Starting Over

Chapter 6

Chapter 6Andy pulled into the Townsend Medical Arts Plaza and found a place to park. He turned the engine off and thought about Nate Porter. The young man was recovering physically, but mentally, not so much. He knew he should keep his distance and stay out of the kid's head. Why was Nate different?

The answer to that troubled him. It was because of Nate's mother.

She was attractive, but it was something more. Something behind her ever-present 'at ease' expression set his heart soaring. He came to himself and looked at his watch. He was early for his appointment.

Pulling his collar up, he got out of his car. Locking up, he headed for the forest-green entry canopy. Once inside, he took the elevator to the third floor and found the doctor's office down the hall.

He liked Dr. Steffens. She was going the distance for him. The prescription glasses were doing the job. The extraneous visual information had diminished. He opened the door to her suite and checked in with the receptionist. Finding a seat in the small but cheerful waiting room, he sat with eyes closed, trying to ward off the ever-present dull ache in the back of his skull.

“Mr. McNamara? We're ready for you.”

He got up and followed the thirty-something blond-haired woman holding his chart. As he went into the exam room, he glanced at a photo of Boiler Bay on the wall. He'd seen it before, and liked it.

“Dr. Steffens will be with your shortly,” the woman said. As he entered the room, the intern prattled on. “In the meantime, just a couple of routine questions.” She set the chart in her hands on the countertop and opened the file. “So, Mr. McNamara, any changes in your vision since last time?”

He took a seat on the exam chair. “Not really.”

She scribbled a note in the open file. “Any prolonged dizziness, headaches?”

He'd answered these questions so many times he felt like a parrot. “Yes, to both. Usually happens when it's bright out or after a long day at the store.”

The woman gave him a darting glance. “Okay, it shouldn't be too long.” She closed the file and left the room. As he waited for the doctor, he went over and studied the picture. In the lower right hand corner was Janet Porter's signature. He rubbed his chin. Janet seemed to be crossing his path at every turn.

Dr. Steffens pushed through the door. Tall, athletic, and in her late forties (at least that's what he guessed her to be), the blue-eyed brunette had a high-octane can-do personality. She shut the door behind her. “I dropped by your bookstore the other day. It's very nice. How are things going there?”

He sat back in the chair as she opened his file and glanced down at her notes. “We're doing pretty good. I think folks come in for my sister's pastries more than they do my books, but I'm not complaining. Whatever gets them through the door. When were you there? Wish I'd known, I'd have given you a treat on the house.”

She looked up. “I'll keep that in mind next time. So, how're the glasses working? And why aren't you wearing them?”

“I do when I'm outside.”

“You need to wear them all the time,” she said, rolling her stool up next to him.

He shrugged. “They make me look like a bug.”

“They don't look that bad. If you want different frames, I can change them out.” She fiddled around with the lenses on the optometry machine. Turned the lights off and maneuvered it in front of him. “Okay, why don't we try the fourth through the sixth lines?”

He looked through the lens opening and read the letters.

She pulled the machine away and turned her probe light on, aiming its needle-like beam into his eye. “How are the headaches? Getting worse; better?”

“They come and go,” he said. “Usually happen in the morning or after a long day on the computer.”

She backed away, turned the probe light off and raised the room lights. “You need to give your eyes frequent breaks. Don't look at me like that. I know you have a business to run, but it's not dependent on the computer. Thirty minutes at a time is enough. Now come over here and let's check your pressure.”

He got up and followed her to the large tabletop machine. Taking a seat on the stool in front of it, he nested his face on the padded frame.

“So, I meant to ask you the last time you were here what led you to open your book store after your accident? Seems quite a departure from being a EMT,” she said as a burst of air punched his eye.

He jerked back. “I've always been reader. When I was a kid, it was an escape from my pain in the ass brothers.”

“Brothers can be merciless. Were you the youngest?”

He shifted in the seat, trying to get comfortable, nodded and cleared his throat. “Yeah. You have brothers?”

“I do…two. Okay, left eye now, please.”

After she hit him with another burst of air, he got up and went over for the 'follow-the-little-white-dot' test, as he liked to call it. He climbed into the exam chair as a knock came to the door.

When she pulled it open, he heard the aide's voice on the other side. “Your husband called. He can't make it for lunch. The tractor broke down at Ms. Porter's and he has to run for parts.”

“Okay. Tell him I'll call him later.”

He glanced at the picture on the wall again and waited for the doctor to return. “I was looking at the photo over there again. I noticed it was taken by Janet Porter.”

