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Chapter 22

When Nick’s front door swung open, the first thing Claire noticed was that he was not wearing his prosthesis. Instead, he was leaning on a pair of crutches. It surprised her; she knew he didn’t often go without the artificial leg, usually only when he was sleeping, showering, or swimming.

“Hey,” she greeted him with a smile and then started to ask him about it, but before she could get another word out, he came out onto the front porch and surprised her again by pulling her into a hug. It was awkward, with the crutches tucked under his arms, but nevertheless, she returned the embrace, slipping her arms around him and holding him as he held her. She was slightly concerned about him – something didn’t seem quite right. Not that he didn’t hug her like this often, but usually there would be a hello before the hug.

Instead, all he said, his head bent so that his lips brushed the side of her neck before coming up to her ear, was “I love you.”

She pulled away just enough to see his face, her hands never leaving his back, and offered him a little smile that she was sure did not mask her apprehension. “I love you too,” she said, her voice higher than normal. “Are you okay?? Did something happen?” Reflexively, her eyes shot back down to his stump, which was covered by one of the sock things he usually wore over it when he was not wearing the prosthesis.

“Nah,” he said casually. “I just wanted you to know.”

Her smile felt more real this time, and she relaxed a little. “Aww… I do know, Nick. You know that.”

He nodded, smiling back. “I know. I just felt like telling you again.”

“Well, you know I love to hear it,” she teased him, as they headed into the house. “So,” she asked once inside, “why the crutches? Just felt like it, or…” She trailed off, shrugging, and watched him, waiting for his response.

He let out a little snort and gave her a sheepish look. She swore she could see a bit of a blush creeping up his cheeks, and she tipped her head at him questioningly, wondering what he’d done. Had he somehow broken the artificial leg? Could that happen? “Nick?” she asked, smiling a little despite her best efforts to hold it back. “What did you do?”

“Eh, it’s nothing,” he muttered, waving his hand as if to blow her off. “I think I just overdid it earlier… got a blister right here,” he said, gingerly touching the spot where his left leg ended.

“Oh,” she said, frowning. “That can’t feel too good. How did you get it? I mean, what were you doing?”

That same sheepish expression returned on his face, and after a pause, he answered her almost reluctantly. “I was… trying to run.”

Her eyes widened at him. “Really?” she asked, and again, she couldn’t help but smile. He didn’t seem to want to talk about it, but she was impressed, proud of him for even trying. She had no idea what it would be like to even walk, let alone run, with some computerized artificial leg in place of one of her own, but she knew it had to be hard. She couldn’t even imagine...

“Yeah,” he mumbled, looking down, and she watched as his lips curled up in the corners. He was trying to hide it, but he was obviously pleased with himself too.

“So,” she prodded, “how did it go?”

He looked back up, his eyes meeting hers as his smile took full form. “Well… I might of messed myself up a little,” he said, motioning to the stump, “but… I did it.”

She broke into a wide smile. “You did it??” she repeated excitedly. “You were running?!”

He nodded, and she let out a little squeal, impulsively throwing her arms back around him and almost knocking him over in the process. As he clung to her, regaining his balance, she cried, “Oh my God, that’s awesome, Nick! Totally awesome! I’m proud of you!”

“Thanks,” he said, looking slightly embarrassed. “I can’t show you though… not yet. It hurts to even walk on the old peg leg now, so I don’t think I’ll be trying to run on it again anytime soon.”

Her smile never faded. “That’s okay,” she said encouragingly, her hand on his shoulder. “You can show me when it gets better.”

He nodded again, as if promising he would, and then said, “C’mon, let’s go sit down. Are you hungry yet? We could order food…”

Laughing at his quick subject change, she nodded and followed him into the living room.

***

After dinner, a DVD, and some late night TV, it was after midnight, and Nick was getting tired. Beside him, Claire looked about ready to fall asleep, so they said goodnight, and she left. As he watched her taillights fade into the night, Nick smiled to himself. In a week, there would be no more saying goodbye and sending her home. In a week, this would be her home.

It was the last week of May, and she would be moving in with him on the fourth of June, which was the coming Saturday. She’d already let her landlord know she’d be moving out and paid her last month’s rent, and her father, who would be coming to help, along with Kyle, had rented a small U-Haul to bring over her belongings. Her smaller things would be moved into Nick’s house, but they had decided that the furniture would go back to Gainesville with her father to be stored.

