always guessed to be younger, but that was because he was a free-wheeling loose cannon with a new girlfriend every few months.

  “What are we going to do about Wilder? I can’t go on tour.”

  JD just shrugged.

  “Don’t replace me.” He didn’t know where the urgency came from, only that it was necessary. “I’ll . . . you do it.”

  “No.” His brother protested in the only voice that could truly replace his own. “I’m not a front man.”

  “I can’t have someone else taking my place.”

  There was a sad headshake. “No one could. There won’t be any tour. I notified Brenda. She agrees.”

  TJ was shocked that their manager thought so, but he didn’t want to argue it. Wilder was cohesive if nothing else. Every last note on those albums and in concert had been played or sung by one of them. Some of the guitar work had been his own. His fists clenched.

  “We are out of the game for a while, little brother.”

  Again the pressure came at the backs of his eyes. Again, nothing else happened.

  A nurse came in just then, making the space between the brothers less obvious. She gave TJ a round blue pill that he swallowed without question. She took his blood pressure, frowning a little. TJ was simply happy that the mercury in the meter didn’t explode out the top. She also took his temperature, for the seventh time today.

  “What’s with the thermometers?” He mumbled around the one in his mouth.

  She smiled, although her words offered no comfort. “Patients with C-6 injuries often have trouble maintaining their body temperature. We want to be certain that yours is stable.”

  She futzed around the room a little more, then left.

  TJ sighed. “At least I can still sing, right?”

  “Actually . . .” JD drew out the one word, the look on his face grim.

  “You are shitting me!” There was no way his vocal chords were injured, his voice sounded fine. He was half tempted to belt out a few choruses right there on the spot.

  JD filled in the pieces. “I’ve been reading up. You’re probably lacking strength and fine control in your hands.”

  TJ flinched.

  “And you won’t control your diaphragm with any strength either. You probably can’t get or push big lungfuls of air.”

  There it went: the only thing he’d ever been the best at. The pressure returned behind his eyes.

  “It’s important to Kelsey and me that you’re well taken care of.” JD’s hands went down into his pockets. “I know you don’t want to stay with us, but I really want you to reconsider.”

  “No.”

  JD sighed at him.

  Too bad. That house made him uncomfortable. And he’d be even more so in a wheelchair.

  A wheelchair.

  The pressure increased.

  “There are facilities—”

  “No.”

  “Are you going to outfit your entire house for what is hopefully a temporary condition?” JD was getting huffy with him. At least that one thing was still normal.

  “No.”

  “Then what?”

  “I don’t know!” How was he supposed to decide these things now? “I really just need to be left alone.”

  JD nodded. “Craig’s coming over to stay tonight.”

  “No.” Did
it never end?

  “Yes.” JD gave as good as he got. “If it was Craig, you’d be there, even if he didn’t want it. So welcome back to the world.”

  TJ shook his head. Or tried, the damn collar was in the way.

  “I’ll be back tomorrow.” JD nodded at him once, then left.

  The room held an eerie stillness, and for a moment, TJ decided he was waking up. That he didn’t know about the accident. That he still believed he could move.

  It was a lie and he knew it. But right now, it was a pretty one. So he closed his eyes and believed.

  Chapter 3

  Norah threw the blanket over the gelding’s back and followed it with the saddle. Reaching under his belly, she pulled the strap across and buckled it tight. She patted Thunder’s nose and his neck. Then when he wasn’t paying attention, when he’d just breathed out, she grabbed the belt and pulled it another notch. Thunder was an old pro at holding his breath so the cinch wouldn’t go tight and bother him.

  Of course, in that case, it would slide right off and she’d slide with it.

  But Norah got it tight and grabbed the reins in her left hand. She didn’t need a mounting block, no matter what her grandfather had insisted. She was tall enough and flexible enough that she could just swing over.

  In a second, and without thought, she was astride. She rocked back and forth a little. Grandpa may have been wrong about her needing a mounting block, but she missed her grandfather every time she mounted up.

  The horse could go fast enough to give a real wind-chill factor and she was grateful for the long-sleeved shirt. She shook out her hair, the heavy black mass trailing down her back too long to show any of its natural curl.

  She didn’t care. The natural curl meant nothing in the face of the tangles she was about to make.

  Slipping the reins up tight and using her pinkies for control, she added a light kick of her boot heels to get Thunder going. Walking him to the fence, Norah blinked in the late-afternoon sun. She trotted just a moment then cantered to the edge of their property. They knew all their neighbors here, and she didn’t hesitate to bend low, give the extra kick, and enjoy the flight and roll of horseflesh beneath her as Thunder cleared the fence.

  He took off over the hill. The horse knew every stone and pothole far better than she. He may have even enjoyed the run more than she did. She couldn’t really call her own feeling enjoyment; it was more simply release.

  Tension flew out behind her and lay scattered amidst the tall grass. Norah held herself in perfect position, low over Thunder’s neck, legs held solid but not squeezing the horse. You only make that mistake once, she thought.

  Her heels pushed down, keeping her toes planted in the metal framed stirrups. And she let her body outrun her thoughts.

  After a while Thunder stopped of his own accord. But Norah didn’t mind. She breathed in deep. She loved the fresh air, the four seasons, her new life.

  Or so she kept telling herself.

  It was a good life.

  Her father had invited her out here after—

  She didn’t finish the thought. He had simply invited her when he needed her. Her mother had remarried, remaining in Texas, staying tight with the old biddies in the church and lording it over everyone.

  Norah didn’t need to be lorded over. And it turned out her father wasn’t the ogre her mother had painted him to be. He was a good man, who maybe was a little too open-minded. Maybe his idea of right and wrong hadn’t meshed so well with her mother’s entrenched beliefs.

