Chapter eleven:  Off Key

(November 22nd-28th)

"Dr. Sloan, I am so sorry," Elena apologized for the third or fourth time.  "I should have known better.  I am so, so sorry."

After being sedated against his will for a second time, Steve had become very withdrawn and uncooperative.  Marcus and his father had explained to him that every day of therapy he lost to sulking was a day he would never get back, and worse still, was a day that took away the progress he had made.

His reaction had been to roll over and pull the blankets over his head.

Now Mark had a distraught nurse blaming herself for Steve's stubbornness and for a combination of events over which she'd had no control.  As she pulled a tissue from the box on Mark's desk and wiped her eyes, he came around and sat in the chair beside her.

"Elena, sweetie, listen to me," he said.  "I am angry about what happened the day before yesterday, but I don't blame you.  You did all you could, and you followed procedure."

"But he's your son!"

"I know, and my son is a big, strong guy," Mark concurred.  "Even in his present condition, he could have hurt you badly had he been so inclined.  Any time an agitated patient puts his hands on you like that, you are within your rights to sedate him."

"But now he's stopped talking, and it's all my fault."

"Elena, you should never have been the only nurse on the floor," Mark reasoned with her.  "Your colleagues were wrong to all go on break at once and leave you to tend to twenty patients, especially since you'd just been off for three days and hadn't had time to look through all their charts.  I will be speaking to the nursing supervisor about that.  Terrible things can happen in ten minutes, and they all know it.

"Marcus shouldn't have written that note in cursive, either.  Steve can only read printing right now, and Marcus knows that.  He just forgot.  It's an unfortunate thing, but it just happened, a natural, honest mistake.

"Steve should not have become so upset about that little note.  He has always had a terrible temper, and it's flaring up more than ever right now because of his disabilities.  He should have learned to control it better years ago, but it has always gotten the best of him.  If he had thought about it for just a couple of minutes, he would have realized that no one would try to relay important information to him in a note.

"You did your best in a very difficult situation, Elena.  If Steve wants to be obstinate and pout, that's his choice.  Yes, it will hinder his recovery, and that has me very worried, but it is still his choice.  No one can make him try if he is unwilling, and that is not your fault.  Understand?"

"Yes, Dr. Sloan, but . . ."

"No 'buts' Elena.  You did your job."

"Yes, Sir."

"Now, go back to work, and if any patient needs you, including my son, just do your job."

"Yes, Sir.  Thank you, Dr. Sloan.  Goodbye."

Mark waved to her slightly as she left, but before she was out the door, his thoughts were back with Steve.  They had to get him talking.  Steve was prone to sulking for long periods of time when he felt his dignity had been offended.  If he did that now, he might never speak again.  They had to make him realize how important it was that he continued to work on his speech despite what had happened, because later, he might not have the opportunity to do so.

"Hey, Mark!"

His young friend's voice pulled him out of his reverie.

"Hello, Jess," he said and got up to go sit in his usual seat behind the desk.

"How's Steve?"

Mark thought a minute.  Then said, "Uncommunicative."

"Oh?  Still?  That's a bad thing, Mark."

"I know.  Yesterday morning, when he was finally coherent enough to explain, he told Marcus and me what had happened.  Since then, he has simply refused to say another word.  What's worse, he won't try miming anything or drawing.  He's completely stopped communicating.  I'm very, very worried, Jess."

"I don't blame you, Mark.  This could be disastrous for Steve."

The two men sat in silence for several minutes.

"Mark?"  Jesse waited until his friend raised an eyebrow and focused his attention.  "I have an idea, but you may not like it."

"If it will help Steve get talking again, I'll love it, Jess."

"Ok, just remember you said that."  Jesse began to outline his plan.

Steve rolled over and looked at his clock, surprised to find it was nearly noon, and no one had bothered him.  He was bored out of his head from two days of having nothing to do.  He might have watched television, but he'd broken the remote the first day he'd met Marcus, and after that, he'd been too busy working on his speech to worry about it.

He closed his eyes and turned over again, so he couldn't see the clock.  He had no need to look at the glowing red numbers; he knew very well just how slowly the day was passing.  He opened his eyes, and for a long time just stared vacantly at nothing.  Slowly, his vision focused, and he found himself looking at his idea web.  The list of his friends was in front of him, and before he knew it, he was trying to say their names.

