Loe raamatut: «A Heart to Heal»

To Jeff

And he knows why

Acknowledgments

Some stories beg relentlessly to be told, even if it poses a challenge. My thanks to Erin Kinahan for sharing her experience of life in a wheelchair with me, and for the ongoing assistance of Dr. David Chen from the Rehabilitation Institute of Chicago for his medical expertise. I also owe a debt of thanks to author and wheelchair rugby star Mark Zupan for his frank and compelling memoir, Gimp, which helped me to understand Max’s experience. If any of the medical or disability facts of this book are incorrect, the fault lies with me and not with any of these generous experts.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

High school guidance counselor Heather Browning was twenty minutes into The Backup Plan and regretting it already.

Principal Margot Thomas seemed to agree. “That’s who you called to help Simon?”

Simon Williams, the frail but brilliant freshman boy who was Heather’s biggest concern this year, had already become the target of a senior thug. “It’s still August. We’re two days into the school year,” Heather admitted. “I thought I’d have more time than this to get Simon settled before anyone bothered him.” But that wasn’t the way it had turned out. Her initial goal—help Simon find some friends who would be protective camouflage against getting noticed by bullies—hadn’t worked fast enough.

The principal looked out the school window at that “backup plan” as he appeared in the parking lot. A boxy black car with flames painted on the side pulled into the handicapped-accessible parking space. Max Jones had arrived.

“This afternoon at lunch, Jason Kikowitz decided Simon was sitting too close to the ‘varsity table.’ Evidently he grabbed the back of Simon’s wheelchair and spun him around, knocking most of Simon’s books out of his backpack.”

“Sounds like our Kikowitz,” Margot commiserated. “I’ll be glad when that boy graduates—if he graduates.”

“Simon spun around fast enough to whack Jason in the shins with the footrest of his wheelchair. It must’ve hurt, because evidently Jason hopped around on one foot and swore a blue streak in front of the lunch monitor.”

Margot gave the sigh of the weary. “Lovely.”

“At least it gave Simon a chance to get away. For now. You know Kikowitz,” Heather explained, feeling less and less sure of her course of action. “He’s likely to lay into Simon every day this week, even if I give him twenty detentions.”

The older woman looked at Heather with determination in her eyes. “You know I’ll back you up on those even if Coach Mullen gives me grief.”

Heather was grateful for Margot Thomas every single day. The principal was an outstanding administrator who cared enough to address problems head-on, even when it meant things got sticky. “Thanks, but you and I both know detentions don’t stop Kikowitz. What we need is help for Simon, and the assistance agency couldn’t come through with a proper mentor until next month. We don’t have that long, so I called JJ.” JJ was Heather’s friend and Max’s sister. And Max Jones, or “Hot Wheels,” as a local magazine had dubbed him during their coverage of his highly publicized injury and recovery, was quite possibly the last thing Simon Williams needed. Even if he was the only other resident of Gordon Falls who used a wheelchair, Max seemed to be everything Heather didn’t want Simon to be rolled up into one defiant renegade.

The foolishness of calling on him struck her anew as she spied the HTWELZ2 license plate on the car. “Help me, Margot. I need wisdom and calm and I recruited a rolling tornado. Tell him I’ve been called into a meeting and that we don’t need a mentor anymore. I’ve made a huge mistake, and I don’t want Simon to pay for it.”

Margot leaned back against the windowsill. “I won’t tell him any such thing. I think I want to see how this turns out.”

“I don’t.” Heather rested her forehead in her open hand.

Together Heather and Margot watched Max perform the complicated task of extracting his wheelchair—black with flames on it that matched his car—and settling himself into it. He was athletic, graceful even, and managed to look casual, as if the process were no more taxing than tying a shoe. He wore blue jeans, expensive sneakers and a gray T-shirt with the words Ramp it up, baby running across his chest. It was easy to see that his shoulders and biceps carried most of his weight—his arms were toned and outdoor tan. His large hands boasted black leather driving gloves, and his mussed dirty-blond hair framed a strong face. Heather thought he needed a shave, not to mention a haircut and probably half a dozen diplomacy lessons. “Honestly,” she told her boss as Max started toward the ramp that led up the stairs to the school entrance, “that guy looks a far cry from an appropriate mentor for an impressionable teenager.”

“He’s a key executive at Adventure Access, which is supposed to be a fast-rising company in the adaptive recreation business. If they put faith in him,” offered the principal, sounding as if she was grasping at straws and not a little bit amused, “maybe he’s not as bad as...he looks.”

