Page 43 of Memphis

My head was spinning.

I liked the idea of Toni sticking around and being there at the house for me, but I didn’t want her putting her life on hold for me—at least, not any more than she already had. "She’s got her own stuff going on. It’s not fair to ask her to....”

“She knew what she was offering,” Dad interrupted. “And she’s not doing it out of obligation. She's doing it because she cares about you. And if you care about her as much as I think you do, then you should let her do this. It could open a door for you two that you’ve both been too afraid to open.”

“Or close it forever.”

“Won’t know unless you try.”

“Why the hell are you so set on this?”

“Because I know it’s the right thing. I just need you to trust me on it.”

I remained silent. My conflicting emotions churned inside of me, making it difficult to speak. Sensing my struggle, Dad added, "Think about it this way: How would you feel if the shoe was on the other foot, and it was her who needed the help? Wouldn’t you do everything in your power to be there for her?"

“Okay. Okay. She can do it, but I don’t want this all on her. She’s gonna need some help.”

“And I’ll see that she has it.”

“So, where is she anyway?”

“She’s gone back to square off some things, but she’ll be back in a day or so. It’s going to take some time to get your house ready anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s nothing for you to worry about. The guys are already on it.”

I didn’t like the sound of that, but I didn’t bother bellyaching about it. I was finally getting out of this fucking rehab center, and that was all that mattered. So, I settled back and let Dad and the brothers do what they needed to do while I continued my rehab and waited for them to give me the news of my impending release.

The following day, I went for my therapy session, and when I returned, a nurse was waiting to take me for tests. I had no idea what they were and didn’t bother asking. I just did them and prayed that they showed improvement. I felt certain they would. I felt stronger than I had in weeks. I was standing—almost on my own, and I could shuffle a few feet here and there.

It wasn’t much, but it was progress.

By the time I was done with all the testing, I was in dire need of some shuteye. I dozed off and woke up the following day with Mom pacing at the foot of my bed. She was looking down at her phone, and it was clear from her concerned expression that something was wrong. “Mom?”

She turned to face me, and my chest tightened when I saw the worry and exhaustion in her eyes. She forced a smile as she said, “Oh, hey. You’re awake.”

“Yeah, I’m coming around.”

“Your father said you were going to be heading home soon.”

“That’s the word.”

“So, that must mean you are doing better.”

“Little by little.”

“I can’t tell you how happy I am to hear that. I was so worried.”

“I know, but it’s gonna be fine.” Mom’s expression remained tense. “So, what’s going on? You look like you have something else on your mind.”

“Oh, no. I’m fine. I just didn’t sleep all that well last night.”

“Come on, Mom. I know you better than that.”

“It’s nothing, honey. Really. Besides, you’ve got enough on your plate. You’re going to be moving home soon and tackling all that. You don’t need to concern yourself, and...”

“Mom,” I cut her off. “Just tell me what’s going on.”

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