Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55153 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55153 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
“You’re extra feisty today, Lyndon. Is there something going on?”
He’s quiet. I pull back on the wheelchair, pausing at the doorway, and walk around to look him in the eye. “What is it?”
“My kids sold the lake house,” he says, tears shining in his eyes. “It’s been in the family for seventy years and they sold it. Didn’t even tell me until it was a done deal.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, putting a hand over one of his soft, wrinkled ones.
“So many memories in that place. I thought it meant something to them. Hell, at least one of them. They’ll just split the money and take vacations to Jamaica, I suppose.”
“You went to that lake house as a kid?”
The corners of his lips turn up in a smile. “Every summer. My granddad, dad, my brothers, and I built additions on the little three-room cabin it was when my granddad bought it, and Grandma would fry fish every night. It’s on a lake in Michigan. I took my own kids there every summer, too.”
“I’m sure they have a lot of good memories, even though they sold it.”
He shrugs. “They could have at least waited until I’m dead.”
“Lyndon, you’re going to outlive us all.” I return to the handles of his wheelchair and begin our trek to the physical therapy floor.
“Enough about me,” he mutters. “You found a boyfriend yet, kid?”
I warm inside as I remember my Friday night “date” with Pax. Real or not, it felt good to hold hands with a man again. When I hugged him after his game, I found out that his body is every bit as rock solid as it looks. I’m not ready for a relationship yet, but this fake one is like a conditioning camp, preparing me for one down the road.
“I went out for dinner with someone Friday night,” I tell Lyndon. “We had a good time.”
“He pay for dinner?”
I smile. “Yes, he did.”
He turns around, concern etched into the wrinkles on his face. “Did he get handsy at the end?”
“No, he just walked me to my door and said good night.”
Lyndon grunts. “Where did he take you for dinner?”
“A steak house.”
He nods, apparently approving. “Are you going out with him again?”
“Yes.”
Pax and I didn’t make firm plans but based on my interactions with Cassidy the other night, I know she still wants to dig her acrylic claws into him. And I’m more than happy to help him steer clear of that cold, conniving snake. It’s obvious she’s used to getting everything she wants, likely because people fear her father’s retribution.
I don’t have to worry about that, though. If Cassidy thinks she can bully me, she can bring it on, because I don’t back down.
“Here we are,” I say as I wheel Lyndon into the physical therapy waiting area. I nod at the receptionist to make sure she knows he’s here. “Anything I can do for you before I go?”
“Just wish me luck,” he grumbles. “If that new girl works on me again, I might be in a full-body cast next time you see me.”
“But at least you’ll have a Snickers.”
He sighs heavily. “Won’t be able to get it into my mouth with two broken arms, kid.”
I’m walking away, and I turn back to face him. “I promise that if you end up with two broken arms, I’ll feed it to you.”
“At least I have something to look forward to,” he says with a small smile.
I head back down the hallway, my heart a little heavier than usual. Lyndon is usually one of the most energetic residents here, and it’s out of character for him to be so despondent. I wonder if his children knew how hard it would be for him when they sold the family lake house. If I remember right, he has three adult children and none of them live close. One of them visits at least once a month, though, and sometimes they bring his grandchildren. That’s more than a lot of the residents here have.
My heart breaks for the ones who never have visitors. I see their wistful expressions when other residents have grandkids visit, or when another resident is leaving The Canyons for an evening or weekend out with their family. As long as there’s air in my lungs, my mom will never feel that way.
“Hey, can you get in your break soon?” my supervisor for today, Gina, asks when I get back to the nurses’ station. “Andrea needs to leave early today for a dentist appointment.”
“Sure.”
I go to the break room and grab my water bottle and bag of snacks, then head for patient room 87, brushing my fingers over the number beside the door before I walk in.
This room is empty, the bed made up perfectly and sunshine streaming in through the open blinds. I sit down in the chair beside the bed, which I know well. I spent many hours in this exact chair when Eric was a patient here. The machines behind the bed are silent now, none of them beeping or lighting up like I remember. A machine worked around the clock to breathe for him, but that one isn’t in the room now. I always found the sound of that one comforting for some reason.