Chapter 53
"The Four-Wheeled Wonder"
TUESDAY MORNING DAWNED WITH A SOUPY OVERCAST. THE GRAY OF THE SKIES REFLECTED THE GRAYNESS OF MY MOOD. I AWOKE JUST AS DAWN WAS BREAKING, AND FOUND THAT I COULD NOT GET OUT OF BED. AS A MATTER OF FACT, I COULDN'T MOVE.
MY LEG, THE VILLAN OF THIS PATHETIC DRAMA, WAS FROZEN IN PLACE ON THE BED'S SURFACE. NO AMOUNT OF EFFORT ON MY PART COULD GET IT TO UNLOCK FROM ITS FROZEN POSITION, BECAUSE THE PAIN MADE MY HEAD REEL WITH EVERY EFFORT. IT WAS ALMOST AS IF I HAD BECOME WELDED TO THE SPOT AND MY RIGHT ASS CHEEK GLUED TO THE MATTRESS. ALL ATTEMPTS TO MOVE CAUSED WAVES OF HURT TO RADIATE FROM MY HIP TO MY NEUROPATHIC TOES, MAKING ME BITE MY LIP TO PREVENT A SHRIEK THAT WOULD RATTLE THE WINDOWS.
IT TOOK MY BREATH AWAY. I LAY PARTLY OVER ON MY LEFT SIDE, PANTING, AS FAR AS I COULD GO; TEARS SPRINGING TO MY EYES AT THE STABBING SENSATIONS IN MY HIP, AND THE ANSWERING PULSE IN THE AREA AROUND THE SCAR. I ROLLED BACK ONTO THE PILLOW AND WAITED FOR THINGS TO DIE DOWN.
*FUCK!*
YESTERDAY'S INTENSE SESSION OF X-RAYS AND SCANS AND UNACCUSTOMED EFFORT HAD TAKEN THEIR TOLL ON WHAT WAS LEFT OF MY MOBILITY. I WOULD HAVE TO TAKE THINGS SLOWLY TODAY; EASE GRADUALLY INTO MOTION UNTIL ALL THE KINKS SMOOTHED OUT AND I COULD NAVIGATE AGAIN.
IT TOOK FOREVER. TEN MINUTES SEEMS LIKE TEN DAYS WHEN PAIN KEEPS YOU PINNED TO THE SPOT. I MOVED MY ARMS DOWN AND ENCIRCLED MY THIGH JUST ABOVE THE KNEE WITH BOTH HANDS, TAKING NOTE WITH ANNOYANCE THAT I COULD REACH ALL THE WAY AROUND THE LIMB TO THE POINT THAT MY FINGERS AND THUMBS OVERLAPPED ON BOTH SIDES. I WAS LOSING MUSCLE TONE AT AN ALARMING RATE.
I BEGAN TO FLEX MY KNEE MANUALLY IN CAUTIOUS INCREMENTS UNTIL I COULD BEGIN TO MOVE IT A LITTLE UNDER ITS OWN POWER. SAME WITH MY HIP. I ROLLED FROM SIDE TO SIDE UNTIL I COULD DO IT JUST ON THE SOUTH SIDE OF COMFORT. GRADUALLY I PUSHED UPWARD UNTIL I WAS SITTING ON THE EDGE OF THE BED, PROPPED THERE PANTING, WITH BOTH HANDS ON THE MATTRESS BEHIND ME.
*SONNOVOBITCH!*
I WISHED WILSON WERE HERE. I COULD HAVE USED HIS STURDY SHOULDER TO LEAN ON.
When I hauled my miserable ass into the wheelchair, the first object I grabbed was Willy Ortiz's bottle of little pink Immitrax, quickly swallowing two of them.
I spent the morning in the wheelchair when I wasn't wallowing in the recliner. I was in the most discomfort I'd yet experienced since coming to this part of the country, and I was suddenly seized with an almost desperate desire to have the thing off me; have it gone and give me some peace.
The day was a cold, rainy, sleety, misty mess, and I could feel it deep in my bones. The furnace ran almost nonstop, keeping the place warm. I wanted nothing to do with walking across the street for a meal at the Watson Inn. I'd probably break my neck tripping over the opposite curb. I would rather starve to death. I still felt too weak to try rummaging in the cupboards or refrigerator for something from there that I would have to either cook or construct.
I pulled out my cell phone and called Bill Perry at the bank. (Something to distract me.) After a preliminary exchange of boring niceties, I asked for the name of the electrician who had contracted to work for Sylvester House. I could have asked the painters, but I forgot,
"Bill Noble," Perry said immediately, reading off the man's number, which I immediately punched into my phone. "He's an older guy, Kyle, but he knows what he's doing. He comes highly recommended.
"How are you, Kyle? Is your apartment shaping up okay? Were you able to find everything we stashed in your closets and drawers and shelves?"
