Chapter 11

Alba leaned against the open doorway and watched as the men tested the nerves on the arm stump that Wesley had left. She noted the extra skin flap that covered the ending, the stump, and a little bit extra had been built in so that he could wear something there. She'd also heard Shane tell him to hold back his arm prosthetic a little bit, so that they had time to build up enough strength in that little wing to do what Wesley wanted done with a prosthetic down the road.

And she agreed with Shane, but she saw how hard it was for Wesley to hold back. He was like a kid in a candy store. Somebody had given him a toy he desperately wanted, and now he wanted the moon. The toy he'd had didn't work very well, and what he really needed was a fully functional one. Interesting too that he kept talking about this woman out of New Mexico.

As Shane walked over, Alba murmured, "Who is this Kat person out of New Mexico?"

Shane smiled. "She's a specialist in prosthetics."

"Ah, so he wants to contact her. Is this prosthetic not good enough?"

"We'll find out," he said. "According to these guys, they work with Kat all the time, and it depends on what the situation is, as to which person is better to help the patient."

"Right. Well, he doesn't seem to need me at all today."

"I don't know about that." Shane raised one eyebrow.

"When they're gone, there'll be euphoria, and then there'll be the let-down," she shared, with a nod.

"Got it." Shane nodded.

"In the meantime," she said, "I'll head back to work because they'll be busy here for a while."

"They've got another forty minutes, or"—he looked at his watch—"another thirty minutes max."

"Good enough," she said. "Sounds as if it was still a good day for him."

"I think so," Shane confirmed, studying Wesley in front of them. He was completely engrossed in the questions that the two tech designers were asking.

"It is interesting to see him in this environment. And to see how much he really values these prosthetics."

"I'm just glad that he'll get one today," Shane noted, looking at her.

"I am too," she murmured. "It would have broken his heart if it didn't fit. But it looks good on him."

"Not only looks good on him but he looks as if he's doing really well with it," Shane noted. "Sure, we have a way to go, but I can see that we also have a means to get there."

"And that's what counts." Alba smiled. "We'll get him through this." And, with that, she turned and headed back to her office.

She felt surprisingly teary, and there was absolutely no reason for it. This was good news all around. Wesley had done exactly what he needed to do, and the tech guys had done what they needed to do, and it looked as if a working prosthetic leg was coming Wesley's way today. They would have a fight to get it off him. She grinned at that.

Wesley wanted that sucker, and he wanted it on. But they hadn't taken it off to see if there was any soring up yet, so that could still be a problem today. She hoped not. When she returned to her office, she ended up buried in appointments and the related paperwork.

As she hadn't heard from Wesley by the time dinner rolled around, she slowly got up from her desk and stretched, realizing that she'd been glued to her desk a lot longer than she had expected and even now was looking down at a stack of paperwork still to be done.

She shut off her computers and walked out of her office, locking the door. She yawned again, realizing just how tired she was. The emotional stress had been a killer this week. But she'd also thoroughly enjoyed her time off, something she'd needed. Time and distance always helped, particularly with difficult patients. She walked toward the dining room.

When a shout came from behind her, she turned to see Wesley, walking on two legs toward her, his grin a mile wide.

She stopped and waited for him, delighted that he'd stopped her. "Hey, don't you look fancy."

"It feels great," he said. "Look at me."

"I didn't think you were that tall," she noted in amazement.

"Right? When you're not standing, it's,… it's hard to even imagine height," he muttered.

"I knew you were tall, even seated, but I didn't realize you were over six foot."

He nodded. "My daddy and both my brothers are too." He did a slow turn in front of her.

"And how does it feel?" she asked.

"Better than I expected," he murmured. "I put up with a lot of pain last time in order to keep it because I really wanted it. But, of course, I pushed it too hard, and the end result was I ended up losing it anyway. Plus it set me back."

"So now you know better," she noted gently. "You need to give it time to adapt, use it a little bit, not use it for long stretches of time for a while, and let your body break it in gently."

"I know, and I'll have to be reminded of that on a regular basis," he admitted, "because I won't want to go back to a wheelchair."

"And yet you might find that it's a relief to go back to a wheelchair," she pointed out. "You're using different muscles right now, and those will get sore pretty fast."

"Shane already warned me that we'll work on that tomorrow." He motioned ahead. "After you, m'dear."

She smiled at him and then stepped forward.

He noted, "You're looking really tired."

"I am," she agreed, as she stifled yet another yawn.

"I haven't seen you around for a few days."

She glanced over at him to hear a studied indifference in his tone. "I had days off," she murmured.

"That must have been nice for you, I'm sure," he replied, although his scrutiny had turned intense, as he studied her face. "You look as if you need another few days off."

She burst out laughing. "It's just the work right now. If I take off, the paperwork remains. I have a lot of reports to write, and that just never, ever goes away."

He winced at the term reports. "Not my favorite job," he stated.

"No, but the minute you get involved, there's always paperwork that has to be followed up on."