As he hobbled back to his bedroom, ready to turn in for the night, Nick hoped his leg would be all healed by then. He didn’t expect it to be a problem though. It was just a blister, right? In a few days, it would be nothing but a memory.

***

When Nick awoke the next morning, he saw the crutches propped up beside his bed and remembered the blister instantly. Sitting up and throwing the covers back, he carefully peeled the sock off of his stump, eager to see if the blister had healed any overnight. When he wincingly pulled off the band-aid that had covered it, he was dismayed to find that the sore looked no better than it had the day before. Maybe even a little worse. The blister looked sort of like a small crater, round and open, bright red on the inside. The skin around it was red as well, and he hoped it wasn’t getting infected. He wondered if he had any cream to put on it; if not, he’d have to have Claire get some and bring it over, because there was no way he was leaving the house if he still could not put his leg on.

Hobbling into his bathroom, he rummaged through the cabinets until he came up with half-empty tube of Neosporin. He wasn’t sure how old it was, but it would do. Sinking down onto the closed toilet seat, he squirted a liberal amount of the antibiotic ointment onto his finger and smeared it over the blister, flinching as his fingertip made contact with the wound. Deciding he would need something bigger than a band-aid to put over the blister, now gooey with Neosporin, he got back up and did another search until he found what he was looking for – gauze bandages. He took one out of its package and taped it awkwardly over the end of his stump. Then, sighing, he rose again, hauling himself back to his bedroom to get dressed.

The rest of the day was spent much like the previous one – sitting around, lying around, bored out of his mind, with nothing to do and nowhere to go… nowhere that he felt comfortable going anyway. He didn’t hear from Claire until that evening and wondered what she’d been doing all day. Hanging out with Jamie again, perhaps? When he called her that night, she just said she had been running some errands and cleaning her apartment. “Gotta get things organized so I can start packing,” she’d told him cheerfully.

He wished she would come over and hang out with him again that night, but she said she was tired from running around all day and just wanted to stay home for the night. Besides, she’d reminded him, she had work in the morning.

So he called Howie instead, just to talk. Howie had offered earlier to come down to help Claire get moved in on Saturday, and when he confirmed that he was still planning to drive to Tampa that weekend, Nick was glad. They could use the extra help, especially if he was going to still be laid up like this on Saturday. Not that he was going to be. He was sure it would only take another day or two for this blister thing to clear up, and then he’d be back on his feet.

***

By the time work was over Monday afternoon, Claire was ready to get off her feet. The day had been a busy one, with back-to-back appointments all morning and most of the afternoon. She was more than ready to head home and kick back, hopefully get in a couple hours of relaxation before she had to think about more organizing and packing. It was amazing the amount of junk she could cram into such a small apartment, she had realized the day before, as she’d given the place a thorough cleaning and started going through her stuff. She wanted to get a start on packing early in the week, doing a little every day after work until Thursday and Friday, which she had taken off. Then she would have a chance to swing by Goodwill and drop off whatever she had decided to get rid of – which, based on the looks of things so far, would be a lot – and finish boxing things up in preparation for the big move on Saturday.

As she slid her timecard into the slot on the clock, punching herself out for the day, Laureen came up behind her, timecard in hand. “Have a good night, Claire,” she said, smiling, as Claire slung her purse over her shoulder and stepped aside to let Laureen clock out as well.

Claire returned the smile. “Thanks, you too,” she replied. Laureen had been working there for exactly one week now, and Claire was glad to have her. The younger hygienist made for a pleasant co-worker, always cheerful and smiling. Perky people like her sometimes got on Claire’s nerves, but so far that had not been the case with Laureen; instead, she found her quite likeable. Her first day or two working at the office, Laureen had come to Claire whenever she had a question or needed something, since Claire was the one she had observed the week before, and also because their cubicles were right across the hall from each other. They’d been friendly ever since, and it seemed Laureen was on her way to becoming one of Claire’s closer friends from work. They didn’t have much in common, as far Claire could tell, but they were two of the youngest in a staff mostly made up of married women in their thirties and forties, and that was a good enough basis for professional friendship at least.

Just as Claire was getting ready to leave, car keys in hand, Tim strode in. “Hey, C,” he greeted her briefly, and she returned the acknowledgment, wishing he wouldn’t call her ‘C.’ It was a nickname he’d used for her when they were together, and, friend or not, it somehow didn’t seem appropriate anymore, especially not at work. But she said nothing and headed for the door. Just as she was walking out, she overheard him saying in a low, suave sort of voice, “So, Laureen… did you have a nice weekend?”

