I'll Be Seeing You (5 page)

Carley didn’t know what to tell him. She didn’t want him to think his situation was hopeless, but she didn’t want to ignore the seriousness of it either. “Well, don’t dwell on the downside. Just work hard at becoming self-sufficient. It’ll make waiting around for the outcome easier.”

He squeezed her hand. “You have a way of saying the right thing to me.” Suddenly he pushed back from the table. “What time is it?”

Carley glanced at the clock on the wall.
“Almost seven.” She was amazed at how the time had flown since they’d been together. “Why?”

“My parents are coming any minute now. I want you to meet them.”

Panic gripped her. She couldn’t let them see her. “Oh, I can’t.” She grabbed for her crutches.

“But why not? What else is there to do around this place?”

She thought fast. “Reba,” she said, struggling to her feet. “Remember, she’s got surgery tomorrow and I’ve got to go visit her and make sure she’s all right.”

He nodded in understanding.

Carley bolted for the door, moving as fast as she could on her crutches, afraid to glance down the hall toward the elevators in case Kyle’s parents might be headed her way. Afraid they might see the girl with the twisted face leaving their son’s room and ask questions about someone he thought was normal.

C
arley didn’t visit Reba because her friend’s room was crowded with relatives. So she marked time in the visitor’s lounge, keeping her head ducked so that her long brown hair would help conceal the left side of her face. When it was after nine o’clock, she cautiously returned to her room and quickly shut the door. She called Reba and said she’d be pulling for her during her surgery.

“You still friends with Kyle?” Reba asked. She’d been given medication to help her sleep and her voice sounded slurry.

“We talked for a couple of hours tonight.”

“That’s nice. Did you mention your face?”

“No way. I’m enjoying him thinking I’m a regular girl.”

“Someday he might see you.”

“Not if I can help it. Think about it. Once my infection clears up, I’ll go home and he’ll make friends with someone else. If he’s even still here.”

“So you won’t see him again when he’s out of the hospital?” Reba’s voice drifted.

“No,” Carley said. “I won’t see or talk to him again.” She paused, sensing that Reba was fading fast. “Go on to sleep,” she told her. “I’ll see you as soon as they put you back in your room.”

“ ‘Honesty is the best policy,’ ” Reba mumbled.

“What?”

“My … grandfather says … that …”

Carley sighed. “I’m changing the policy. Good night.”

She hung up and lay staring at the ceiling until the nurse came to hook her up for her evening dose of antibiotic. With her thoughts on Kyle, she drifted into a dreamless sleep long before the medicine was finished dripping.

The next morning Carley gave several of her Books on Tape to Kyle. “Can you stay?” he asked.

“I’m on my way to physical therapy.” She was feeling guilty. Maybe Reba was right. Maybe she should tell him everything.

“Can we talk more later?”

“I don’t want you to get sick of me.”

“It’s all right if I do. We’re in a hospital.”

The gauze pads concealing his eyes made it difficult to know if he was teasing. “It’s a good thing I have a sense of humor,” she offered cautiously.

He grinned. “I made a joke and you caught on to it. I’m getting better at this humor stuff, huh?”

“Don’t let it go to your head, buster.” She said goodbye and went out into the hall, where an orderly took her down in a wheelchair for her PT appointment.

Once her session was over, Carley returned to her floor and asked about Reba at the nurses’ station. “She came through with flying colors,” a nurse told her. “She’s down in Recovery, and we expect she’ll be sent up
here by late afternoon. But no visitors except family today.”

“No problem,” Carley said, feeling greatly relieved that Reba had done so well.

“By the way,” the nurse said, “your lunch tray’s been delivered to Kyle Westin’s room. He told us you knew all about it.”

She didn’t, but she faked it with the nurse and hobbled down the hall to Kyle’s room. He was sitting at the table, his tray in front of him. Another covered tray had been placed on the table facing an empty chair. “Are you eating your lunch and mine too?” she asked.

“Carley! Come sit. I thought we could have lunch together. I had to make the nurse think you had preapproved the idea. Do you mind?”

How could she mind eating lunch with a guy like Kyle? “Your company’s much better than that exercise lady on TV at noon.” She propped up her crutches and sat down. “What is this stuff?” she asked, lifting the lid. “It looks like roadkill.”

“It tastes all right. Soup’s good.”

She watched him encircle the soup bowl
with one hand, pick up the spoon, keeping it low, lean far over the warm bowl, and ladle soup into his mouth. She felt grateful all over again that she had her eyesight. “Not bad,” she told him.

“The soup or my table manners?” he asked.

“The way you maneuver,” she explained. “The soup’s dreary.”

He laughed. “I’ve been practicing hard at learning how to feed myself. Every meal, I spill less and less. You know I’m feeling brave if I got up the nerve to invite you to have lunch with me.”

“You seem to have a knack for it. Feeding yourself, I mean.”

“The therapist taught me to touch all the food first, position it on the tray so that I’d know exactly where everything was, and keep my hands low when I come at it. It works.”

