Page 42 of Defending What is Mine

Chapter Twenty-One

Jack:Present—Late January

The doctor has almost finished walking me through the details of how my transfer stateside is going to go when Mom quietly pushes through the door and comes to stand by the edge of the bed.

“What’s that you say? We’re going home?” she asks eagerly. “When?”

“Well, not home exactly. But you’ll be much closer than you are now.” The doctor coughs. “And soon, if that’s any measure of help.” I’m sure he considers the cryptic answer more than adequate. If I’ve learned one thing about hospitals, it’s that you are the least of their concerns.

Mom turns her attention to me and rubs my arm. “That’s wonderful news. Isn’t it, son?”

“Oh yeah, Mom. I can barely contain myself.” I roll my eyes and watch the doctor raise his brow at my comment. Mom says nothing, choosing instead to ignore my barb and remain focused on the positive. “His girlfriend and his brothers will finally be able to visit with him and remind him how much he means to them. That can only help, right?” she asks the doctor with enough hope to make my stomach roll.

“What if I don’t want to see them?” I snap. “Did you stop for one minute to think about that? God damn! I don’t know how to make myself any clearer. I just want to be left alone!” I growl in frustration and glare at the people staring at me as if I was a monkey at the zoo, actions on display for judgement and analysis.

I witness my mother apologize to the doctor on my behalf with a simple glance. And to make matters worse, he simultaneously acknowledges her look with a nod and dismisses my words with a quick shake of his head. Silly monkey, the look says. He doesn’t understand what’s good for him.

W-T-F? Am I not right-fucking-here? Did both of you somehow forget my sight wasn’t affected?

“Well Captain Wilde, if you don’t have any other questions, I’ve got rounds to get back to…and I imagine you and your mother might like some privacy.” The doctor jots a quick note in my chart, slides his pen back into the front pocket of his white coat, and turns to leave.

Before he reaches the door, Mom asks if I want anything from the cafeteria but barely gives me the chance to say no before excusing herself and hustling out the door after him.

If I didn’t already know what she was up to, stopping to talk about me right outside my door doesn’t do much to keep her top-secret plan under wraps.

Seconds drag into minutes and my irritation grows from a smoldering ember into a raging wildfire. I hear them talking…not quite clear enough to know word by word what’s being said, but well enough to be sure it involves me. By the time Mom returns—empty handed, no less—I’m fit to be tied. “Where’s your food?” I ask impatiently.

“What’s that, dear?” she replies, actively avoiding eye contact and quite obviously paying me very little attention.

That’s the trouble with family though, isn’t it? When you’ve spent your entire life learning the ins and outs of a person’s quirks, it doesn’t leave much wiggle room when they try to deceive you. No matter how hard they try. “Your food. When you left, you said you were going to the cafeteria. Now you’re back but I don’t see anything in your hands.” There’s bite to my words and she’s not used to hearing it.

“Oh, uh. I um…”

“Please don’t, Mom. Don’t patronize me. I could fucking hear you two talking.”

Probably without even realizing, Mom snaps at my word choice. “Language!”

“Really? That’s what you’re focusing on. You’re standing in front of your battle wounded son—or what’s left of him anyway—attempting to convince him of a poorly thought out lie, and yet you still get to be upset because I used a curse word? That’s perfect. Just fucking perfect.”

Mom inhales slowly, holding the breath while she sits down to try and calm herself. “You’re right. I didn’t go to the cafeteria. And I shouldn’t have lied about it. But son, I’m worried. And so is your doctor. You refuse to say more than two words to the psychologist. You barely speak to the doctor. You keep insisting to me you don’t want your friends and family around. It’s not healthy. God designed us to be social creatures, not to suffer through life alone.”

“So? What’s your point?”

Mom glances at the ceiling, as if she wishes she could release all the sorrow contained in her soul. “Why do you keep pushing people away? Why can’t you let someone in, even if it’s just one person?” She leans over the bed, touching her forehead to mine. “What’s the worst that could happen, Jacques-y-boy?” she whispers. “Worst case, even if it doesn’t help you feel better? Still seems pretty low risk if you ask me. But what about the potential upside?”

I know she means well. Hell, everything she’s done my entire life has been well intended. But this just feels like she isn’t listening. The only effect her words have is to drive my blood pressure through the roof. I turn my head away from hers. “I don’t know what upside you’re imagining, but all I see is Hank—or Gabe—endlessly trying to brand me with some stupid fucking nickname like Captain Bionic. And you’ll have to forgive me if that doesn’t seem like much of an upside to me right now.”

“Well…” Realizing my desire for space, Mom steps back and sits in the chair. “I never have understood why you boys show your affection for one another the way you do. So, I can understand if that isn’t helpful. But son, what about Samantha?”

Mom continues rambling on, but the moment she says her name, I stop listening. I can’t stand to think about her, but at the same time, I’ve barely held the thought of anything else since I woke from the coma. Would seeing her help? Could she bring me back from this? With her by my side, could I still be the man I swore I would the day I left? For her…

“I’m just saying, your feelings for her were...well, they were pretty darn clear when you were home last summer. And practically every letter and email since you left…even the time we got to speak through the computer, the moment she came up—and she always did you know—the entire tone of the conversation changed. Even through your writing it was obvious.” Mom shakes her head. “I don’t care how much you yell…or…or curse. Feelings like that don’t just evaporate. You wouldn’t like to see her again? Honestly?”

“Of course, I would,” I mumble through a tightening throat. “Of course, Mom. You know, the day I left…? Sam drove me to the airport, remember?”

“Yes.”

“That’s the day I told her how I felt. I admitted, however obvious it may have been to everyone else, that I was falling for her. And she told me she felt the same.” My chin quivers with the memory. “Sitting on the airplane, staring at the terminal as we began to back away, I made myself a promise. I realized that if I was going to let things between us move forward, then she had to be able to depend on me. She deserves that much, considering what her life has been like. She deserves to never have to question whether someone she’s given her heart to will take care of her. She’s had enough assholes who were only interested in fucking up her life. She and Vanessa deserve better. So I swore by the time I came home I’d be that man or I’d break it off.” Tears begin to stream when I look Mom in the eye and ask, “Don’t you see? That’s the kind of man she needs in her life. A whole man. Someone who can provide, someone who can protect her. And I can’t do that. I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to do that. Not anymore.”

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