Slipping out the front door of the office, Claire groaned to herself. The question had sounded innocent enough, but she was wise enough to know otherwise. Poor Laureen had only been there a week, and already Tim was swooping down on her. She supposed it shouldn’t surprise her (and it really didn’t); it had been the same way when Tim had first started working there almost a year ago. One week, and he was already flirting with her. Another week, and they’d gone out together. A couple more weeks, and they were in a relationship. To her, it had always been casual, and though it made her feel guilty to admit it, more of a distraction than anything else. Tim had asked her out at a perfect time – for him, anyway – right after Nick had pushed her away, making her think she didn’t mean as much to him as she thought she had. She’d later found out it wasn’t true, but at the time, it had hurt, and she saw a fling with Tim as a great way to take her mind off of Nick. And even though their relationship had lasted several months, that’s really all it ever was, to her. A fling. Tim was a nice guy, good-looking and smart too, but he was not for her. She’d known their relationship was going nowhere long before she had broken it off, but even when she did finally break up with him, she couldn’t help but feel bad, feeling that he’d always been a lot more committed to it than she.

She didn’t feel bad anymore. Tim had been fine on his own, and it had not been long before a new woman started coming to the office to meet him for lunch every day. That had lasted a few weeks, and then there was another, and then another. Tim was no more ready to get serious and settle down than she was when she had dated him, and she figured that if most of the other hygienists weren’t already taken, he’d have dated at least half the staff by now.

As she climbed into the car, Claire wondered if she should give Laureen a warning the next day over lunch. Glancing back at the office as she pulled out of the parking lot and drove away, Claire decided against it. Hopeless flirt or not, Tim was harmless, and who knew, maybe he and Laureen would be the perfect match. Either way, it wasn’t really her place to ruin Tim’s chances with the new hygienist.

As she headed for home, her mind still on Tim and Laureen, Claire suddenly remembered she had promised Nick she would come over to his place after work. It was a routine she followed often, but with Jamie in town and an entire apartment filled with things to pack, her brain had been elsewhere. Glad she hadn’t forgotten, she turned in the direction she needed to go to get to Nick’s. She knew he’d be glad to see her; she hadn’t seen him at all the day before, but he had sounded bored and lonely on the phone, and if his leg was still giving him trouble, he’d probably be the same way today.

She sailed through a yellow light and turned at the next intersection, deciding she would just have to relax at Nick’s house instead. She didn’t mind – cuddling on the couch or lounging by the pool with him would beat going home to face the arduous task of packing any day.

***

“Hey, hon,” Claire said when Nick swung open his front door.

“Hey you,” he replied, smiling at the sight of her, and stepped back to let her into the house.

As she walked in, she noticed he was still on crutches and asked, “How’s the blister?”

He didn’t really answer, just sort of grunted, but she got the point. “How was work today?” he questioned her automatically, laying his crutches down on the floor as they both took a seat on his couch.

“It was busy, but okay,” she replied. “I’m tired though… and my back’s kind of sore…” Arching her back, she stuck a hand behind her and ran it up and down her spine, looking at him meaningfully the whole time.

He smirked. “You hinting at something, babe?” he teased her. She gave him another look; he knew exactly what she wanted from him. And he gave it to her, gently turning her so that her back was to him and resting his large hands on her shoulders. He started there, deeply massaging her shoulders, rubbing her neck, working the tense muscles in her upper back. He descended downward to reach her lower back, staying on top of her scrub top at first, and then sliding his hands underneath the crisp, patterned material. She let out a soft moan of pleasure as his fingertips came in contact with her flesh, and when she felt his stubby fingernails lightly scratching up and down her spine, her skin broke out in goosebumps.

“Mmm, that feels so good,” she sighed, once again glad she hadn’t forgotten to stop by his place on the way home.

“Do me next?” he asked, a note of pleading in his voice. “It’s hard working hauling this body around on crutches all day.”

“Aww, poor baby,” she said, but she really did feel his pain – crutches were no picnic. “Sure I’ll do you next. Not yet though – keep going.”

“Sure thing, princess,” he teased, and she felt his lips on the back of her neck. She smiled as he kissed her tenderly and then nuzzled around in that area for awhile before getting back to the actual massage.

She let him go on for another five minutes and then said, “Okay, ready to switch?” She turned just in time to see his eager nod, and then he turned around too, so that his back was to her. Before she had even laid a hand on him, he pulled his t-shirt up and over his head, balling it up in his hands and tossing it to the floor. Smiling, she placed her hands on his broad shoulders and couldn’t help but notice the contrast between her fair, white skin and his deep tan. Damn him for being able to tan. No, not damn him... it made him look even better without a shirt on.