"Moss."  He frowned.  Just the other day, he had been able to say 'Marcus' almost correctly.  He could hear the name in his head, but just couldn't say it.  He tried another.  "Yes-see."  He'd said Jesse better, too.  He couldn't believe how fast he was losing the limited vocabulary he had built up.  Every word out of his mouth was just a little off key.  He looked hard at Amanda's name for several moments, but he couldn't even figure out how to start it.  It was just too long.  "Wahn."

Steve sighed and closed his eyes against the sting of tears.  Then he rolled over again and stared at the clock.  Three minutes went by, and he finally made up his mind.  He couldn't continue like this.  Pressing the call button, he waited for someone to come.

The redheaded nurse peeked timidly around the corner. 

"Yayna," Steve said.  "Wan Moss."

"Lieutenant, I am very sorry.  I don't understand you.  Your father will be here in just a few minutes.  Can you wait?"

Steve sighed and nodded and rolled over again so he didn't have to look at the clock.

Something woke him, and he was surprised to find he had fallen asleep.  Suddenly afraid that he had missed his father, he rolled over quickly to look at the clock, wondering how long he'd been napping.  It was only 12:05, and just as he was about to ring the nurse again, he saw his father coming through the door with his lunch tray.

"Da-ad!"

"Hello, Son," Mark said cheerfully.  "How are you today?"

He paused a moment for Steve to form an answer, but started talking again before he could get the words out.

"I suppose you're probably bored."

Steve nodded and started to answer, but his father just kept talking.

"It occurred to me this morning that the remote to your TV was broken, so you've been sitting here on your own with nothing to do all day, haven't you?"

"Ye-ehs," Steve replied, just able to get the word in edgewise.

"Well, is there anything I can get you?"

"Ye-e . . . "

Without waiting for a reply, Mark started offering suggestions.

"I know, you have a couple motor cross magazines at the house.  I'll try to bring those in tomorrow, and I'll get you an evening paper before I head home for the night.  If I twist a few arms, I can probably get someone to replace the remote this afternoon."

"DA-AD!"

"What?"

"Shhhh!"  Steve put a finger to his lips as he hushed his father.

"Oh, did you want to say something?  I'm sorry."

Steve took a moment to collect himself, and just as he opened his mouth to speak, his father started talking again.

"I don't mean to rush you, but I have a meeting in fifteen minutes.  What do you want to say?"

The hurt look on Steve's face as he interrupted tore at Mark's heart, but he knew the only way he could get his stubborn offspring fully committed to therapy was to make him realize he would never be able to live the kind of life he would have without it.  Steve tried again, and because the words were rushed, they sounded worse than they might have if he'd taken his time.

"Wun Moss.  Wun tok.  Peeze."

Mark made a confused face, even though he knew exactly whom his son was asking for and why.  "Steve, I'm very sorry, but I don't understand.  Moss, what?  A rolling stone gathers no moss?  Are you trying to tell me I'm too busy?"

"NO!"

"Then what?  Son?"

This time he gave Steve more time to prepare himself to speak, and when the words came out, they were somewhat clearer, and accompanied by gestures.

"Wan' Moss."  Steve made a talking motion with his hands.  "Wan' tahk."  He pointed to himself and made the talking motion again.

"Moss?  Marcus?  You want Marcus?"

Steve nodded.

"Son, I'm sorry.  He's been assigned another patient already." 

It was only half a lie.  Marcus had been assigned another patient, but only for the day.  He was covering for a colleague while Steve cooled off.  The other speech therapist had been asked to testify in court on behalf of a patient whose speech disorder caused him to sometimes use profanity without wanting to or knowing he'd done so.  He had appeared in court a few weeks ago to contest a traffic ticket, and his nerves had got the better of him.  A few choice words had slipped, and now he needed a medical witness to get him off the hook for contempt.

As Mark watched Steve come to terms with the thought that his speech therapist had given up on him so quickly, half of him wanted to laugh at the confusion he saw crossing face.  The other half wanted to cry at the fear, distress, and regret that quickly followed it.  He settled for as neutral an expression as he could manage, and when he saw Steve clench his fist in the sheets, he reached out to comfort him.

"We can always find someone else, Son," he said as he gave Steve's shoulder a loving squeeze.

Steve shook his head.  "No.  Wan M-M-Maw-kuss."

Mark smiled.  His son was trying hard to make himself understood.  This had to be progress.  More importantly, he was requesting help.

"I'll see what I can do, Son, but no promises."

"Nee M-Maw-kus."