“Oh, I expect he’s worse,” Heather moaned. JJ’s husband, Alex Cushman, ran that fast-rising adaptive recreation company and had drafted Max as their spokesperson and development consultant. It wasn’t hard to see why. Max Jones had been so handsome, daring, arrogant and flamboyant before he’d injured himself that he’d been chosen for a nationally televised reality television show featuring adventure sports. As cruel chance would have it, he’d gotten hurt on that TV show during a risky night climb. Yet looking at him now, it seemed as if his disability barely slowed him down.

“Simon will probably adore him,” Margot offered.

“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of,” Heather moaned. “Nothing good can come from pairing that boy with that man.”

* * *

Kids were not his thing. Not before, not now.

As he rolled up the ramp to the Gordon Falls High School entrance, Max had to wonder how he’d let JJ talk him into this. If the GFHS teachers knew the kind of tyrant he’d been in high school, they’d be barring the doors.

Only they wouldn’t have to. Just take out the ramp and he couldn’t get inside no matter how hard he tried. While he’d worked on the development of all kinds of adaptive gear in his new position at Adventure Access, even those top innovators hadn’t yet come up with a wheelchair that could climb stairs.

Still, Max remembered the “special” kids from his high school days—not that long ago, for crying out loud—and how they’d been treated. It stuck in his gut that he’d been as mean as the next guy to kids who used wheelchairs or crutches or were in those classes. Max had done lots of crazy and regrettable things in high school, but those moments of picking on the weaker kids, the different kids—those gnawed at him now. He’d only said yes to this stint as a “mentor” because JJ seemed to think it might make up for some of his past crimes.

It’s four weeks with a gawky fifteen-year-old—I’ve faced far worse, Max assured himself as he punched the assistive-entrance button and listened to the door whoosh open in front of him. At least schools usually had all the adaptations right. He’d had to sit there feeling stupid the other week when a restaurant had to literally move four tables in order to let him sit down with JJ and have lunch. Then the server had asked JJ what her “special friend” would like to eat. The nerve of some people! He’d given the server such a loud piece of his mind that they’d comped his lunch just to get him out of the place.

He rolled into the entrance, marveling at how high school was still high school. The bang of lockers, the smattering of posters for dances and sporting events, the echo of shouts from a distant gymnasium—it all flung Max’s mind back to those years. Hockey team. Prom. Working on his first car. Life was one big game back then, a never-ending stream of escapades, pranks and good times. He’d loved high school, been a master of the school scene—the social side of it, that was. Academics weren’t ever his thing, though he’d managed to graduate just fine, despite a few...dozen...trips to the principal’s office.

Funny that it was his first stop now—or rather, the guidance counselor’s office, which was practically the same thing.

“I’m Max Jones, here to see Heather Browning.” Max swallowed his annoyance that he was calling toward a counter over which he could not see. Well over six feet when he could stand, he was especially annoyed by tall counters now that he navigated the world from about three feet lower.

A gray-haired lady—school secretaries evidently hadn’t changed one bit since his varsity days—popped up from behind the blue Formica to peer at him over the top of her glasses. “Mr. Jones?” She did the double take Max always enjoyed. Somehow people never expected to see a guy in a wheelchair looking like him, and he got a kick out of leveraging the “Hot Wheels” persona to challenge their assumptions.

Max flicked an Adventure Access business card up onto the counter—shiny black with flames along the bottom with his name and title, Company Spokesman and Adaptive Gear Development Specialist, screaming out in yellow letters. “In the flesh and on the roll.”

Her wrinkled eyes popped wide for a moment, then narrowed in suspicion. “Is she expecting you?”

“Yes, I am” came a female voice from behind Max.

Max spun around and sucked in a breath. The high school guidance counselors he remembered didn’t look like that. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a rough gig after all. “Well, hello, Ms. Browning.” He didn’t even try to hide the pleasant surprise in his voice. Where had JJ been hiding this “friend”? If he’d had a counselor like Heather Browning trying to lure him into higher education, he’d be working on his PhD by now. She had fantastic hair—long, honey-colored curls tumbled down to her shoulders in a wave. Bottle-green eyes that—well, okay, they were currently scowling a bit at him, but he could handle that. People scowled at him all the time, and he much preferred it to the diverted glances of pity that some people threw him. Pulling off his driving glove, Max extended a hand. “I am most definitely pleased to meet you.”

“Thanks for coming.” He could tell she only barely meant it. He probably shouldn’t have squealed his tires pulling into the parking lot like that.