“What are you waiting for?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder to see why her hands hadn’t started moving yet.

“Hold your horses, boy, I’m going,” she replied, digging into his bronzed flesh with the palms of her hands, working his neck and shoulders and then his upper arms. She could feel the muscle there and knew it was built up from more than just supporting himself on crutches. He liked to work out, especially lifting weights and doing exercises to tone his upper body. She figured his thinking was that if his lower body couldn’t be perfect, at least he could make himself look good from the waist up. As if that had ever been a problem in the first place. Still, he was looking better than she’d ever seen him, the weight he’d lost during his last hospital stay back in the form of muscle.

She massaged these muscles now; they were tight, probably from all the crutch-walking over the last few days. As she worked her way down his back a little, she noticed streaks of red disappearing under his arms. Touching one of the red patches gently, she asked, “Does this hurt? It’s kinda red right here.”

“Oh… yeah, from these stupid crutches,” he muttered. “I hate those things.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to have them all the way up your armpits like that, are you?”

“Nah, I don’t think so either… you’re supposed to use your arms to carry most of the weight, but I get lazy.”

“Aw…” She leaned forward to plant a kiss right on his shoulder blade and then asked, “How much longer are gonna be stuck on the crutches, you think? The blister’s gotta be getting better by now, right?”

“Eh…” He trailed off, not really answering her again, and she frowned.

“Can I see it?” she asked. “How bad is it? I mean, if it’s not starting to feel any better by now, maybe you should call your doctor and get some advice on what to do for it.”

He shifted his weight, and she could tell he was uncomfortable. “Nah…” he said hesitantly, “it’s fine.”

“Lemme see it,” she persisted. He had a bad habit of pretending things were ‘fine’ when they weren’t.

“Claire,” he groaned in annoyance. “Back off, okay? It’s fine.”

She took her hands off him. “Lemme see, or no more backrub,” she negotiated, hoping that would get him.

It did.

“Fine,” he grumbled, heaving an exaggerated sigh. Turning so that he was facing forward on the couch again, he pulled off the sock that covered his stump. His motions were jerky and rough, and she did not miss the grimace of pain that crossed his face. She bit her lip, hating to see him hurting. When he had gotten the sock off, she looked down to find a large gauze pad covering the rounded end of the limb. He reached down and gingerly peeled off the tape that held the bandage in place. Then, slowly, he pulled back the gauze, exposing the skin underneath a little at a time.

When the bandage was all the way off, and she got a good look at the wound it had been concealing, Claire gasped. That was not just a blister; if it was, it was definitely the worst blister she’d ever seen. It was large in diameter and looked deeper than she had expected. It was as if something vaguely circular had tried to gouge into his skin. Pains shot through her at the very thought. The inside of it was dark red, and the skin around it was puffy and almost the same shade of scarlet.

“Holy shit, Nick,” she inhaled, tearing widened eyes away from the unsightly sore to look up at his face. “I think you should see someone about that – like, right away. It looks infected…”

“I know,” he muttered, making a face as he glanced down at it. “I’ve been putting Neosporin on it…”

She shook her head. “Somehow I don’t think Neosporin’s gonna be enough. Has it been this bad the whole time?” He just shrugged, looking uneasy, and she could tell he wasn’t going to give up anymore information. “Well, I seriously think you should at least call someone about that,” she went on firmly, not caring if she sounded bossy or not. This was serious. “Don’t you have another doctor that takes care of the stuff that has to do with your leg?”

“Yeah, my prosthetist,” he said. “I guess maybe I should call him.”

She nodded. “I think you should. It looks infected, and that’s not something you wanna take your chances with.”

He made another face, but she could tell he already knew that. With a sigh, he looked at the clock. “It’s already five… think anyone will still be there?”

“Hopefully. Try and see. Do you have the number somewhere? Want me to get it?”

“I’ve got it somewhere in my desk… I’ll find it.” He stood up slowly and picked up his crutches, using them to haul himself off towards his office at a snail’s pace. Claire shook her head behind him before following after him; you’d have thought he was walking the green mile to his execution or something. After everything he had been through, it was no wonder he wasn’t a big fan of doctors – neither was she – but, come on, this was nothing compared to what he’d already suffered through. An annoyance, for sure, but nothing unbearable. A few doses of antibiotics, and the infection should clear right up.

