Just Physical (33 page)

Sally led her into a spacious living room, where a thin man, whom she guessed to be in his mid-fifties, sat in a recliner. Crash eyed a nearby wheelchair. Did Sally transfer him back and forth all on her own?

“Look who I found outside,” Sally said to him. “George, this is Kristine Patterson. Kristine, this is my husband, George.”

She stuck out her hand. “Thanks so much for having me. Please call me Crash.”

He smiled up at her but didn't reach out. “Um, I'm not much for handshakes these days. Not that I don't want to, but…” He nodded down at his hands, which rested limply on his lap.

“Oh. I'm sorry.” Crash quickly pulled back her hand and shoved it into her pocket. Maybe this visit hadn't been such a good idea after all.

Sally pressed her down onto the couch. “Sit and tell us how you got a nickname like Crash.”

Grateful for the innocuous topic of conversation, Crash told them.

“Wow! You're a stuntwoman!” George's eyes twinkled with excitement. “I was into motocross racing when I was younger, but nowadays, I confine my racing to this.” He nodded over to the wheelchair.

Crash didn't know what to say to that. She couldn't tell if he was bitter about no longer being able to race.

“It's for the best,” Sally said. “You get into enough trouble with the wheelchair as it is.”

“Hey, you were the one who steered me into the flower bed and ruined Mrs. Baker's beloved zinnias!”

“Me? I'm just the engine in our little operation; you're the navigator, Mister.”

Crash looked from one to the other as if watching a tennis match, observing their banter and the loving look in their eyes as they teased each other.

This,
she thought.
This is what I want.
For her and Jill to make the best of what life threw at them—together. Watching them made her hopeful that it was possible. Now the only question was: Would it be possible for Jill and her too?

Only when Sally looked at her expectantly did Crash realize that they had stopped their bantering and she had missed a question directed at her.

“Uh, excuse me?”

“I asked how you take your coffee,” Sally said.

“Please don't go to any trouble on my account.”

“It's no trouble at all. We have one of these fully automatic coffee machines that have more electronics than a spaceship.”

“Then I'd love to have a cup,” Crash said. “Plain old black, please.”

Sally nodded and walked away, leaving her alone with George.

Swallowing, she turned to him.

He gave her a smile as if sensing her nervousness. “So,” he began, “Sally says you're thinking about becoming involved with someone who has MS.”

“You're not going to tell me to think twice about it, are you?”

He gave a rueful smile. “Didn't do me any good with Sally, and since you're here, it probably won't do me any good with you either.”

“So Sally never hesitated?” Crash asked.

“Oh, yeah, I did,” Sally called from the kitchen. “Have I told you our last name?”

What did that have to do with anything? “Uh, no, you didn't.” In the support group, only first names had been given.

George rolled his eyes. “My last name's Dork. There are worse. I went to school with someone whose name was Loser.”

Becoming Mrs. Dork…
Crash grinned. Was his last name really all that had made Sally hesitate to marry him?

Sally came back into the living room with a tray of mugs. “We had the longest engagement in history before I finally agreed to marry him.”

George snorted. “Agreed to marry me? You were the one who proposed.” He glanced at Crash. “Four times.”

Sally balanced a plastic cup with a lid on George's chest, tucked his hands around it to hold it in place, and then put a straw through a little hole in the lid. “There you go. Careful, it's still hot.”

“Thank you,” George said.

She kissed his cheek before settling down at the end of the couch closest to him.

Crash watched them. They both seemed so at peace with their routine. Would she do as well as a caregiver? And would Jill ever become so comfortable accepting help if she became this disabled? Finally, she asked, “So she was the one who proposed to you?”

“I had to,” Sally said. “Aptly named Mr. Dork here kept wanting to do the honorable thing by not tying me to him.”

That sounded very familiar. “What did it take to finally convince him?”

“Time,” Sally said.

At the same time, George said, “A baseball bat.”

“He's a bit old-fashioned, you know?” Sally reached over and patted her husband's arm. “He felt as if he, as the man in the relationship, should be able to take care of me, and if he couldn't, he wasn't worthy of being my husband.”

George pressed his lips together, and for the first time, the light in his eyes dimmed. “I couldn't even carry you over the threshold. I felt like a terrible excuse for a husband.” He lowered his voice and added, “Still do, sometimes.”

So it wasn't all roses and sunshine for them either.

“You're the best husband I could wish for,” Sally said.

They looked into each other's eyes, seeming to forget about Crash for a moment, before George said, “Maybe your boyfriend is struggling with the same.”

“Um, actually…” Crash cleared her throat. “The person I'm interested in is a woman. Her name is…” She hesitated. While she didn't want to lie to them, violating Jill's privacy felt wrong. “Lucy.”

Sally smiled knowingly. “I thought you might be gay, but I didn't want to stereotype. Don't worry. We're fine with it. Two of the few friends who still stand by us are lesbians.”

“So your girlfriend's issues are probably different from mine,” George said.

Crash shook her head. “No, I think she's struggling with some of the same things. She hates feeling dependent and unequal. Getting her to accept any help is like pulling teeth. She isn't used to relying on anyone. Her parents and her brother are too busy judging her for being gay, for being an actress…and maybe even for having MS.”

“I'll never understand people.” Sally sighed and got up. “Let me get us some cookies.”

They were silent for a moment after she disappeared into the kitchen.

“She's a great woman,” Crash said quietly.

