Soooo sorry for the delay folks! If you're reading this then you're a true fan of this story and I thank you for being so patient. My laptop is currently out of commission and it took me a while to get the files I needed off of the hard drive. Hopefully I'll be able to update more often now ... but I still miss my computer!

"All our final decisions are made in a state of mind

that is not going to last." ~Marcel Proust

Chapter 8

Ryan had a decision to make. Wilfred was outside in the back yard, and Ryan sat in his wheelchair staring at the telephone in his kitchen. An argument was raging in his head.

He had exhausted his savings. His mortgage was due in a week, and his medical bill the week after. Not to mention utilities, car insurance, phone, cable, groceries . . . the list seemed never-ending. The money he had saved from his job at the research facility had lasted him until now, but his bank accounts were dried up and it would be a while before the doctors allowed him to go back to work. He had two options: miss some payments and most likely get kicked out on the street, or – ask for help. In his mind those two were equally unspeakable.

The most obvious choice for financial assistance – his rich father – was, at the same time, completely out of the question. There was no doubt he would lend Ryan the money he needed, but he would also find a way to hold it over Ryan's head like a dog with a bone. Ryan did not feel like doing any tricks.

I'm best at 'sit' lately.

Ryan's mother was also not an option. Catherine had no savings, and her living at the institute was still being covered by her ex-husband's alimony. She was a very independent-minded lady, but she still had no problem with using the extra funds that Ryan's father was ordered to give her by the court.

Then, there was Kristen. He knew she had plenty of savings, and she still had a great paying job. The problem was, he knew it was a good bet that she was waiting for her brother to call and ask for help, and she had a tendency of holding things over his head as well.

Ryan sighed and put his face into his hands. He had a headache.

Jenna and Drew had offered to help him out several times, financially or otherwise. But his opinion of Jenna was so high that it would kill his pride to accept money from her.

What's left of my pride, anyway.

He removed his hands from his face and glared at the telephone some more, as if the phone would solve his problems for him if only he were patient enough.

"It's inanimate, Ryan."

Ryan jumped, gasped, and looked behind him to the origin of the voice. "Jesus, Wilfred! Don't sneak up on me like that!"

"Did you hear me?" Wilfred approached and studied the phone as well.

"About the phone being inanimate? Yes, I know that. But you're a dog, and you talk to me, get high with me, and look like . . . well, not a dog."

"You think the phone isn't really a phone?"

"No. I don't know. I'm not sure what to do, Wilfred."

Wilfred shrugged. "Isn't it obvious? You'll have to whore yourself out to a bunch of chicks with a wheelchair fetish."

"What? No. I'm not doing that."

"Well then, I guess you have to call Kristen."

"She'll always hold it over me."

"Yes, she will. But she's the lesser of the two evils, isn't she?"

"I know." Ryan began to reach for the handset, then stopped and studied Wilfred. "When will you fill in the blanks in my memory from right before the accident? I know you can."

"Of course I can. The answers will come to you in time. But that's not what is important right now," Wilfred nodded towards the phone and raised his eyebrows at Ryan.

Ryan sighed and shook his head. Damned vague mutt. He finally dialed Kristen's number.

One Week Later

Ryan's basement house phone rang. He passed the bong to Wilfred and answered it, "Hello?"

"Hi, Ryan? Ryan Newman?" It was a woman's voice. It was slightly familiar.

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry to bother you. This is Hannah."

"Hannah?"

"The nurse from the hospital?"

"Oh!"

"Am I interrupting something?"

Ryan realized he was still holding the smoke in his lungs from his last hit. He let it out explosively. "No! I'm sorry. You're not interrupting anything. H-How are you?" Wilfred observed him, clearly entertained.

"I'm great!" Hannah replied. "Look, I hope this isn't too weird. I just wanted to . . . to check on you I guess. How are you doing?"

"I'm going good. Really getting used to this wheelchair."

"Good! Good . . . well . . . hey, I'll give you my cellphone number in case you need anything."

"Oh, okay." Ryan felt extremely awkward. Hannah was probably the last person he had expected to hear from. "Are you using it now? I have caller ID."

"Yes. So I guess you have my number now?"

"I do."

"Great. Well, have a good day! And call me if you need . . . anything." Hannah sounded like she wanted to say more, but ended with that.

"Will do," Ryan confirmed.

"Okay."

"Okay."

"Well, bye!"

"Bye!" Ryan pressed the button to terminate the call. He set the handset down, then looked to Wilfred.

Wilfred was smiling and shaking his head. "You blew it, man."

"Blew what?" Ryan was still baffled from the surprise phone call.

"Your chance with Hannah, dude. She obviously wanted you to ask her out."

"You heard her?"

"I've got great hearing."

"She was just checking on me," Ryan said.

"Right. And that squirrel I bit the head off of this morning died of old age."

Ryan gave Wilfred a look of disgust, but decided to let that last comment slide. "Look, you don't know that she wanted that. Why wouldn't she just ask me herself?"

"I don't know, probably something to do with that doctor-patient-relationship shit."

"Well I have her phone number . . . if that's what she really wanted. Which I highly doubt."

"I'm telling you man, that was it." Wilfred took a final hit off the bong and set it onto the coffee table. He apparently decided to let the Hannah issue go, because the next time he spoke it had nothing to do with her or Ryan. "That squirrel's ass was delicious, by the way."