Leave a Trail (29 page)

When he’d left that day, promising to come back when she was up to visitors after her surgery, he’d said, “The last thing you need to worry about right now is whether you’re holding up your end of a conversation. I’m going to see what I can do to get everybody to leave you alone about that. And then, when you’re up to it, I’ll come and talk to you some more.”

He had. He’d come every day for several days after. Sometimes he’d just dropped by and checked in; other days he’d sat for a long time and asked her lots of yes/no questions. Today, with her voice suddenly back, he was trying to answer a question
she’d
asked
him
. With actual words.

He crossed one leg over the other. “Here’s my guess. Selective mutism is classified as an anxiety disorder, and I’d say that you have some things to be anxious about. Sometimes, when the signposts in our life start to shift unpredictably, and things we knew to be true suddenly aren’t, our mind tells us that we can’t trust anything we perceive. We pull in and regroup. By nature, you aren’t one to seek help when you’re hurting. You pull inward. This time, without control over your body, not even control over where it is or how it moves or feels, your mind pulled you inward in the only way it had left.”

“But I wanted so much to talk. Everybody wanted me to talk. Not talking hurt worse.”

“The mind isn’t always very smart. If it were, I wouldn’t have a job.” He stood up and stepped up to her bed. She was sitting all the way up for the first time, and she was finally able to move her burned arm—though it hurt to do so. When Dr. Ambrose put his hand on her bedrail, she bore the pain and lifted her hand to lay it on his.

~oOo~

The day before they were sending her home, she finally looked at her body. All the time she’d been in the hospital, through all the dressing changes and surgeries and anything else, she’d refused to look. She knew eventually she’d have to deal with what had happened on the outside, like she’d had to deal with the inside.

But she didn’t want to. She hadn’t known she was vain until she no longer had a cause for vanity.

Badger stood next to her bed, on her left side. That arm was still bound in a brace, but he put his hand very lightly on her shoulder, his fingers and thumb hooked soothingly around the base of her neck.

She hadn’t voiced her fears, even after regaining the ability to do so, but she knew she didn’t need to. Badger had a special insight into what she was going through—he’d understood her pain and her anxiety, her loneliness and fear, better than anyone else. And he’d just stayed with her, without pressure. He’d held her as he could and had done what he could to help her know he was there.

When her father had forced her to make a choice, she’d made the right one.

While the doctor and nurse unwrapped her right arm and leg, Adrienne kept her head turned away. She stared up at Badger, drawing strength from within his beautiful eyes.

“You know it doesn’t matter, right? You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known. Inside and out. I love you. The way I love you—it saved me. You saved me. A scar doesn’t mean anything other than you’re strong.”

She believed him, because she thought the same thing about his scars. They made him more beautiful to her.

She felt the tail of the last bandage leave her leg, and Badger nodded toward her right side. “You ready?”

After a deep breath and another tour through the depths of Badger’s eyes, Adrienne turned and looked at the side of her body that had been on fire not so long ago.

It was okay. Not pretty, but not the horror show she’d seen in her head. Two large swaths of her thigh and calf, mainly on the outside and over the top, were covered in pinkish skin that looked almost polka-dotted. Around the edges of these areas the skin looked ridged and melted, looking a little like Badger’s chest. In long lines leading away on both sides were scars from sutures they were preparing to remove now.

Her right arm had only a small graft area. The striated scarring was a little more extensive on her arm, especially her bicep, but even that was less horrific than she’d imagined. She had no scars that could not be hidden if she chose to do so, and for that she felt lucky.

On her left side, she knew, she’d already seen, were two long scars, of the normal variety, still stitched, on her hip and thigh. Her days of wearing cutoffs and cowboy boots were over, she thought. She’d probably never wear a bathing suit again. But she’d been prepared—she thought she had, anyway—for worse. She’d be okay. Badger said he loved her, that he still found her beautiful. She knew he’d seen her scars before now, at their worst, and she believed him. She’d be okay.