"I'll try, Steve.  Now, you need to sit up and eat your lunch.  Then you might just want to have a shower and shave.  Jesse has arranged for you to have some visitors this afternoon.

"Vistas?  Hoo?"

"I'm not supposed to tell you that, but Jesse thinks you will be glad to see them."

Steve looked at his idea web.  Most of his friends who lived in the area had been stopping by to see him frequently.  The only people he knew well who hadn't been in to visit were some of his colleagues from the force.

"Peece?  No!  No peece."  He couldn't bear to have them see him as he was. 

"No, Son, it's no one from work, but you really should get cleaned up for them.  They'll be here around three."  Mark looked at his watch.  "Now I have to get to that meeting.  Have a good afternoon.  I'll see if I can get that TV remote fixed for you."

Before Steve could say anything else, his father was gone.

Steve merely picked at his lunch.  It was killing him not to know who his guests were going to be.  Finally, at one o'clock, he buzzed the nurse.  It was Elena again, and he sighed.

"I really am sorry about the other day," she said.

Steve pointed to himself.  "Aiii nooo.  'S'kayyy."  Then he pointed to the tray, a half-eaten travesty of his lunch still on it.  "Dunn."

"You're finished and you want me to take it away?"

"Ye-esss."

Elena carried the tray off and then came back.  "Anything else?"

"Ye-esss."  He pointed to himself, then to the bathroom.

"You need to use the bathroom?"

"No."  He made washing motions.

"You want to bathe?"

"Ye-ess.  Need ep."

"I'm sorry, I don't understand."

"Aiii wahss." He said, pointing from himself to the bathroom and making the washing motions again.  Then he pointed to Elena, to himself, and to the bathroom again.  "Ooo ep me."

"You need me to help you wash?"

"Wahss, no.  Ooo ep me daihr."  He pointed to the bathroom.

"Oh, you want help to get to the bathroom?"

"Ye-ess."

"Ok, how about we collect a change of clothes for you first?"

"'Kay."

Elena opened Steve's closet and started taking out the clothes one item at a time, waiting for Steve to say yes or no to each article of clothing until he had a complete outfit to change into.  She was delighted to be able to help him, and grateful that he had been willing to give her the opportunity.  Then she turned on the heater, laid out his clothes, and put a towel where he could reach it.  Finally, she steadied Steve as he walked to the bathroom.

Steve was feeling much better as he sat on the bed waiting for his guests to arrive.  He was still nervous about who they might be, but he was fresh and clean-shaven and ready to welcome them.  He was also hopeful that he might be seeing Marcus tomorrow.  He knew his father would never willingly use his position as head of internal medicine to exercise any undue influence, but he also knew Mark Sloan had been with Community General long enough to get what he asked for most of the time.

He turned and looked to the idea web on the wall beside him again, and tried to pronounce some of the names.  Without someone there to say them for him, it was almost impossible to get them right, but at least now, he had the J in 'Jesse', and though 'Marcus' came out different ways at different times, it was usually two syllables.  He'd been working on 'Amanda' for several minutes, and it kept coming out either too short or too long, but Steve figured if you put all his attempts together, they worked out just about even and on average, he had said it right every time.

He laughed at the bad joke, and jumped when a familiar voice asked, "What's so funny?"

Steve turned, wide-eyed and grinning and shouted, "Sah-uh!"

She came running to him and threw her arms around him, her heavily plastered left arm thumping him soundly on the back.

"Oh, Steve!  It's good to see you."  She drew back from the hug, and looked at him.  "What have they done to you?" she said, tears in her eyes as she gently ran her hand over the soft stubble of hair that had grown in after his surgery.  The bandages had been removed several days ago when the stitches had been taken out, and now, Steve barely noticed his nearly naked head.

"'S'kayyy, Sah-uh.  No cwy.  Gwo back."

Sara laughed, and sat on the edge of the bed, her hand resting on Steve's arm.  "Jesse said you couldn't talk."

"I tahk.  So-so," Steve said.  Then his eyes got wide.  "You tahk Jes-see?"

"Yes, Steve.  I asked for you when I woke up the day after you brought me in here, and Jesse told me about your accident," Sara explained.  "He asked me how we know each other, and I told him about the class.  He couldn't believe you would take violin lessons, so I told him about your mother's violin.  He promised to keep it a secret from your dad."

Suddenly, Steve became distraught.  He covered his face with his hands and began to rock. 