I snickered. For two days I couldn't find anything … but I didn't tell him that. "You clowns didn't hide stuff from me as well as you thought you did. I even found my box of toothbrushes under the damn sink, and I can get in and out of the kitchen now. The old butcher's block fits fine in there. So I'm getting familiar with the place," I said. "I had the building painted … inside and out, upstairs and down. It makes quite a bit of difference. I'm sort of pleased with it … in a girly way, I suppose. None of the tenants have bitched, so I guess they like it too. They still don't know who their landlord is … or why in hell all this work is suddenly getting done …"
He laughed and I continued. "Two guys delivered a new leather couch and recliner for me yesterday. Pretty cool. They're power-glides, and that's the reason I called you. I need an outlet installed beneath the couch so I don't kill myself tripping over an extension cord. The heating element on the chair feels pretty good though. You should drop by sometime and look 'em over …"
Bill laughed slowly. "I really need to do that, my friend. When I do, I'll bring a bottle along. Maybe we can scare up enough guys for a poker game, huh?"
"That is one hell of a good idea. I can already think of three guys who would be interested." Perry had something there, I thought.
After that we rang off, and I settled back into the softness of the warm leather.
I bitched under my breath at the persistent pain of movement. I dug in my pocket for the Immitrax vial and gulped two more of them. I wished I had a TV so I could channel surf. I needed a distraction, and I didn't have one at the moment; at least nothing that I didn't have to get physical for …
I decided to call Bill Noble and arrange to have an electrical outlet installed. Maybe he could do the work tomorrow sometime. Another twelve to eighteen hours should give me enough time to work the rest of the kinks out so I could meet him at the door standing upright when he arrived. To my great surprise, Noble agreed to put in the new electrical line the next afternoon. He had other work to do in the morning, but he would see me, probably about two o'clock. We rang off and I made a 'thumbs up' in the air. "Yes!"
One more thing before this place could be called "home": I should get on line … find me a cool TV so I could channel surf until my fingers fell off ...
In the evening I pooped out early and sat on the recliner just looking around the place. It was still kind of bare. I'd have to work on that; dig some of my souvenirs out of the spare bedroom. Hang up some of the framed pictures I'd saved. In truth, I felt like an elderly man with nothing to do and no place to go.
*Dammit, I'm not that old! I really have to to get off my ass and quit stalling. This crap has been going on long enough!*
I thought back to the conversation I'd had with Ed Thoreau yesterday after the day's battery of tests. He'd given me sound talking to, in a way; chiding me for not doing anything decisive with my life and cruising along on my guilty status quo. He knew I was still reluctant to have the surgery … and I was. He quizzed me about winding things up with the stupid stuff I'd pulled in Jersey. I knew if I compensated Cuddy for the damage to her house, all the charges would probably be dropped and I would no longer have to hide out under an assumed name. And I wouldn't have to make up more lies to tell the Department of Transportation when I finally changed my license plate to "resident of New Hampshire".
The more I thought about Ed's words, the more the man made sense. It would be a simple thing to write a check for full restoration to the damn house. A hundred grand ought to do it nicely. Then I could be Greg House again, but I would have to face the people of Etna. I would have to tell them about my history as a total ass … and I would have to get really honest. Would they still like me?
I'd just have to take that chance. I wrote a check, signed it, stamped it and filled out an envelope …
At 8:00 o'clock there came a knock at the door. "It's open," I grumbled. "Come on in." Who the hell could be knocking on my door at this time of night?
When the door opened, I was astounded to see that it was Lily Chamberlin and Jake Harvey. Both were wet from the freezing rain. Both were wearing plastic rain jackets and pushing a covered, large-wheel dinner cart that emitted aromas that immediately filled the room and let me know in no uncertain terms that I had not eaten anything today.
I returned the recliner to the upright position and stared like I had never seen a food cart before. Biting back a groan, I looked up at the two of them and smiled my best smile. "Wow! You two have come just in time to save my life!"
Lily took off her raincoat and laid it in the corner behind the door. She hurried over to the recliner … and me … with surprising agility for her size and age. "Oh, poor Kyle, you look so tired and worn ..." She leaned over me and planted a light kiss on the top of my head. I thought I might pass out at the incredible shock of it.
"I-I'm still sore from the exams and t-tests at the hospital yesterday," I stammered. "I'm still … t-trying to recover …"
"Poor dear," she cooed, cupping my cheeks with her hands. "Jakey and I thought you might be a little hungry, and since it's so nasty outside, you would be afraid of crossing the street. So we brought you some dinner."
Across from us, Jake Harvey was hiding his face in his sleeve as his eyes met mine in supplication, trying like crazy to not give himself away. I knew he loved Lily like she was his mother, but sometimes she embarrassed him almost to tears. His hands flew about, removing the lids from the food and getting it ready to offer to the bemused cripple across the room.
Embarrassed a bit myself, I slid my hands down Lily's arms until I could take her chubby fingers into my own and squeeze gently in silent thanks … and regain some space between us. She was a very sweet lady, but she had never made a move quite as daring as this; her earnest attempt to show support in a physical manner and express compassion through the power of touch.