"I guess, but definitely not my favorite job."

She nodded. "I don't mind it mostly, but there are definitely times when I would just as soon find something else much more fun to do," she murmured. They moved forward in line.

"You didn't mention that you were on days off," Wesley said. "I admit that I asked Shane about you a couple times."

"I think you had more than enough of me there for a while," she noted. "It didn't occur to me to tell you because I hadn't seen you right then. And I was not supposed to go out of town, but I got an invitation, so I took it."

"Ah, a girlfriend?"

She looked at him and then nodded. "Yes, a girlfriend." And she watched as the relief crossed over his face. "Would it bother you if it wasn't?"

"I don't have any right for it to bother me," he replied in a wry tone. "Yet I appreciate the fact that there isn't anybody special in your life."

Her lips quirked at that. "I don't know so much about not having anybody special in my life," she teased, with a wry tone. "But the person I do have is definitely difficult."

He stared at her, but just then Dennis called over, "Hey, you two, do you want to keep moving the line forward?"

And that's when they realized they'd allowed a large gap to form between them and the person in front of them.

She walked over and mumbled, "Sorry about that."

"That's all right," Dennis said, with an airy wave of his ladle. "Apparently we have all day to look after you guys."

She rolled her eyes at that. "Okay, that's a bit thick," she teased. Then she saw a Greek salad in front of her. "Oh my," she whispered.

"Yep, it's one of your favorites. I know. So let's get you a big bowl of that, and what do you want to go with it?"

By the time they were done, her plate was overflowing. "Dennis, you'll make me fat."

"I won't make you nothing," he argued, with a grin, "except for maybe happy."

"I'll take happy," she agreed. "It's amazing just how much the food here goes a long way to keeping everybody's moods up."

"You have to in this place. We are healers, even those of us in the kitchen. Good food is good for the soul, and what we deal with here is a lot of broken souls. We're putting them back together, one plateful at a time." And, with that, he moved on to the next customer.

She picked up the cutlery she needed and looked around the dining room, which was already pretty full. She wasn't even sure whether she should mention about eating together or not. Wesley might want to go off and dine with other people. He had a lot to show off today. And just while she was contemplating where to go and what to say, a couple guys called out to him.

"Hey, let's get a load of those new legs," they called over to him.

She stepped forward and headed out to the deck, even as Wesley walked over to join the men at the table. She didn't even watch to see what happened; she just kept on going. Outside, she set her plate down and refused to look behind her. Her patients got better and flew the coop. It's the way of the world, and she needed to deal with it.

And she had absolutely no reason that she couldn't have joined him—except that the guys hadn't invited her—but there was also no reason that Wesley couldn't have joined her. So she would just let the cards lay where they fell. When somebody sat down beside her, she looked over at Wesley, frowning. "You can go eat with your friends, you know."

"I could," he agreed, "but it was brought home to me in a surprising way that I haven't necessarily treated everybody very well. So I thought maybe we could have dinner together. I'll go down and visit with Stan afterward."

She asked, "What's going on at Stan's?"

"He's got foxes," he declared, with a big grin.

"Foxes?" she repeated. "I don't think we've ever had any here yet, or at least none that I've seen."

"Stan's got… I think he called it a kit."

She frowned. "Maybe. So we have babies down there?"

He nodded. "Somebody had a pet fox, and it was due to give birth, but there were a few complications, so they brought it in, and Stan's been looking after it ever since."

"It? Solo?"

"She was due to have babies, but I don't know what happened. I wanted to go down and see what the end result was."

"Sounds good. If you don't mind company, I would like to see it."

He looked at her and smiled. "You know I would like company."

She shook her head, tired of beating around the bush. "I don't know that. We didn't part on great terms last time," she stated. "I've just been giving you space."

"And enough of that," he declared forcibly. "There's space, and then there's space. We didn't even have a real spat. I just got my nose out of joint."

She smiled. "In my world that happens a fair bit."

"You were right to push me," he admitted. "I still am not happy about the delay with the prosthetic arm's progress, and I very much want to get that prosthetic too, but I need a better one than what they offered last time," he shared. "And I know it sounds as if I'm just asking for more than I can really have, but I'm not so sure about that. I'm not ready to accept less."

"Good, which is why you should keep researching to see what options you have," she pointed out. "Did they have anything to suggest today?"

"Nothing more than what they already had for me, although they had something that was a little more permanent."

"What about the nerves? Did they test the arm for that?"

"Yes," he said, smiling. "And they're coming along. There's still some nerve damage from the surgeries, blah, blah, blah, blah."

"In other words, you're not quite ready yet."

He groaned. "No, and that, of course, will just make Shane feel that much better because he's the one who told me to slow down, to hold back, and to wait."

She chuckled. "And I guess you don't like being told to wait, huh?"

He shook his head. "No, definitely not. Nothing like an accident like this to make you sit back and take another look at your life and who you are, and what you need to do."

"I dunno," she muttered. "I think you're doing just fine."