Sara had her arm around his shoulders instantly.  "Steve?  Steve, what's wrong?"

Steve looked up at her then, his face a picture of despair.  "Gone," he whispered.  "Viyin gone.  Baa men tuck."  Then he hid his face again and started to weep.

Jesse came in to find his best friend in tears yet again, this time with Sara's arms around him.  At his questioning look, she just put her finger to her lips and shook her head, she was content to sit there and let him cry it out.  Very quietly, Jesse took the empty seat beside the bed, and put the box he was carrying on the floor beside him.

After several minutes, Steve gradually stopped crying.  He looked up to Sara and said, "Saw-ee," then, he turned to see Jesse and said, "Hi Jes-see."

"Hey, buddy," Jesse said.  "Can you tell me what's wrong?"

Steve began to grow upset again, so Sara asked, "May I tell him?"

Steve nodded.

"His mother's violin is gone.  Some men took it."

"Who?  When?"

"I don't know," Sara told him.  "That's all I got."

Jesse moved over to crouch before Steve and put a hand on his friend's shoulder to get his attention.  "Steve, can you tell me any more about who took the violin?  When did it happen?"

Steve struggled to keep hold of his emotions.  He hadn't forgotten about the violin in all this time, and he had even tried to tell his dad more than once.  It had been on his mind since he had first come out of the coma, but he'd been wrapped up in working on his speech.  Now seeing Sara and realizing that he had lost that wonderful new part of his life had suddenly cut him to the quick, and he desperately missed being able to make music.

"Aks-dent.  Two men tuck.  Viyin in muh-neeee."

Jesse thought about what he had said a minute.  "You're saying two men were at the scene of the accident?"

"Ye-es."

"And they took the violin and some money."

"No.  Bob muh-nee."

"The money from Bob's?"

"Yes!"

"Oh.  You know, when it turned out you hadn't made the deposit, we pretty much figured it had 'disappeared' from the scene of the accident."  Looking at Sara, Jesse explained, "Sometimes that happens, and of course nobody knows where anything went."  Including Steve in his comments again, he added, "But I know both of the paramedics who brought you in, and I couldn't imagine them doing that."

After another thoughtful moment, Jesse asked, "Steve, tell me if I'm right about this.  You're saying two men came to the scene of the accident, took the deposit for Bob's and your mom's violin, and left.  Is that right?"

"Yes!"

"Ok.  Is there anything else you can tell me about the two men?"

"Yes.  Name.  Bwy in Weg-gie.  Weg-gie bows fan."

Jesse mouthed the words a few times, and guessed, "Their names are Bryan and Reggie?  Reggie bowls for fun?  I'm confused, Steve."

Steve thought for a while, then said, "Name.  Weg-gie.  Bwy.  NO BWYAN!"

"Ok.  Reggie and Bry.  Is that right?"

"Yes.  Weggie bows fan."

"And Reggie bowls for fun."

"No!  No boween.  Bows."

"What kind of bowls, Steve?"

"Nah bows.  BOWS!  Cahgo Bows."

"Cargo bowls?  What do you mean?  Soup bowls?"  Caught up in the guessing game, Jesse failed to notice that his friend was getting agitated.  "Cereal bowls?  Salad bowls?  The Super Bowl?  Fish . . ."

"TOP!"

Now, Jesse realized Steve was upset, and he was quick to apologize.

"Steve, buddy, I'm sorry.  I was just getting a little excited.  Is there another way you can show me what you mean?"

Steve thought about it a minute and then nodded.  He made a waving motion toward the floor, then looked expectantly at Jesse.

Jesse looked back at him blankly.  "Sorry, pal, I'm not getting it."

Steve thought some more.  Except for his beloved Lakers, he didn't follow basketball enough to know all the team rosters.  The only player from the current Bulls team he knew anything about was that guy from Croatia, and he knew there was no way he could pronounce that name.  So, he settled for a couple of the big names from the 1990's.  "Cahgo bows.  Jowdun.  Pippen."  Then he made a waving motion toward the floor, and pretended to throw something up in the air.  "Baskbaw."

"Oh, man!  Of course!  The BULLS!"  All of a sudden, Jesse left off his excited shouting, looked at Steve quizzically, and asked, "How did you know he was a Bull's fan?"

Steve smiled, plucked at the sleeve of Sara's jacket, and said, "Coat."

"Ohh.  Steve, do you want me to call Cheryl and give her this information?  See what she can turn up?"