Fascinated, she watched him for another minute. She’d been taught that it wasn’t polite to stare, and she hated it when people stared at her, but Kyle couldn’t see her
studying him, so she didn’t think she was being rude.

“I’m still not very fast at eating, though,” he apologized. “It’s made me realize how quickly I scarfed down my food before.”

“Don’t we all,” Carley said.

“So how’s Reba doing?”

“I hear she’s doing fine, but it’ll be another day before I check on her personally.”

“What’re you doing tomorrow?”

She stirred her fork through a gloppy mound of mashed potatoes. “Well, after I check out the Saturday morning cartoons, my parents are coming for a visit.”

“They don’t come during the week?”

“They would if I was in bad shape,” Carley explained. “They own a bookstore in Oak Ridge and they put a lot of time into running it. It’s hard for them to get away. But on Saturdays they have extra help.” Carley didn’t mention her sister to Kyle or that both of them worked there most weekends, Carley almost always in the back unpacking and pricing stock. She didn’t like working with the public because people
stared and asked dumb questions. Once, a small child had seen her face and had screamed in fright.

“What’s the name of the store?” Kyle asked. “I’ll drop in when all this is behind me.”

She didn’t want him doing that. She had meant what she’d told Reba—once she was out of the hospital, she didn’t want to run into Kyle again—whether or not he could see. The hospital acted as a safe harbor, a place where they were on equal footing. Reluctantly she told him the name of the store, telling herself that if he should ever drop by, she could have family or employees tell him she wasn’t there. Soon he’d stop coming.

“Is that why you have so many Books on Tape?” Kyle asked. “Which, by the way, are pretty cool. I’m partway through a murder mystery.”

“I get the tapes from the store, but I’ve always loved to read, so it’s just another way to ‘read’ a book as far as I’m concerned.”

“When I read, it’s chemistry and physics. Quantum theory. Stuff like that.”

“That side of my brain doesn’t work,”
Carley said with a laugh. “I’m a total waste when it comes to math and science, but I guess you have a reason for that.”

He nodded. “I want to attend MIT—Massachusetts Institute of Technology—and take up engineering and maybe someday work for NASA. The one thing I’ve always wanted to do was learn how to fly a plane. I have an uncle who owns a small plane. He operates a business flying around real estate agents and advertising banners.”

“I’ve seen those signs. They say Eat at Joe’s and stuff like that.”

“He’s busy during football season flying over UT stadium with ad messages. He takes me up with him sometimes. He’s even let me man the controls.” Suddenly he grew quiet. “I want to be a pilot. At least I did. Until this happened.”

He sounded so despondent that Carley was sorry she’d opened the door to the conversation. “I want to go to the Chicago Art Institute,” she inserted quickly, hoping to get his thoughts off his situation. “Who knows, maybe I’ll shake up the fashion industry with my ‘innovative designs.’ ” She
emphasized the last to make it sound comical, like words from a TV commercial.

“I’d ask to see your work,
but …
” Kyle said without humor.

Carley regretted her remark. Trying to cheer him up had backfired. “It’s not much to see, really. Let’s talk about something else.”

“Why not? Talking seems like all I can do.”

She stabbed her fork into a piece of chocolate cake on her food tray. “We could talk about dessert,” she said. “It’s chocolate and maybe older than both our combined ages.”

He offered a half smile, but pushed his tray away. “I’m not hungry anymore. Everything’s cold by now anyway.”

“It’s because I got you to talking instead of concentrating on lunch.”

“It’s because I’m blind,” he blurted. “It isn’t fair!” He shoved the tray again, and Carley had to grab at it to keep it from skidding off the table.

“I—I’m sorry,” she said softly. He was breathing hard and she wasn’t sure if he might want to cry. “I know it isn’t fair, but
sometimes we just have to live with what can’t be changed.”

“How would you know? All you have is a broken leg. Bones heal.”

Of course she couldn’t tell him how she knew. “I should be going,” she said, reaching for her crutches. “Time for my afternoon antibiotic hookup.”

He said nothing.

She headed for the door, the rubber tips of her crutches squeaking on the floor. She paused at the doorway and gazed back at him. “Bye.”

“Bye,” he said without moving.

Brilliant afternoon sunlight played across his golden brown hair and spilled across his gauze-bandaged eyes. But she knew that inside the bandages, he was alone in the dark. And there was nothing she could do about it. Not one single thing.

O
n Saturday morning Carley’s parents came to visit, laden with a bag of books and tapes. “Your doctor says you’ll probably be out of here early next week,” her father said after kissing her on the forehead. “He says you’re responding well to the antibiotic, and according to your X rays, your leg looks to be knitting properly.”

“Good. I’m ready to blow this place.” Carley joked, but she knew she’d miss Reba and Kyle. Most of all Kyle.

“Of course, you’ll still have to come in for physical therapy,” her mother said. “But that can be as an outpatient.”

“My therapist seems to think I can drive,
so I can bring myself in for the sessions. No need for you or Dad to take off from work.”