She examined her leg, turning it to get a better look. It still felt stiff and strange, as if the skin wasn’t used to moving in the ways it needed to move. And it hurt, but nothing like it had at the beginning. Then she watched as the doctor removed all of her stitches.

As he finished, he said, “It’s going to take some time before the grafts are acclimated fully to their new sites, but I’d say we’re past the worry about rejection. Still, it’ll be a little while until the grafted skin is fully integrated. So you need to keep it bandaged for another week or two. Instead of the elastic bandages, we’re going to move to these sleeves—easier movement for you, and better ventilation for the grafts.” As he spoke, the nurse began sliding the larger sleeve over her leg. “And no exposure at all to the sun this year. Next spring, with lots of sunscreen, you can wear shorts or short sleeves if you want. But for now, you’re Scarlett O’Hara. Stay out of the sun.”

She smiled. “I am the queen of sunscreen. If I’m outside without it for thirty seconds, I look like a lobster and have fifty more freckles. So it’s not a problem, doctor.”

~oOo~

When they were alone again, Badger sat at her right side and held her hand, which had survived the fire unscathed. “How’re you doing, babe? You okay?”

“No, I’m not.”

His forehead creased. “I know it’s hard. I really do. But I love you. I want you. I mean it. I’ve never meant anything more. I want you so bad. You are beautiful. Nothing could ever change that. Damn sure not some stupid scars.”

“I know. I believe you. I love you like that, too. That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what? What can I do to make you okay?”

“I need you to hold me. Really hold me. I need to put my head on your chest. God, Badge, I need that so much.”

“But—won’t that hurt? Your shoulder, or your leg or your arm or…”

Probably it would. She didn’t know, and she didn’t care. She scooted over to make room. “Please, Badge. I’m so lonely.”

He shook his head and squeezed her hand. “I don’t want to hurt you, babe. I never want to hurt you. I’m right here.”

“It’s not enough. No matter how it’ll feel to lie on that side, it hurts more inside.” She laughed sadly. “I need a hug. Please.”

Without further argument, he got up very carefully onto her bed, and she settled in at his side. It did hurt some, the wounds so recently healed protesting the pressure of her body, and her collarbone unhappy with the position, too, but she didn’t care. She eased her head onto his chest and felt and heard his heartbeat. He curled his arm under her braced shoulder, resting his hand lightly on her left hip, above the new scar. She was enfolded in love for the first time in weeks.

“This okay?” His voice was soft and concerned; she heard it thrum deeply in his chest.

Overwhelmed with relief and love, she nodded.

“Adrienne?”

Lest he worry that she’d lost her words again, she whispered, “Better than okay. Perfect.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Badger came out of the bathroom to find Adrienne out of bed. She’d been sleeping when he got up, and he’d hoped to be able to jump in for a quick shower before she woke. He didn’t like her moving around too much on her own, especially in the morning. She was stiff and a little shaky when she first got out of bed. She’d only been home for a few days.

Home.

Badger had brought her home. To their home. As he pulled on a clean pair of jeans, he looked around the bedroom that was theirs—the bed he shared with Adrienne, in the room he shared with Adrienne, in the house he shared with Adrienne.

Len had handled most of the arrangements for them while Badger spent the bulk of his time at the hospital. They were renting a little bungalow a couple of blocks off Main Street. Nothing special, just a little two-bedroom house. It had been vacant a long time and was pretty seedy, actually. But Len had had the club girls clean it up and then sent the Prospects in to buy and build a houseful of the kind of furniture that came in flat boxes with instructions translated into terrible English.

It was all very cheap, but he didn’t care. He lived with Adrienne. Really lived with her.

She had nothing, though. Her father had brought all of her things and then abandoned her, and then, only days later, she’d lost it all. Everything she owned. Even her car. Only her photos, stored online, survived.

The entire time she was in the hospital, she’d never once asked about her things. Even after she’d begun to talk again, she never asked. He hadn’t offered the information, because he hadn’t been sure how to bring it up.

The day she was discharged, as he was helping her into Lilli’s SUV, which he’d borrowed for the trip, not wanting her to ride home in his shitty old pickup, she stopped and asked where they were going. He’d told her then that he’d rented them a house. She’d been glad.