She brought the optic lens machine over and fitted it to his face. “Yes. She's a client of my husband.”

In his mind's eye, Janet's face flashed him. Should he say more? He didn't want to appear nosy, but he couldn't help wanting to know more. He leaned forward, followed the flashing white dot around the wall. “I met her a while ago on a beach of all places.”

She pulled the machine away. Turned the lights back on. “Really?”

“Yeah. And her son's an outpatient at the VA. I've been working with him.”

She rolled her stool over to the counter where his chart lay opened. “He's been through a lot.”

“Yeah, he told me he lost his father while he was over in Iraq. That's tough.”

She jotted something down. “Yes, it is…Okay, so, are you using those wipes I gave you?”

I guess that ends that, Andy thought. “Ahh…yeah.”

She looked up from writing something. “Really?”

“Most of the time,” he said, trailing off.

She set her pen down. “All the time, mister. It's important.” She scribbled something on a pad, tore the page off and handed it to him. “This is a referral to a neurologist. I want you to call him for an appointment…soon,” she said, emphasizing the last word. “We need to get to the bottom of things here.”

He was taken aback. “Something wrong?”

“I don't know, but I don't like your persistent headaches. They've been going on way too long,” she said. “I'll see you back here in three weeks. And remember, wear your glasses and take breaks from the computer, you hear?”

“Roger that,” he said. He got up, not liking the serious tone of her parting words and headed for the V.A..

Nate grunted. “One more rep. I can do it.”

Andy considered the request. He didn't want Nate pushing himself too hard and having a setback. Since Nate had been coming to physical therapy, he'd been a man on a mission. But Andy knew the mission was more than just rehabbing the shattered leg. He put his hand on Nate's dampened back and steadied him as he went downward from his standing position to a squat. The grimace on Nate's face told Andy he was pushing things a little too far.

“Okay, okay, that's enough for today soldier,” Andy said. He put his other hand on Nate's bent over chest and helped him back up to a standing position. The kid had determination; he'd give him that. He helped him over to a long wooden bench and had him stretch his leg out in front of him. Kneeling on a mat in front of Nate, he cradled the kid's foot in his lap. Looking up, he said, “You did good today. But this isn't going to get better overnight. Injuries like this take time to heal. You don't want to go backwards by overdoing things.”

Nate bit his lip as Andy gently massaged the side of the knee under the long snaking scar that ran from mid-calf to mid-thigh. Three more angry crescent scars dug deep into the top of Nate's upper thigh. Gnarled reminders of what flying shrapnel could do to human flesh. At last Nate said, “I'm good.”

“I'm sure you are,” Andy replied. “So how was the trip to Yosemite? Been a while since I've been there.”

“It was all right, I guess. My mom's doing a shoot down there in February. I wanted to stay home, but she badgered me into tagging along.”

Andy squeezed another dab of ointment onto his hand and carefully worked it into the shriveled skin around Nate's kneecap. Without looking up, he said, “Yeah…moms are like that.”

Nate shifted his body on the bench so it bore down on the hip of his good leg. “All I know is, she's pestering the s**t out of me about it and it's getting old.” He looked away and stared out over the scattered treadmills, parallel bar set-ups and other equipment. The look on his face was dull. A gaze Andy had seen more often than he cared to admit. It was the mindset of a soldier. Andy knew to let the silence fill the space, so he kept quiet and continued the rub down. When, and if, Nate was ready to talk, it would come a little bit at a time. Until then, it was listen. No questions, no trite or cliché comments, just be there.

He finished up, grabbed Nate's brace and fitted it to the leg, wrapping the straps snug, but not too tight. Nate stood and waited while he retrieved his cane. As he handed it to him, Nate said, “When you came home from 'Nam, did you feel like a stranger to everyone, like you didn't know 'em anymore?”

Andy understood where the kid was coming from, and it pained him to tell him the truth. He rolled a wheelchair over. “For a while, yes. The feeling fades, but it never really goes completely away. One day at a time, soldier, okay?”

“Yeah. Well, we better get out there. I'm sure she's waiting for a report.”

Andy smiled as Nate settled into the chair and lifted his feet onto the leg rests. “Be kind to your mom. She's had to endure a long time of worrying about you. She'll ease off, trust me.” That is, once I have a chat with her.

“We'll see. You don't know her like I do,” Nate said.

For the first time in five sessions, Andy saw a smile on Nate's face.