  She set Thunder to trotting again, and she posted, standing and sitting in accordance with his stride. It was a casual reflex for someone who had been riding since she was three months old.

  The pace was slower now, and her thoughts caught up.

  The dance school wasn’t doing as well as she had hoped. It had seemed like a good investment of her grandfather’s money. Seemed far better than just being a teacher there. The school had a steady clientele and teachers.

  Norah was more than qualified. But somehow it hadn’t suited. She hadn’t liked the kids, although she didn’t know why. She’d loved teaching kids when she was younger, but now they all rubbed her the wrong way. Her choreography was uninspired. She was good, but . . .

  Maybe that was part of growing up: finding out you weren’t as good as you thought you were.

  She sighed. She wasn’t up to snuff as a professional anymore, but surely she should be able to turn that silly dance school around. Her credentials alone should have pulled more people through the doors. Then again, maybe her marketing skills weren’t up to par. There was a lot of bookkeeping, too, even though old Mrs. Kenner was still doing most of it.

  Underneath her, the world slipped away. Thunder let out a shriek, and without any other warning, he shifted. His front hooves lifted, pawing the air, and he gave no concern to the woman on his back.

  Norah clung to him, wondering why she hadn’t worn a helmet and whether or not she was going to break her neck. On pure adrenaline, she held the saddle. Thunder planted all four feet on the ground, and she sighed, relieved, only to have her breath ripped from her lungs again as the horse then jumped sideways. Involuntarily, her hands jerked the reins. Her heels pressed down, and she fought for control over a beast that outweighed her by a ton.

  Her rear end lifted from the saddle, her feet losing contact with the stirrups. As she came crashing back into contact, she felt her spine compress and come close to snapping.

  Then, as quickly as it began, it ended. Thunder pawed the grass once and stopped.

  Her neck ached. Her back and butt were sore. Norah groaned. Only then did she see the movement in the grass, the snake slithering away.

  She could have died. She could have been thrown from the most docile horse she had ever known. She didn’t have a helmet on, and for a brief second, her hand came up and felt her head, just to be sure it was still attached.

  She turned Thunder for home. Wondering if she should tell her father about this.

  He would muse about whether this was God reminding her that life could change on a dime. But she didn’t need reminding. That lesson had stuck. Even after all these years.

  Her body ached as she posted in the saddle, up and down, with Thunder’s now perfectly normal trot. In the distance she spotted the farmhouse, gleaming in the fading sun. The red shutters matched the barn that sat in classic style off to the left of it. The road wound by a short distance beyond. Norah leaned low, in spite of the new aches, and gave Thunder the signal to race for home.

  Chapter 4

  “Look.” Kelsey handed the printout to him. “I called our real estate agent and asked if she knew of anything.”

  TJ took the picture of a mostly normal looking cottage. In big letters the printout read “Wheelchair accessible”. He forced himself to read it.

  But Kelsey didn’t really let him. “It’s in beautiful country, on one of the outer roads, and the whole house was built for a handicapped man. You really can’t get much better than that.”

  Yeah, I can. He thought wryly. His own house with his own legs would be so much better.

  “We’re going to hire you a nurse.”

  He groaned inside, and wanted to tell them to go to hell. TJ neither conceded nor fought.

  The pounding in his head had receded to a dull ache, but the pressure behind his eyes was building. With each passing moment he was more hemmed in by the walls, the feeling compounded by the fact that there was nothing he could do about it.

  He rolled his head to the side, grateful for even that movement. The plastic collar had been removed just that morning, his bones declared all right. But what did he care if he couldn’t make his legs work? And when he looked straight ahead from where his head had rolled, he saw only the intertwined fingers of his brother and his wife. They’d been married six years. Shouldn’t they be over this by now?

  TJ rolled his head the other way.

  Kelsey’s voice carried to him. “You need to comb your hair.”
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  What a stupid thing to think about. He hadn’t brushed his teeth until yesterday, because he hadn’t eaten anything since the night of the accident. Apparently even going to the bathroom was being taken care of for him. His eyes threatened to roll back into his head.

  Now Kelsey wanted him to fix his hair. TJ didn’t really have the will to argue, so he took the comb she held out and started on his hair, yanking at tangles, but not caring. Kelsey walked calmly into the bathroom and grabbed something, returning with it in her hands. Only as she held it up did he realize that it was a mirror. Like he cared.

  But the reflection made him jerk back.

  The hand with the comb stopped its movement.

  It wasn’t his face in there. But it was. Somewhere under the swelling and the bruises was what was left of him. The eyes were his—the clear, vivid blue somehow looking more damaged than the battered skin around them. He looked like he had wound up on the swinging end of a baseball bat. Purple, green, and yellow all fought for dominance on his face. Half of his mouth was swollen. Funny that he hadn’t felt that until he saw it.

  In a moment of pure fear, his hand found the side of his face and touched everything. He winced as callused fingertips connected with growing whiskers and bruised flesh, but he was grateful for the feeling. His hands felt his whole head, finding a knot on the side about the size of a microphone. His eyes flitted away from the mirror, making contact with his brother.

  JD nodded, “You had a concussion, too.”

  Again TJ waited for it, but it didn’t come. “Where’s the ‘we were hoping it would knock some sense into you’?”

  Again JD shook his head. It was Kelsey, only three feet in front of him who answered. “Oh TJ, we’re just glad you’re alive.”

  “Come on. Where’s the lecture? I know you don’t approve.”

  Again JD just shook his head at him. “No lecture. It never worked any way.”

  “I guess this is my come uppance.”

  “No! It’s just something that is.” His brother’s hands found his hair again, setting it on end. He looked down at TJ, not realizing that even just his standing there bordered on insulting to someone who might never do it again. “I only ever wanted you to be happy.”