"Yes."

For the next several minutes, Steve gave Jesse as much of a description as he could of the men who had stolen the money and the violin.  Jesse also promised to bring his laptop next time he came by, and they would look through the Chicago Bulls merchandising sites for the specific jacket Steve had seen.

"Ok, buddy," Jesse said as he prepared to leave, "I'll call Cheryl right away and tell her everything you've told me."  He paused, then, "Do you want me to tell your dad for you, too?"

"NO!  Aiii tell.  Yatuh.  Tok bettuh."

"You'll tell him when you can talk better?"

"Yes," Steve said sadly.

"Ok, buddy.  If you change your mind, just let me know, ok?"

"'Kay, but won't."

Jesse smiled.  No matter what happened, he could always trust Steve to be stubborn.  Though it sometimes drove him crazy, and often worried him, he had to admit, it was one of the things he loved about his friend.

"Ok, Steve.  Just remember the offer stands.  I'm going to go call Cheryl, now."  He was halfway to the door when he said, "Oh, hey, I have something for you!"  He went back to the chair he'd been sitting in earlier and picked up the box he had brought in.  "Marcus recommended this," He said, "but you have to say every letter and pronounce every word."

"Maw-kus?"

"Yes, Steve.  He'll be back tomorrow," Jesse told his friend.

Beaming happily, Steve turned the box around so he could read it and said slowly, "Gwa-buh."

Grinning, Jesse said, "Now he says bull."

Steve made a face and waved him away.  "Bye, Jess."  Turning to Sara, eager to begin working on his words again, he asked, "Ooopay?"

It took Sara just a second to work out what he was saying, then she smiled.  "Ok."

Ten minutes before five that day, Mark stopped by Steve's room to find his son arguing heatedly about a game of Scrabble with the young woman he'd seen with Steve at the community college and a short, elderly Asian man.  He watched in fascination from the doorway as Steve used gestures and words to make a point.

"But Sara is a proper name, Steve," the young woman insisted.  "I ought to know."

Mark smiled, remembering that Jesse had told him the girl's name was Sara.

Pointing at the board, Steve said adamantly, "Coh-wox, too."

"Clorox is not a proper name," Sara tried to explain.  "It's just another word for bleach."

The Asian man cleared his throat and said, "Actually, Sara, Clorox is the name of a particular brand of bleach.  You should not have been allowed to use it."

Looking to the man, Sara said, "Well, he should have challenged me when I used it then."

Steve groaned and threw up his hands clearly indicating that he thought that was a truly ridiculous notion.

"Or you could let it go for him this time," the man said.

"But I caught him!" Sara said, "I have the right to make him take it back.  It's in the rules!"

"One good turn deserves another, Sara," the old man said, "and the main purpose of this game is not to have a winner and two losers.  It is to help Steve learn to speak and spell better."

"Yes!"  Steve agreed.

Sara gave it some thought, then she said, "Ok, let's do this.  If you say it right, you can keep it.  If you say it wrong, you take it back, lose your turn, and subtract the points from your score."

Mark grinned, knowing his son would prefer to rise to the challenge and lose rather than give in and take the word off the board.  He thought it was fundamentally unfair that the girl would use Steve's stubborn streak against him like that, especially considering how hard it was for him to say r sound.  Still, Steve had a choice.  It was up to him what he chose to do.

Steve held up three fingers and said, "Twee twys."

"One."

"Sara," the old man said in a warning tone, "you've established three penalties if he fails.  I think it's only fair that you give him three chances to succeed."

"Hmph!" Steve added with a firm nod of his head.

"Ok.  Three chances."

Mark watched as Steve tried to form the word, and silently cheered him on.  His eyes were closed and he was moving his lips trying to hear the word in his head and make his mouth form the sounds.  Then he shook his head in exasperation and pointed at the girl.

"Oosay!" he told her.  "Wuntime."

"You want me to say it once for you?"

"Yes!"  Then as she opened her mouth to speak, he added, "Sowwwweee."

Sara frowned, then smiled, "Sorry?  Why are you sorry?"

Steve shook his head, thought a moment, and with a small smile, tried again.  "Ssssssowwweee" The word took a long time to say, and sounded like something from a dream sequence in a bad movie.

Sara frowned again, then smiled.  "Slowly?"

"Yes!"

"Ok.  Once, slowly.  Ready?"

Steve nodded.

"Sa-ra," she said.