“Anything for JJ,” Max said as they went into her office. It was filled with all the stuff one would expect of a helping professional—inspirational quotes, pretty pictures, plants and pottery. The only surprising thing was a “flock” of various flamingo figurines on her bookshelf and a metal flamingo statue-ish thingy on her desk. Max picked it up and inspected it. “I’m surprised we haven’t met before.”

Ms. Browning plucked the metal bird from his hands, returned it to its perch on her desk and sat down. She crossed her arms. “We have. This summer at the church picnic.”

He remembered that picnic as a rather boring affair, all happy community fried chicken and potato salad. Nice, if you liked that sort of thing, which he didn’t.

“Mr. Jones, if you—”

“Max,” he corrected.

“Max,” she relented. “I want to state one thing right off. This is a serious time commitment, and I’m sure you’re very busy. If you don’t have the time to give Simon the attention he needs, I’ll completely understand.”

“Hang on.” Max felt his stomach tighten at the low expectation expressed in her words. “I’m willing to make the time. Only I’m not really sure how you go about making freshman year of high school not hard, if you know what I mean. That’s sort of how it goes, isn’t it?”

“I’d like to think we can do better than that. A senior boy—Jason Kikowitz—has made Simon a target of sorts, and it’s going to take more than a stack of detention slips to set things right.”

“Kikowitz?” Max chuckled; the name brought up an instant vision of a thick-necked linebacker with a crew cut and four like-size friends. “Why do the thugs always have names like Kikowitz?”

She didn’t seem to appreciate his commentary. “I want Simon to learn the right way to stand up for himself while I get Mr. Kikowitz to change his thinking.”

“Only Simon can’t stand up for himself, can he? Wheelchair. That’s the whole problem, isn’t it?” People always talked around the wheelchair—the elephant in the room—and Max liked to make them face it outright. It made everything easier after that, even if it took an off-color joke to get there.

She flushed and broke eye contact. “It’s part of the problem, yes.”

“It’s lots of the problem, I’d guess. Look, I’m in a chair. I get that. It’s part of who I am now, and pretending I’m just like you isn’t going to help anyone. It doesn’t bug me, so don’t let it bug you. I can take you out dancing if I wanted to, so I should be able to help this Simon kid hold his own.”

“You cannot take me out dancing.”

It was clear she wasn’t the type to like a joke. “Well, not in the usual sense, but there’s a guy in Chicago building an exoskeleton thingy that—”

“This is not a social meeting. Are we clear?”

She really did know how to suck all the fun out of a room.

“Crystal clear, Ms. Browning.” She was too stiff to even match his invitation to use first names. He’d have to work on that. “What is it, exactly, that you think Simon needs?”

“Well, I’d have to say social confidence. He’s led a fairly sheltered life because of his condition, but he’s brilliant...”

“The geeks always are.”

She sat back in her chair. “Can you at least try to do this on a professional level?”

Max made a show of folding his hands obediently in his lap. “Okay, Counselor Browning. Simon needs some base-level social skills and maybe enough confidence to know high school is survivable. Have I got it?”

She seemed to appreciate that. “Yes, in a manner of speaking.”

“And you’re thinking you need something just a little out of the ordinary to solve the problem, right?”

“Well, I...”

“Hey, you called me, not the nice bland people from social services.”

That probably wasn’t a smart crack to make to someone in guidance counseling. Her eyes narrowed. “Yes, well, the nice, appropriate people from social services were not available. This isn’t how I normally operate. It’s only fair to tell you you’re not my first choice.”

Max could only smile. “Alternative. Well, I’d have to say that’s exactly my specialty.”

Chapter Two

Max hadn’t really expected Appropriate Ms. Browning to go for the idea of a pickup basketball game—especially one with the twist he had in mind—but she surprised him by agreeing to book the school auxiliary gym. Two days later, Max found himself whistling as his basketball made a perfect arc, rolled dramatically around the rim and then settled obediently through the net. “Jones nails it from behind the line with seconds to spare.”

His sister, JJ, palmed a ball against one hip. “Nice shot.”

Max turned to face her. “Let me see you do one.”

JJ nodded and dribbled the ball, getting ready to best her little brother. “No,” Max corrected. “From the chair.” He pointed toward the three armless, low-backed sports wheelchairs that sat against the wall. He’d decided even before he was out of the parking lot the other day that the best way to meet Simon Williams was a pickup game of wheelchair basketball. The boys-against-girls element, with he and Simon facing JJ and Heather Browning? Well, that had been a brilliant afterthought.

JJ paused for a moment, shot Max the look years of sibling rivalry had perfected and sauntered over to the chair. After settling in, she wheeled toward him in a wobbly line, smirking. “Not so hard.”