Claire stood in the doorway of Nick’s small, hardly-used office for a moment, watching as he stood in front of his desk, his back to her, and opened a drawer. As he rifled through the contents, she came up behind him and placed a hand on his back.

“I know it’s here somewhere,” he mumbled, probably more to himself than to her, as he started pulling handfuls of papers and leaflets out of the drawer and piling them haphazardly on the desktop. She couldn’t help but peek over his shoulder at the papers he had taken out of the drawer. Curiously pouring over the titles, she found them all to contain medical information. A pamphlet on Ewing’s Sarcoma… drug fact sheets for various medications he’d taken… a guide to coping with the side effects of chemotherapy… even an diagram illustrating the proper way to bandage. He covered this with an instruction manual for his C-Leg and then expelled a sigh. “Finally!” he exclaimed, and she saw that he was holding up a business card. She took it from him and read the name on the card.

Ryan Emthrey, Certified Prosthetist (C.P.)

There was also a phone number and office hours – Monday through Friday, 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. Of course. It was after five o’clock by now, but she said, “You should call now; someone might still be there.”

He nodded wordlessly and slumped into the desk chair. Picking up the phone that sat on the desk, he dialed the number on the card. She stood beside him, her hand on his shoulder, and they both waited. Finally, he groaned and hung up the phone. “I just got a machine,” he said. “I’ll call again tomorrow morning.”

She pursed her lips. “What do you think he’s going to do for you tomorrow? He can’t write you a scrip for antibiotics, right? Cause he’s not a doctor?”

Nick considered this a moment, absently twisting the card in his hands. “No, I guess not. So what, you think he’d just tell me to go see my doctor for antibiotics?”

“I guess so. I dunno what else he could do for it; if it’s infected, and it’s bacterial, antibiotics are usually how you’d treat it.”

“So… should I call Dr. Kingsbury? I don’t really have a family doctor or anything.”

“Your oncologist? I dunno… I guess she could write you a scrip, but that’s not really her specialty. What if we just went to the ER?”

“The Emergency Room?” he repeated, eyes bugging. “Are you serious? It’s not an emergency; it’s just a stupid blister! It’ll probably go away on its own anyway…”

“I know it’s not an emergency, but they’ll take a look at it and give you antibiotics in the ER. That’s what they’re there for.” He didn’t look convinced, so she continued patiently, “Come on, I can drive you in right now. You can get a doctor to look at it, he’ll tell you it’s infected and write a prescription for antibiotics and tell you how to take care of it, and we’ll be on our way.”

“Right now?!” he cried. “Tonight??”

“Hey, the sooner the better. Why not tonight? It’ll give me a good excuse not to go home and pack,” she said with a snort, as if going to the Emergency Room with him would be better than packing. It really wouldn’t be, but as long as she wasn’t the patient, and it wasn’t an emergency, she supposed it wouldn’t be so bad. At least it would put her mind to rest, knowing he was being taken care of. An infection, even a seemingly minor one, was nothing to mess around with, as she’d learned following her bone marrow transplant, when her immune system had been too weak to fight off even the common cold.

Nick sighed, looking at her with puppy dog eyes. She stared right back, her gaze firm. Finally, he relented. “Okay,” he said grudgingly, “let’s go. You’re gonna have to rub my back for like an hour when we get back though, woman.”

“Only if you’re a good little patient,” she cooed, pinching his cheek.

He made a face, shying away from her. “Quit it.”

“Fine. Come on.” Grabbing his hands, she pulled him up from the chair and handed him his crutches.

“Ugh,” he grumbled, gripping the crutch handles tightly. “I hate going out without my leg on…”

Looking over at him sympathetically, she tried to be positive. “I know, but you’ll be at the hospital – no one will think anything of it there. You’ll fit in perfectly.”

He rolled his eyes and did not reply, but when she started to walk out of the room, he followed her. They stopped long enough to put on shoes and then went out to her car, which was parked in his long circular driveway. He slid his crutches across the backseat and climbed into the front, buckling himself into the passenger seat. She got behind the wheel, started the engine, and put the old Toyota into drive. She paused to tune the radio to a rock station they both listened to. An old Hoobastank song she liked was playing, but neither of them sang along. In fact, the entire drive to the hospital was silent. Nick stared broodingly out the window the whole time, and she stared at the road, tearing her eyes away just long enough to sneak a glance at him every few seconds. Whether he noticed or not, she was not sure. He never returned the glance.

***