Learning to Walk, a City Hospital Novel (5 page)

“He’s fine.” Neil sat at one of the chairs and took out his sandwich. “A bit bruised, and he’ll likely be stiff for a few days, but he hasn’t done himself any permanent damage.” It could have been so much worse, and he was glad it hadn’t been. He dug into his sandwich.

Mr. Matheson sat at the table with them, and Kit poured cereal in the bowl, apparently for after the rest of his sandwich and his doughnut.

“I’m find, Dad. Really. And we’re eating that fu-- damn roast tomorrow.”

“It’s in the sink, thawing. I’ll put it in the fridge before we go to bed.” Mr. Matheson looked at Neil. “You should come for supper tomorrow. Kit makes a great roast dinner, and we owe you.”

Neil grinned and chuckled a little. “Actually, as it happens, I’m coming over tomorrow afternoon to do a few stretches with Kit. I’d love to stay for supper.” Kit would either be okay with it or get grumpy about him crossing the friend/therapist line again. Neil probably was crossing it, but he liked Kit despite the attitude, or maybe partly because of it, and he wanted to go the extra mile to help the man out.

Kit, finishing his sandwich, pointed at him. “That means you have to fetch and carry for me as needed.”

“I can manage that.” His food was good -- he hadn’t realized how hungry he was, but it was late and he’d been called out without eating lunch.

“Careful,” Mr. Matheson cautioned. “He can be bossy.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Kit ate half his doughnut in two bites. “Just for that, you get to help me with the shower in the morning.”

Mr. Matheson rolled his eyes but didn’t point out that he helped with that every morning. At least Neil assumed he did; there was no way Kit was doing that on his own yet. “Don’t eat so fast; you’ll give yourself the hiccups.”

Neil didn’t comment; he just finished his sandwich and started on his cookie and his milk. It was nice to see the by-play, though, to get a chance to observe what Kit’s home life was like.

“The hiccups?” Kit stared at his father and then shook his head. “That’s the best you can do?”

“Better than choking, right?”

“True.” Kit started on the cereal, plain with no milk. “I promise no excitement tomorrow, Dad.”

“Damn right.” Mr. Matheson stood up and turned the kettle off. “I’m guessing this isn’t needed after all. And I’m going to bed. You can get your own ass in bed. Thanks again, Neil. I appreciate your help.”

“It was my pleasure, Mr. Matheson. Thanks for the invite for supper tomorrow.”

“See you then.” Mr. Matheson nodded at him, patted Kit on the shoulder, and went down the hall, presumably to bed.

“Well, he didn’t seem too worry-wartish to me.”

“He’ll be all over me tomorrow morning.” Kit looked resigned to it. “He had his company manners on. I won’t even have time to wake up tomorrow before he’ll be helping me.”

“Better than the alternative, man.” Neil stood and took the bags and papers to the garbage he’d spied in the corner. “You need help getting to bed?”

“Nope, I got it.” Kit wheeled himself to the counter and put the empty bowl on it. “Thanks. Again.”

“You sure? Remember that you’re tired and more sore than usual.”

Kit got the roast out of the sink and took it to the fridge. He seemed to be considering what Neil said, not deliberately ignoring him. When the roast was put away to finish thawing he turned his chair to face the hall. “I suppose. But only because the idea of yelling for my Dad to pick me up off the floor -- and maybe another trip to the ER -- makes me want to be sick.”

“Good choice.” Neil met Kit’s eyes. “I know it’s not easy, but you need to learn to accept help when it’s offered, even if you think you can probably manage on your own. It makes people feel like they’re doing something, as well as helps you.”

“And yet, I’m stuck with the fact that you’re about to see me in my boxers.”

“I’m a health professional -- it’s like a doctor seeing you in your altogether.”

“Not really a fan of that, either.” Kit made a face. “Call it a side effect of having my body wrecked for me.” He sighed. “Come on. Leave the lights; you’ll need them on your way out.”

Neil followed Kit down the hall. “I’d promise to keep my eyes closed, but that would probably make me more of a hindrance than a help.”

That earned him a snort that might have been a laugh. Kit went into his room, reaching up to turn on the lights. “Okay, so.” He turned a tight circle to get himself in the right spot and backed up beside his bed. “It’s not a palace -- it’s not even my bed. All my stuff is in storage until I get my own place again. But it’s easy to get in and out of.” He locked his wheels and reached to flip his bed covers down.