“Really?” Max teased, rocking back to pop a wheelie in his chair. “I’ve been waiting to smoke you on the court for months.”

She laughed, trying to bounce the ball until it got away from her. “Just like you smoked me on the ski slope?”

Max shot over to scoop up the ball and passed it back to her. “Worse. Okay, try a shot.”

JJ missed by a mile. “This is going to be harder than I thought.”

Max grabbed the ball, dribbled up to the basket and sunk another one in. “Actually, this is going to be a lot more fun than I thought. Me and Simon should wipe the floor with you girls.”

“Simon and I” came Heather’s voice from the gym door. “And don’t get too confident. You will get a fair fight from us ladies.”

Max groaned, JJ smirked and the kid who had to be Simon Williams had the good sense to look a little baffled by whatever he’d just gotten himself into. The boy was spindly thin and a bit pale. His glasses sat a little crooked on his face, and a 1970s haircut didn’t help his overall lack of style. Still, his sharp blue eyes and goofy grin made him oddly likable.

Max caught the kid’s eye and lamented, “Teacher types.”

“Yeah.” The boy’s response was noncommittal and soft. He’d expected the boy’s smile to widen, but it had all but disappeared.

Shy, skinny and unsure of himself—Max remembered the years when he used to eat kids like this for breakfast. It wasn’t a comfortable memory. He wheeled over to Simon and pointed to the line of chairs. “Can you transfer into that sports chair by yourself? I guessed on your size but I think it’s close enough.” Heather had given him some basic medical info on Simon’s cerebral palsy—a condition that mostly left his legs too unstable to support him for more than a few steps.

“Uh-huh.” Again, a small voice lacking any stitch of confidence. Max began to wonder if the kid had ever played any sport, ever. He looked as if his family hardly let him outside in the sunshine. Max pretended to be adjusting his gloves while he watched Simon slowly maneuver from his larger daily chair to the smaller, lower sports chair. It was a relief to see that he could do it by himself. The kid’s steps were gangly and poorly controlled, but while Max had met other cerebral palsy patients with very spastic movements all over their bodies, Simon’s seemed to be confined to his legs. He had the upper-body control to have some fun in a sports chair, yet he looked as if he’d never seen one. If he’d never known speed, this chair would be a barrel of fun. Somehow, he doubted this kid had ever seen much fun.

Whose fault was that? His shy personality? Or overprotective parents? Well, that drought was going to end today. The thought of introducing the boy to agility sparked a faint foreign glow of satisfaction that caught Max up short.

JJ noticed his reaction. She raised an eyebrow in inquiry as Simon finished settling himself into his seat. “What?”

“I think I just got a bit of an Alex rush.” Max knew he’d regret admitting that to his sister. His boss—Alex Cushman, JJ’s husband—was always going on and on about the charge he got from taking people out of their comfort zones into new adventures.

“Not all about the new toys anymore?” Her tone was teasing, but JJ’s eyes were warm. That girl was so stuck on her new husband it was like a nonstop valentine to be with either one of them.

“No, it’s still about the new toys.” Max popped another wheelie and executed a tight circle around his sister. He turned his attention back to Simon, now sitting next to a delightfully baffled Heather as the two of them explored the gear. “What do you think?”

“They’re crooked,” Simon offered in a sheepish voice as he pointed to the wheels. Unlike the straight-up-and-down wheels of his daily chair, this chair’s wheels tilted toward the middle.

“Nah, they’re cambered. Gives you stability and agility. You can turn fast on these. Try it.”

Max watched as Simon, JJ and Heather made circles in their chairs. Slow, careful circles. Max growled and came up behind JJ to give her a hefty shove. She shot forward, yelping, and then managed to turn herself around in a respectably quick U-turn. “Cut that out, Max!”

“Quit being snails, the lot of you. These things are made for speed. Use ’em!” He angled up next to Simon, who looked as if someone needed to give him permission to keep breathing. “Race ya.”

“Huh?”

“First one to the end of the gym and back gets ice cream.”

Simon just looked at him. Who’d been keeping this poor kid under glass? Max chose to ignore the uncertainty written on the boy’s face and pretend his silence was a bargaining tactic.

“Okay, then, two ice creams and you get a three-second lead,” he conceded. Max allowed himself a sly wink at the guidance counselor. “Ms. Browning said she’d buy.”

“I never...”

Simon started pushing on his wheels. Max whooped. “One...two...three!”

* * *

A sweaty, crazy hour later, Heather had fed every dollar bill and coin she had into the school vending machine as she, Max, JJ and Simon sat on the school’s front steps eating ice cream.