George's eyes held a mix of love, pride, and sadness. “Yes, she is.” He bent his head to take a sip of his coffee, but the straw escaped him.

It was hard to observe him chase around the straw with his mouth. The thought of watching Jill be as helpless made her stomach hurt. Should she offer her help? She didn't want to take away the little bit of independence that he still had, so she remained where she was.

Finally, he managed to grasp the straw with his lips and took a healthy sip. “Damn. That's hot,” he gasped out and started coughing. Coffee drenched his mustache and dribbled down his chin.

Crash jumped up. She looked around helplessly and then took one of the paper napkins from the coffee table. Hesitantly, not wanting to hurt him, she dabbed his chin, preventing the coffee from dripping down onto his shirt.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice a little rough, either from coughing or from embarrassment.

Sally rushed back into the room. “Is everything all right?”

“Everything's fine,” George said with an innocent expression.

Crash sat back down, hiding the wet paper napkin behind her back.

George grinned at her, and she smiled back, like two co-conspirators.

“You two aren't fooling anyone,” Sally said. “I told you that coffee was hot.”

She had probably developed some kind of sixth sense when it came to her husband, always aware of how he was doing. Crash wondered if she would have the same kind of strength.

They sat, talked about Jill and life with MS, and ate the cookies, with Sally feeding him in between taking bites of her own cookie.

Crash had worked with some of the most heroic stunt people in the business over the years, but she couldn't remember when she'd last been so impressed by two people she'd just met.

Finally, when the last cookie was gone and George seemed to get tired, Sally walked her to the door. “So?” she asked. “What did you think? I hope we could help you.”

Crash nodded. “I think so. I'm not sure I could handle it as well as you do, but I'm ready to try my best.”

Sally patted her arm. “I didn't get there overnight. You should have seen me in the beginning. Besides, it doesn't just matter how ready you are.”

“What do you mean?”

“Lucy has to be too,” Sally said. “She has to be ready to accept your love and your help.”

A sigh escaped Crash. Jill had a long way to go—if she'd ever get there.

“Why don't you bring her along the next time you visit us?” Sally suggested.

Crash tried to imagine Jill having coffee with George and Sally but couldn't. “I don't think she's ready for that either.” Seeing George being fed by his wife would only remind Jill of her own uncertain future, and Crash wasn't sure if that would help or make Jill even more determined to avoid tying another person to her.

“Don't give up on her,” Sally said.

“I won't.” Crash gave her a short hug. “Thank you. If you ever need some time away and don't have anyone who could keep an eye on George, let me know.”

“You're a keeper. Lucy would be stupid to let you get away.”

Crash smiled and said good-bye. As she jogged to her SUV, she hoped that Jill would realize that too.

Crash sat on the steps of the stunt trailer, her laptop balanced on her thighs. She was watching the pre-visualization of the big fire stunt, which was now just three weeks away. The thought was making her palms clammy, so she wiped them on her knees, never taking her gaze off the screen, even though she already knew every second of the video by heart. Recently, Jill and what was happening between them had helped push aside her worries about the fire stunt, but now that she and Jill weren't talking, her ruminations about it had come back in full force.

She watched the screen as if her life depended on it.
And it might.
In a fire stunt, every move had to be timed just right. There was no room for error.

Only one thing could direct her attention away from the video: every time footsteps approached, she looked up, hoping it might be Jill.

It never was.

Crash had been giving her space since that morning eight days ago, when she'd walked out of Jill's house. Truth be told, Crash also needed some space. She was sick of always being the one to make the first step after Jill had pushed her away. This time, she'd wait for Jill to come to her.

But with every hour that went by, her resolution wavered a bit more. What if Jill wouldn't come? Was she making a total fool of herself by attending the caregiver support group and visiting with Sally and George, preparing for a future with Jill that might never happen?

Footsteps interrupted her thoughts.

When she looked up, her hopes were dashed once again. It was Lauren, not Jill.

“Hey,” Lauren said and sat next to her on the top step.

“Hi.” Quickly, Crash closed her media player, not wanting Lauren to question her about why she was watching the fire stunt. Too late, she realized that the browser window that was open behind it was one of the MS websites she had bookmarked.

Lauren glanced at the screen before Crash could close the laptop. “You're reading up on MS?”

Crash nodded but didn't provide any explanation.

“Are you just curious or…?” Lauren trailed off and studied her.

“No.” Crash squared her shoulders. Talking about it with Lauren, one of Jill's best friends, made her commitment more real. “I'm serious about Jill, and I want to be there for her—if she'd let me.”

“I hope she will,” Lauren said and gave her a pat to the arm. “Grace and I really hate Jill being alone.”

“Me too,” Crash said quietly.

“Are you planning on doing that?” Lauren pointed at the screen.

Crash scanned the website to see what she meant. At the top of the page was an ad for the MS walkathon, a charity event raising money for MS research.

“Uh, I hadn't thought about it.”

Lauren nudged her. “You know what? Let's all do it—the entire crew and cast. It would be great publicity for the movie, and we could show our support for Jill. We could be Team Jill.” She trailed her hands over her chest as if she could already see the name printed on her T-shirt.

It was easy to imagine what Jill would think about that. Whenever possible, Jill hid her symptoms from her colleagues, not wanting to be thought of as the actress with MS. She would probably be less than enthusiastic about the entire cast and crew showing up to walk for her. To her, it would mean accepting help—and accepting her role as an MS patient. “I don't know, Lauren. Jill might not like that.”