“You not going to brush your teeth or anything first?”

Kit blinked at him. “I wasn’t, no. I didn’t want to keep you.”

“I think I can manage an extra five minutes for you to brush your teeth and whatever you usually do.” He waited a moment and then added, “Unless it’s kinky and weird or something.”

Kit blinked again and then glared. “I keep my kink for mid-afternoon, actually. Jeez.” He unlocked his wheels and shot forward, almost running over Neil’s toes. “I’ll be right back.”

“Hey, it was a joke, man.” Neil shook his head. Kit needed to find his sense of humor. It would make the hard stuff easier.

The sound of running water came, then spitting. After a pause the toilet flushed, the water ran again, and then Kit came back. “Did you look under my mattress for skin mags? They’re not there.”

God damn it, was it any wonder that Kit’s friends had all become fair-weather with him pushing people away so damn hard? Neil took a breath and answered quietly. “It was a joke, Kit.”

“I know.” Kit lifted an eyebrow at him. “I made one, too.” He backed his chair into place. “The skin mags really are under the mattress. You missed your chance to peek, though.” Wheels locked again, Kit rubbed his eyes. “Can I just go to bed now?”

Nail decided to let everything go but getting Kit into bed. “Yeah, let’s get you tucked in. It’s been a very long day.”

“Sucked.” Kit appeared content to agree with him on that, at least. “Damn it. Can you open the top drawer and get me a clean T-shirt, please? I don’t want to sleep in hospital smell.” He tugged at the hem of the one he was wearing and peeled it off.

Neil pulled out a T-shirt from the neatly packed drawer and handed it over without a word.

Kit tugged it on, one hand smoothing it over his stomach. “Can’t really see too many scars on the front. Most of the damage is on the back and side.”

“Yeah, that would make sense, given your injuries. You want me to lift you into bed, or just be close enough to catch you if you misstep, so to speak?”

“Uh.” Kit shook his head. “I don’t know. So I guess you better get closer to catch me.” He made sure his blankets were down and got ready to transfer to the bed. “I might let you help drag my jeans off, though, as long as we don’t try to make jokes about it. Are my pills in here?” He paused looking around. “The ones from tonight, the pain pills, I mean.”

“Those are in my pocket.” Neil dug the little plastic bottle out and set it on the night stand. “Hey, do you want this moved? You mentioned it was on the wrong side.”

Kit nodded. “Can we do it tomorrow, though? I’m beat. I don’t need what’s in those drawers tonight, if you get my meaning.”

“Sure, no problem.” He settled against the bed and nodded to Kit. “Go ahead. I’ll be here if you find yourself in a bind on the transfer.”

“Okay.” Kit took a breath and planted his hands where he needed them. The shift of his weight wasn’t smooth and seamless, but he made it to the bed without falling or even getting close to it, so that was good. Neil noticed the way Kit’s arms shook, though, and made a note to watch tomorrow for muscle fatigue earlier than usual.

He let Kit undo his jeans, then grabbed hold of the waistband on either side and tugged them down, ignoring it when the man’s boxers tried to make the trip, too. Kit righted them and Neil got the jeans off and folded them neatly before putting them on the dresser. He very carefully wasn’t looking at Kit’s body, not because of the scars, but because it wouldn’t be appropriate; he didn’t want to be in a position to like what he saw. “Okay -- anything else you need before I let myself out?”

Kit looked around his room, checked what was on the nightstand and shook his head. “I think I’ve got what I need.” He adjusted his sheet and blankets and lay back. “Thank you. Can you lock the kitchen door as you go out, please?”

“I will. Have a good night, man.” Neil waved and headed out without waiting for an answer, not in the mood to get his head bitten off if Kit took that the wrong way.

He knew life had dealt Kit a shitty hand, but the man needed to ease up -- things didn’t have to be so hard all the time.

Locking the front door, Neil headed for his car.

Chapter Four

Kit knew pain like few people knew it. He knew its taste and shade and sound. He knew it intimately and deeply and well enough to have given it names.

He woke up to the teenager of pain. Not the little baby pain of a stubbed toe, starting sharp and fading so fast you forgot it moments later, but not the granddaddy of pain that needed heavy drugs and a staff of about fifty to keep him alive. Just the teenager pain of pulled muscles, and not enough sleep in the right positions, and bruises that were probably going to look gross in a few days.