Eyes closed, lips moving, Steve tried to say the name.  Finally, he added his voice.  "Sah-ah."

From the look on his face, it was plain that he knew he'd said it wrong.  Without opening his eyes, he tried again to work out what he was doing wrong.

"Sah-wa."

Steve frowned, knowing he was wrong again, and continued to try. 

"It's the r, Steve," Sara said quietly, now more eager to help him than to defeat him.  "Listen carefully and look at me, and I will say it for you once more."

Steve nodded, opened his eyes and watched Sara's mouth closely as she said, "Sa-rrrrrra."

Steve closed his eyes again, mouthed the sounds a few times, and finally, slowly, but clearly said, "Saaaarrrrrrra."  His eyes popped open, and he grinned, knowing he'd finally gotten it.

"Sara!  SaraSaraSara!  SARA!"

Mark felt himself choke up as he watched his son's friends laugh and congratulated him on his accomplishment.  True tears of pride and joy came a moment later when Steve held up a finger and went around the bed to point to words on the idea web that was hanging on his wall.

"F-fffrrrriends!"  Steve said, then pointed to the names with r's in them.  "Rrrrrronn . . . M-Marrrcus . . .  Shhharrre-uhh."

He started pointing at r words all over the chart then.  "Invesss-tigatorrrrr . . .  P-p-par-nnnerrrr.  F-fahderrr.  M-marrrrk . . .  M-muhderrr.  C-C-Cahderine . . .  Sissssssster.  Caro . . .  D-d-dora."  Then beaming proudly, he went under BBQ Bob's and, pointing to the correct word, said, slowly and plainly, and after much thought, "Rrrrressstaurannnt."

Not wanting Steve to misinterpret his tears, Mark dried his eyes, then and entered the room.

"Sounds like the three of you are having a good time.  Who's winning?"

"Steve is now," Sara said petulantly. 

Mark smiled, realizing that was the reason she had fought so hard against letting him use her name, but he said nothing because he didn't want them to know he'd been watching.  The room was silent for a few moments before Mark asked, "Son, aren't you going to introduce me to your friends?"

"Oh, yes!  Da-ad.  S-sara," he said indicating the girl.  "Sara.  Da-ad.  Doctorr Marrrk S-Sloannn.  In dis  . . ." Steve trailed off as he turned to the Asian man.

The man giggled, a mischievous sound not wholly in keeping with his appearance, and said, "You know, Steve, you haven't said my name yet.  Surely you haven't forgotten me."

"No forgot.  Can't say.  Start wit m.  Mmmickle."

"No, Steve, Michael is my son."

"Mike-all ep Sara?"

"Yes, do you remember my name?"

Steve nodded.  "Oosay.  Aiiisay back."

The man grinned then, and said slowly, "My name is MinJe."

Steve smiled too, then and said, "Da-ad.  MIN jay.  MIN jay.  Da-ad."

Mark shook MinJe and Sara's hands then and said, "Both of you can call me Mark, and thank you so much for stopping by to see Steve."

Steve, who was sitting beside Sara on the bed suddenly scooted away from her and said, "Da-ad, Sara yust friend!  YUST friend!"

Mark laughed then and said, "I know, Steve.  Jesse explained what he could to me, but I have to tell you, he's about to explode with the secret he's trying to keep.

Steve hung his head, wrapped his arms around himself, and started to rock.

Mark was highly attuned to his son's moods, and moved over to Steve immediately.  "Son, what's wrong?"

Steve just shook his head and tried hard to keep from crying.

Sara could see the old doctor was terribly worried about his son, and she decided someone needed to tell him something to put his mind at ease.  "Dr. Sloan . . ."

"NO!  NO!  NO!"  Steve yelled, "I say.  Yater."

"Shh, Steve," Sara said, putting an arm around Steve's shoulders.  "I'll leave that for you, but your dad is worried.  I just want to explain a little, ok."

Reluctantly, Steve nodded.

"All I wanted to say, Sir," Sara said, turning back to Mark, "was that Steve has something important he needs to talk to you about, but he wants to wait until he can talk better.  For now, you'll just have to trust him that it's not so urgent that it can't wait, and you'll have to accept that it's something he needs to tell you himself."

"All right.  Thank you, Sara."  Catching Steve under the chin, he made his son look him in the eye and said, "I'll wait, Son, until you're ready to tell me, but I don't want it to interfere with your recovery, understand?"

Steve nodded.  "Yes, Da-ad."