Jake pushed the food cart to my side where I could reach everything easily, and pointed thumb and forefinger at the couch and recliner. "Sweet!" He commented as he grinned again in delight at my red ear tips and hot face. "I saw the truck over here yesterday morning, but I was busy with the breakfast crowd. "This is a nice set."
That quickly he had shattered the sticky mood and changed the subject. Lily quickly agreed with him.
"Thanks," I said. I had a drumstick in one hand and a slice of buttered bread in the other, and I was too hungry to waste time with a more polite acknowledgment.
We sat and shot the breeze while I stuffed my face with Lily's excellent cooking and guzzled a tall mug of potent coffee.
For ten glorious minutes I lived in Valhalla, and I was Odin …
I told them that the only thing I had yet to purchase for the apartment was a good TV to hang on the far wall beside the hallway to the bedrooms and bath. The discussion led to my idea of going online to look for one and then have it delivered in a week or so.
Jake stopped me in the middle of a sentence. "I'm pretty much of a tech freak," he said. "If you pick out the set you want, I can probably pick it up for you at Best Buy in Lebanon. I have to go over there to run a few errands tomorrow anyway …"
"Great," I said. "I know what I want … something big enough to pretty much fill up the wall space over there … and one of those metal brackets to hang it on. My laptop lays back on my bed if one of you would be so kind as to bring it out here."
By the time they left about an hour later, I had gathered the nerve to gallantly kiss the back of Lily's hand while Jake was in my bedroom getting the laptop. I was feeling very gallant, and a little less embarrassed by my impulsive gesture. (Lily was delighted.)
Jake walked out with fifteen hundred bucks of my money in his pocket, and I had been distracted for an hour while the nagging pain was replaced by the pleasure of their good company … and good food.
Wednesday afternoon, Jake Harvey brought Bill Noble over here and introduced us. (Seems they'd known each other for years … like … who around here didn't know everybody else?)
Bill and I shook hands, and he went right to work drilling a hole in the floor, reaming out a chunk of wood with a hole saw, running the cable to the basement and securing it to the rafters after he'd attached it to the main. He installed a four-plug receptacle beneath my couch, all in the amount of time it would have taken me to walk to my bedroom and back. (Well, not really … but close!) Then he plugged the cord in. The surge of welcome heat in the cushions was immediate.
Bill and Jake agreed that they were up for a round of poker at my place some night … all I had to do was say the word.
I was still riding the wheelchair, but the pain in my leg and foot had diminished to a more tolerable level as we got to know one another. While he worked, Bill and I shot the shit and had a few laughs that afternoon, and soon we were insulting each other back and forth like two guys who had been friends for twenty years.
Cool. I decided I could get to like Etna, New Hampshire. A lot.
"LIVE FREE OR DIE!" (That's the state's motto.)
The next order of business would be to talk to Ed Thoreau and let him know I would be honored to work for and with him at DHMC on a fairly regular basis instead of just part time. I would do this to keep me upgraded in my specialties, even as I fought with myself over the pros and cons of having a leg sawed off at the hip … and even after the leg was long gone …
Thursday afternoon Jake and Bill walked through my front door carrying the biggest television I had ever seen. It fit on the designated wall with about an inch to spare on either side, and I was glad I hadn't settled on an even bigger one. It came with all the bells and whistles and all the state-of-the-art gew-gaws that I had no idea what to do with …
But I would learn. It had a remote control that looked like a motherboard at NASA.
Very soon the thing was hooked up to the dish antenna on the roof, and I was channel surfing like I was Bill Gates or Steve Jobs … or some genius like that.
*Jeez, wow and holy shit!*
I felt like I could walk out of my living room and right into any exotic place the thing was focused on at the time. Barbados, maybe …
Tonight I would distract myself with some booze, some junk food and that remote control the size of Rhode Island.
Maybe I would go to bed drunk.
Maybe I wouldn't go to bed at all. There was a movie on HBO I'd wanted to see for years.
I gave the big black lounge chair to Bill Noble for his wife. He and Jake put it in the back of his pickup truck when they left. It was slightly damp.
He thanked me … I thanked them. Bill said I didn't owe him anything for the work he'd done. It had been fun. I said I did owe him. I said I'd be damned if I'd take his tonsils out for free, and I jammed two hundreds at him for his time, his materials and his gas. He sighed and thanked me profusely. I also talked Jake into keeping the change from the purchase of the TV. He grinned like a tiger shark and didn't refuse it.
*Oh pshaw!*
The pain in my leg still niggled at me, but I was working on my third beer, chomping on Doritos, (the fiery kind) and watching some screechy, angry girlie show whose players hid their faces under thick layers of war paint and screamed obscenities at each other. But I was intrigued. The faces on that huge screen were just as big as mine!
Every one of those cheap, over-age women reminded me of the "Babe" I'd met over a year ago in Lexington … at the "Howling Wolf Motel" …
I spent the entire night on that exquisitely comfortable, toasty warm sofa. The only time I left it was to go take a leak.
The Sylvester House apartment was becoming my home.
I mailed the check the following day.
Who knew?
352