On the ride back to Signal Bend, though, she’d begun to think about her things. Glancing at her now and then as he drove, he’d seen it happen. As they were on the road that would lead them into town, to their new home, she’d finally asked what she’d lost, and he’d had to tell her that she’d lost everything she owned. Except for those digital photos, her loss was total.

Her homecoming had, thus, been subdued. So caught up in her physical condition, Badger had not really spent much time contemplating all the ways that her life had been demolished since March, when she’d come to town for a visit and decided to stay. But when he helped her into their tiny house with its Walmart furnishings, the closets, drawers, and cupboards nearly empty, and she’d looked silently around and then sat silently down on the flimsy futon that served as their couch, he’d seen her life through her eyes. And he’d worried, briefly, that she’d gone quiet again.

He’d hated her silence in the hospital. He thought he understood it, at least a little, but it had made him feel distant from her, unable to help her. He’d felt useless. He’d
been
useless. So when she sat in their living room, staring quietly at nothing, he’d felt a little jolt of fear.

But then she’d turned to him, as he sat next to her, and said, “Clean slate, I guess. New start.”

He’d pulled her close, mindful of her tender, still-healing body. A new start for both of them, really. Their life would begin now, together.

Dressed, he went out to the kitchen and found her sitting at their little table with a cup of tea. She was wearing a pair of knit shorts and a halter top, clothes that were easy to manage around her braced arm. Her right arm and leg were wrapped in the white mesh sleeve things they’d given her at the hospital. Her hair was loose and wild, over her shoulders and down her back. She had not lost that in the fire.

She smiled up at him as he came into the room. “Hey.”

“Hey. You get out of bed okay?” He kissed her cheek and went to pour himself a glass of orange juice.

“Obviously. Not too stiff this morning, actually.”

“Good. You want some breakfast?”

“I had a banana.”

“That’s not breakfast, babe.”

“It worked for me. Not hungry.” She wasn’t a big eater in general, but since the fire, getting her to eat was turning him into a nag. She didn’t seem to be interested. Ever. He didn’t completely believe that she’d had a banana, but he resisted the urge to check the garbage under the sink for the peel.

“Have an early lunch, then, right? Who’s coming today—Cory, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, Cory is today’s babysitter.”

Lilli, Cory, and Tasha were doing the circuit, helping Shannon and Adrienne both. It was mostly Lilli and Cory, really, doing the heavy lifting. Tasha was busy at the clinic during the days, and some nights, too.

“Not babysitter. Company.”

“I know. It’s fine—it’s good, even. Being alone sucks. But I’d rather have your company.”

“I’m sorry, Adrienne. I’d stay if I could. I’ll be back as soon as I can. And I’ll call and check in, let you know what’s up with me. Okay?”

She nodded and sipped at her tea. Since it didn’t look like she was going to be a player for any real kind of breakfast, Badger poured himself a bowl of cereal. Standing at the counter, his back to her, he asked, with as little affect in his voice as possible, “You give any more thought to what we talked about last night?”

Quiet behind him. He didn’t turn right away, just finished making his breakfast. He put the cereal box and the milk carton away before he turned. She was staring at him, and her eyes followed him as he sat across from her at the table.

“You gonna answer me?”

“I have. I’ve answered you every time you’ve asked. I told you last night I didn’t want you to bring it up again. So the answer is no. I have not given it any more thought. I don’t intend to give it any more thought. And I hate that you won’t listen to me telling you what I want.”

“I think you’re wrong.”

“Yeah, I got that. I don’t care what you think. About this, I don’t care.”

“He doesn’t even know any of this happened.”

She stood up—and she did it okay, not too shaky. When she crossed to the sink with her mug, she limped a little, but Badger could tell that she’d been honest earlier when she’d said she wasn’t so stiff today. After she rinsed her cup out, she stood there, at the sink, her back to him. “He made me choose. I chose. I mean it, Badge. Don’t bring him up again. Ever.” She limped out of the room without looking at him.