Page 37 of Trusting Trey
I sighed. “What you’re not saying is, it might be a long process of relearning what messages to send my brain, but eventually I’ll be able to walk again?”
“Yes, but think about it, Allie. You couldn’t do that yesterday. Don’t focus on the long road ahead, focus on the first few feet. You made a giant leap right there, revel in it.”
“You’re right, baby steps will get me there the same way daddy steps will, it will just take more time. As long as you’re by my side, I can take as much time as I need.”
He lowered himself to his hip and braced one arm on the other side of me. “I’m always here by your side. You never have to worry about that,” he promised, leaning in for a kiss of promise and love. “I’m glad you liked the clothes; it makes my heart soar to see you happy and enjoying life again.”
I picked up the coat and held it to me, the wool softer than any I had ever felt before. “I was thinking yesterday how I had to come up with a better plan. I was going to go to a thrift shop and buy a coat, cut it up the back and then resew the sides so I could just slip my arms into it. It would have worked, but this is much nicer, and professional, for when I’m working.”
He took my hand and kissed it. “I’ll let my friend know how much you love them. She asked if you would take a few pictures of you wearing them in your wheelchair. She’s just starting out and is setting up a website for her clothes.”
I wiped away the last of my tears and curled my nose up a little bit. “I would, but she won’t be able to see anything in that chair. It’s just too much chair. Maybe I can do it at the hospital when I’m there for physical therapy. They have other things I could sit on.”
He snapped his fingers and took the coat from me, laying it back in the box. “Speaking of physical therapy, I have another gift, but it’s bigger.”
“Trey, you’ve bought me too much already,” I exclaimed, thankful for the clothing that would make me feel more like a woman and less like an invalid.
“I didn’t buy this,” he promised. “It’s from Santa. It’s bigger, so let me sit you on the couch.”
He bent and lifted me up, setting me on the couch comfortably. He walked toward the hallway and called over his shoulder. “I found it in the closet today when I went to get the lights for the tree. Do you think Santa was trying to tell us something?”
I heard him rustling around in the room and then came back to the edge of the hallway. “Close your eyes. It’s not wrapped well. Not sure what his elves were thinking.”
I laughed and covered my eyes with my hands. I heard the rustling of his pants as he walked over to me. I could feel his presence, but I waited for him to tell me to open them.
“You can open now,” he said and I let my hands fall away. In front of me was a big bulky shape covered in a gigantic Santa sack.
I scooted forward on the couch. “What could this be--” I froze in the middle of my sentence when I saw caster wheels on the front. I could feel myself shaking and shook my head slowly as if time was standing still.
He came and sat by me. “Are you okay, Allie?”
I swallowed hard. “Tell me there isn’t a wheelchair under that bag.”
“Why don’t you take the bag off and find out? It’s your Christmas present.”
I reached forward and pulled on the top of the bag, watching in fascination as the wheelchair became visible. He stood and took the bag from my hand, pulling it the rest of the way off and setting it to the side. He leaned on the back of the chair and let me take it all in without saying anything.
The chair was half the size of the wheelchair I had been using, with an ergonomic seat cushion and adjustable back for my spine. There was a footplate for my feet, instead of separate swing out leg rests, and spoke wheels that looked lightweight compared to the heavy tube tires on the granny chair. The frame was painted glittery pink and it twinkled from the light of the tree.
“Trey,” I breathed out, unable to put into words what I was feeling. “How did you get this?”
He sat next to me and put his arm around me. “I told you, Santa brought it.”
I looked up at him and touched his face. “I won’t let you give Santa credit for this. I can’t afford this chair and you can’t either, but thank you for wanting to help me this way.”
He held my hand to his cheek. “This is your chair. You can’t return it. You’ll not spend another day in that monster,” he said, pointing at the old wheelchair. “The new chair is made to go in and out of a vehicle just by taking the wheels off. You can ride with anyone now and even use public transportation. You’re about to graduate from college and I know come spring you’ll be thinking about getting a job. You’ll need a chair that allows you to be independent, safe, and comfortable. It will help your recovery instead of hamper it. Please, don’t take this joy I have in my heart away from me because of money or pride. You absolutely deserve this, and so much more.”
“But, how?” I asked. “How did you do it?”
“Do you remember when we did all the measurements before we made the back brace?” I nodded and he shrugged a little. “Well, I used those measurements to build the chair. I have a friend that works for the company, so it wasn’t as expensive as you think. I got it severely discounted.”
I put my hand to my mouth and it was shaking. “You did this for me?” I asked, my voice choked up when I tried to speak.
“I did this for us. We deserve to walk down the sidewalk holding hands, even if one of them is wheeling the other side of the chair. We deserve to go in and out of shops and explore new places together. We deserve to make cookies and sing Christmas carols while we decorate them. This chair makes life limitless again, at least compared to what we’ve been dealing with.”
I clung to his arm. “I’m afraid to touch it. I’m afraid to use it in case they try to take it away.”
He held my face and kissed my lips. “Do you feel my lips on yours?” he asked and I nodded. “That chair is as real as my lips. Yours, and only yours, forever.”