Along with the pain came what he really hated, though: the shame of knowing how badly he’d behaved for pretty much all of it. At least he’d remembered to say please and thank you sometimes.

“You ready for the day?”

Kit looked up at his father. “Yes, Dad.”

“You’re going to have the phone on you?”

“Yes, Dad.” He said it mildly and didn’t really mind. He knew that his father had gotten a scare. “I’ll have the phone; I won’t reach for anything I shouldn’t. I’ll do some stretching this morning because I’m stiff and sore, and then I’ll watch TV until Neil gets here.”

His father nodded. “And you’re going to make supper for us. For him. To say thank you.”

Kit nodded. “Roast, baked potatoes, corn, some other veg. Maybe dessert, if I have time.”

“You know what else would be good?” His father went to the table and picked up his lunch, all packed for work. “Actually saying thank you to him.”

“I did!” Kit literally bit his tongue to stop himself from arguing. He knew what his father meant, really. It wasn’t so much “say thank you” as it was “stop being a jerk”. “I will.” He nodded. “Have a good day at work, Dad.”

His father came over and kissed the top of his head, something Kit usually hated since it made him feel about nine years old, but didn’t mind so much right then. “Call me if you need anything.” Then he went to work, and the quiet of the house wrapped around Kit like a blanket.

Kit had never liked being wrapped up, though, so he turned on the TV and found something on a channel that wasn’t a talk show, doing a few static stretches to ease out the worst of the kinks. There was a time he’d call buddies to come over and watch with him or play video games, but no longer.

He had a book to read, TV to watch, a dinner to plan. He’d be perfectly fine for the day. It wouldn’t even be a full day that he’d be all alone, just part of it. Then Neil would be there to bully him into moving muscles that really didn’t want to move, and then to help him cook. It would be fine.

Kit glanced at the clock. Not even nine in the morning. Great.

He went to the kitchen and got a pen, a pad of paper, and a few cookbooks and started planning ways to make the vegetables less boring. Maybe that would kill an hour. Double checking the calendar to make sure he wasn’t missing a meeting with his therapist, he realized that the next two days were going to be back to back meetings and appointments; it looked like fitting in a nap would go on today’s agenda as well.

The phone rang, and he picked it up without checking the caller ID. He didn’t even care if it was a telemarketer -- they could be fun to talk to, depending on what they were selling. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me.” His father. “I just found out I have a late meeting. You and Neil go ahead without me, but save me a plate, okay? I’ll be home around eight or eight-thirty.”

Kit made a face. “Okay. Make sure you take a break around four and go buy a sandwich, though.”

His dad laughed. “Yes, boss.”

“You just do it.” They hung up, and Kit called Neil, intending to leave a message on his voicemail, giving him a chance to back out.

“Hello, you’ve reached Neil Kirkpatrick.”

“Hey, uh, hi. It’s Kit.”

“Hey, Kit. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I didn’t try to be a hero so far today.” Kit rolled his eyes at himself. Now that it was the next day and his panic had faded, he was mostly just embarrassed and very sore. Falling out of his chair trying to make supper was possibly the least smooth thing he’d ever done. “I just wanted to let you know that my dad has to work late tonight, so if you want to skip supper that’s okay. It’ll just be you and me.”

“I’ll be there anyway, so I might as well stay. Well. Unless you’d prefer I didn’t -- it was your father who issued the invitation. If you’d rather I didn’t stick around that’s fine.”

“Oh no!” Kit’s eyes widened as he realized it sounded like he was trying to get out of it instead of offering Neil an out. “Not at all. You’re more than welcome to stay, I just wanted to... well, warn you, I guess.”

Neil laughed, the sound warm, even through the telephone. “No Mr. Matheson to act as a buffer between me and his son. Got it -- consider me warned.”

Kit found himself smiling. “It’s nice that you can see right to the heart of the issue. All right, if you’re warned, I’ve done my duty as a host and all that’s left is actually getting a meal together. Well, that and stretches and physio with you, later. I’m pretty stiff today. That was an understatement, by the way.”

“I thought you might be. I should be there after three. Look, don’t take this the wrong way, but don’t try to do any exercises or stretches on your own. I want to ease you into things, make it as painless as possible.”

“Really? I was planning to try to loosen up a little. Nothing huge, just some upper body stretching. Not even that?”