“There’s a whole basketball league,” Max explained to Simon. “And hockey. I’ve even seen a ski team.” She watched Max look Simon up and down. “You’re kinda skinny for the hockey thing, but I saw the way you shot today. Wouldn’t take long for you to hold your own pretty nicely on the court.”

“You outshot me,” JJ offered, licking chocolate off her fingers.

“I’ve always had a chair.” Simon said it as if it was a weak excuse. The embarrassed tone in his voice burrowed into Heather’s heart and made her want to send Jason Kikowitz to Mars.

A red van pulled up, and Heather saw Brian Williams wave his hand out the driver’s side window.

“My dad’s here,” Simon said, tossing his last wrapper into the trash bin and angling toward the wheelchair ramp. At the top of the incline, he paused. “Thanks, Mr. Jones. That was fun.”

“Max,” Max corrected, making a funny face. “Nobody calls me Mr. Jones. Want to go sailing next week?”

Heather watched Simon’s response. His eyes lit up for a moment, then darkened a bit as he heard the door click open and the whrrr of the lift extending out of his parents’ van. “I don’t think my folks would go for it.” Simon’s lack of optimism stung. Heather knew that despite his spot on the Gordon Falls Volunteer Fire Department—or maybe because of it—Simon’s dad was a highly protective father. She’d had a highly protective dad herself—she’d had her own share of medical challenges in high school—but even she had reservations about how far Brian Williams went to keep his son away from any kind of risk.

Max had caught the boy’s disappointment. He waved at the van. “They’ll say yes. Can I come meet them?”

“Um...maybe next time,” Simon said, quickly darting down the ramp.

“Hey, slow down there, Speedy!” Simon’s dad called as the lift platform rattled onto the ground. “Watch that crack there or your wheel might get stuck. You’ve got to take your time on ramps, remember?”

Heather heard Max mutter a few unkind words under his breath. JJ got to her feet. “Speaking of speed, my shift starts in half an hour and I’ve got to run home first.” She gave Heather a hug, then pecked her brother on the cheek and snatched up the sweatshirt she’d been sitting on. “Dinner still on for next Thursday?”

“You bet,” Max said, still staring as Simon was swallowed up by the van’s mechanism. His irritation jutted out in all directions, sharp and prickly. “Does he know how much he’s holding Simon back?” Max nearly growled. “Have you talked to him about it?”

“Hey,” she said. “Cut the dad a little slack here, will you?”

“You know what half of Simon’s problem is?” Max jutted a finger at the van as it pulled away. “That. I was trying to figure out what made Simon such a walking ball of shy and I just got my answer.”

Heather swallowed her own frustration. People were shy for lots of reasons, not just fatherly protectiveness. “So after two hours with the boy, you’ve got him all figured out? Is that it?”

“It doesn’t take a PhD in counseling to figure out they keep that kid under lock and key. He’s afraid of his own shadow, and somebody had to teach him that.”

“Aren’t you coming down awfully hard on someone you hardly even know?”

“Simon’s not sick. Okay, his legs don’t work so hot, but I get how that goes. He could be so much stronger than he is. He could be doing so much more.”

It needed saying. “He’s not you, Max. Not everyone needs to come at this full throttle.” When that just made him frown, Heather tried a different tack. “What were you like in high school?”

“A whole lot different than that. Even as a freshman.”

“I can imagine that.”

Max shook out the mane of shaggy dirty-blond hair that gave him such a rugged look. He was tanned and muscular—the furthest thing imaginable from Simon’s pale, thin features—with mischievous eyes and a smile Heather expected made girls swoon back in high school. She found his not-quite-yet-cleaned-up-bad-boy persona as infuriating as it was intriguing. Max Jones just didn’t add up the way he ought to, and she didn’t know what to do with that.

Max tossed an ice-cream wrapper into the trash bin with all the precision he’d shown on the basketball court. “Truth is,” he said, his voice losing the edge it had held a moment ago, “I was a lot closer to the Kikowitzes of the world than to geeky kids like Simon.” He shot Heather a guilty glance. “Let’s just say I’ve shoved my share of kids into lockers. And, okay, I’m not especially proud of it, but I think I’d rather be that than go through life like Simon.”

Heather tried to picture a teenage Max prowling the halls of GFHS, picking on kids and collecting detention slips. It didn’t take much imagination. “Football team? Motorcycles?”

He laughed, and Heather reminded herself how such charming smiles shouldn’t always be trusted. Sometimes those dashing ways covered some pretty devastating weaknesses. “No,” he corrected her. “Basketball and my dad’s old Thunderbird. Well, before I rolled it my junior year, that is.”