Mark visited with Steve, Sara, and MinJe for a few more minutes, all the while trying subtly to elicit information about Steve's secret.  Then he headed off to finish his evening rounds, promising to be back before Steve finished his dinner.

After that first Scrabble game, which Steve called 'grabble,' his pronunciation of words improved dramatically, and over the weekend, he was moved to the residential speech and physical therapy unit.  After he managed to say the r sound, his vowels improved quickly and he started saying '-ing' instead of  '-een.'  Soon he was saying 'I' instead of 'Aiii', 'yoosay'  and 'yoospeh' instead of 'oosay' and 'oospeh' and he was putting the initial h on words like 'hi', 'home', and 'homicide.'  'Talk' was still 'tok,' and 'ep' was now 'hep' instead of 'help,' because the l was hard for him to say, and he tended to leave it out.  At the beginning of words, he said it like a y so 'Elena' was 'Yena' and 'listen' was 'yisten.'  Words with bl, fl, sl, and cl were hard for him too, but he quickly mastered the sp and sh consonant blends, and he already had the st because it was part of his name.  When people yelled at him as if he were deaf, he delighted in telling them, "Speak sowwwweee.  No shout.  I hear.  Not stupid."

When he got upset, he 'spoke' fluently, but nothing he said made sense.  When he calmed down, his speech was stilted and hesitant, and he left out little words, but what he said was clear and easy to follow, and often, the person listening realized that a few of the words he used when he spoke calmly had been in his tirade when he was agitated.

Also, over the weekend, Cheryl brought in several books of mug shots, and Steve positively identified Bryan Perkins and Reginald Johnson as the men who had attacked him and stole the receipts from Bob's and the violin after the accident.

On the Monday before Thanksgiving, as they were finishing up Steve's morning therapy, Marcus said, "The nurses tell me you haven't been sleeping so well at nights lately."

"Seep ok," Steve said.  "Wake up some."

"I've been talking to Jesse about that, and we have decided that you're probably to the point now where you don't need a morning nap anymore."

Steve grinned.  "Good!  Bout time!"

Marcus laughed and told him, "I thought you'd feel that way, but I have something else for you to do."

Steve looked at him suspiciously and said, "No platic ships!"

Marcus, who was more familiar than anyone with what speech sounds gave Steve trouble, was able to quickly translate and replied soothingly, "No, Steve, we were done with the plastic chips the first day.  You have already mastered everything I could teach you with those."

Steve sighed in relief.  "Good!  What you want, den?"

"Well," Marcus said, "you've come a long way with the strength in your right arm and leg.  Your sense of balance is back to normal, and you don't limp anymore, but you need to work on the dexterity in your right hand."

"So?"

"Your friends Sara and MinJe are going to pick you up for lunch today.  Then they are taking you to your music lesson."

"No!"

Steve looked horrified, but before he could continue his argument, Marcus jumped in.  "Yes!  Steve, Sara talked to Jesse and me and told us how you feel about making music.  And don't worry, Jesse told me not to mention it to your dad."

"Need Mom's viyin."

"No, you don't.  Since Sara can't play with a broken arm, she has already had hers restrung for you.  When you get better, you can pick out a new one for yourself."

"Wan Mom's viyin," Steve pouted.

"I know," Marcus said sympathetically, "but neither you nor I can do anything about that.  One thing you can do is continue practicing.  Then, when the police find your mother's violin, you can play it."

"If."

"If?"

"If peece find viyin."

"Point taken, Steve," Marcus conceded, "but the fact is, you enjoy making music.  You should keep playing.  Besides, music engages the whole brain, especially if you try to sing while you play.  I know that's difficult with the violin tucked up under your chin, but if you just try, if you keep up with your lessons, it will help your recovery in subtle ways.  You might not notice the difference, but it will make a complete recovery more likely."

"Wan Mom's viyin."

"I know, Steve, and I can't solve that problem," Marcus said, "but I can let you go home for Thanksgiving if you go along with me on this."

"H-home?"

"Uh-huh.  Wednesday night, all day Thursday, and you'll be back here for therapy Friday morning."

Steve's face lit up.  He honestly hadn't considered going home before.  With six hours of therapy a day, it just didn't seem practical, and if he were honest with himself, he'd have to admit he didn't feel safe being home alone when he couldn't speak clearly.

"Ok," he agreed, "I practice viyin for now."  Steve settled back with a sigh and a smile and thought about home for a while.