He shook his head. "No, I'm not, actually," he admitted. "I'm too impatient. I expect more from others than what they're prepared to give, and, just when I think that I'm doing okay with it, I realize that I've been pushing people away, instead of letting them come closer."

"Sometimes, when we need to hear things, we don't like the message," she shared. "And we tend to blame the messenger. There's a reason that meme became so popular."

He nodded. "I hadn't really seen that I was doing that, but I guess I was." He looked down at the Greek salad on his plate and frowned.

"What? You don't like Greek salad now?" she asked in a teasing tone.

He looked over at her and said, "I love Greek salad. But I have to admit that I owe you an apology."

She raised one eyebrow. "I wasn't expecting that."

"And that's sad too," he murmured, "because just the fact that you weren't expecting it says a whole lot to me. I should have done that as soon as I saw you, but I was holding back," he admitted, "and that's,… that's a problem."

"It's not a problem," she argued gently. "It is what it is. It's not necessarily something to ask forgiveness for, or anything else. You're entitled to your emotions. You're entitled to feel happy, sad, angry, upset. We only get into trouble when we forget that we need to let out these emotions and that honesty is always the best policy."

He settled back, studying her, and replied in a bright tone, "In that case, I have to ask. Did you leave town to get away from me?"

"Oh, interesting," she murmured, staring at him. She looked as if she wanted to say something and then stopped.

"Remember that honesty is the best policy," he repeated.

She laughed. "I left to get away from the whole situation. Sometimes, living and working here, with the patients, the staff, and all of us together, with not enough of a break, it can be a bit much," she shared. "So it wasn't necessarily to get away from you but from the situation, the undercurrents, the emotions, the frustrations. Yeah, I needed a break from work," she admitted. She watched his face as she had shared that, and he nodded, as if it confirmed something. "Is that a problem?" she asked.

"No, not at all, and thanks for being honest. I felt terrible when I realized that you were gone, as I had reacted badly to your counsel. So I went to apologize that next morning and to see if you were okay, if we were okay," he clarified, "but you'd left, and Shane just didn't say anything—other than you'd gone for your days off."

"I didn't talk to Shane about it," she pointed out. "We have hundreds of staff here, and lots of us are closer than others," she murmured. "But you have to remember that everybody here has lives outside of work, including Shane."

Wesley laughed. "I met his partner," he said, with a bright smile. "He's a lucky man."

"He is, indeed," she noted, with a smile. "And he met her here."

"I heard that, and it sometimes just blows me away."

"Why? Because you don't see yourself as whole?"

He winced. "It keeps coming back to that, doesn't it?"

"Well, you tell me," she said. "Why does it blow you away that he found somebody here?"

"Because Shane is a pretty special guy, and you would think that he could pick and choose and find a very special partner."

"He did," she stated. "What is it that you think is wrong about the scenario?"

"I don't think it's wrong. I think, in their case, they made it work. I'm just not sure that it would work for me."

"Ah, right. So your situation is different because you don't have an arm and a leg."

He slumped in the chair beside her. "Sounds like we're going to fight again."

*

And Wesley hatedthat. It made him feel as if he was in the wrong, as if, yet again, he should have done something else to avoid this.

"No," she disagreed gently. "No fighting. It's just an observation. Once again though, it sounds as if you…" And she stopped, as if once again trying to feel her way through the conversation. "As if you're less than because you don't have that arm. The leg, you can put on pants, and nobody will see, at least in the initial moment, until they get to know you better. Yet that missing arm is visible."

He nodded slowly. "It is visible," he agreed, as he looked down at it. "And it really hurts me that it's missing."

"And it hurts you emotionally that, in your mind, you're not as good as everybody else because you have this missing limb," she added, her tone incredibly gentle.

He faced her and nodded. "How would anybody accept me, when they could choose somebody who's whole and healthy?"

"When it comes to love and relationships, I think we do less of the choosing and more of the accepting when it really matters," she shared. "You're perfectly capable of doing an incredible amount of things with the arm as is because you'll find a way to do it because you're motivated to find a way to do something about it," she pointed out. "Other people will see it over time, but it's how you see you. It's got nothing to do with how somebody else sees you, It's all about how you see you and whether you can accept yourself with just one arm."

"And if I can't?" he asked, leaning forward with an intensity that unfortunately belied the casualness of his tone. But it was hard to control given the conversation.

"What do you mean, if you can't?"

"What if I can't accept it," he repeated. "What if I can't live with this?"

"The choices are pretty slim," she noted. "And I would seriously hope that you don't mean what you're saying."

He frowned at her and then immediately shook his head. "No, I'm not suicidal," he declared, "but how do I accept me—as is—and not try to constantly make amends or adjustments or whatever in order to be as good as?"

"That comes with time and self-love. And that is something you can accept. It just takes a little bit of effort."

"Will you help me?" he asked, his voice low.

She gripped his fingers with her hand and whispered, "Absolutely. The first thing you have to do is realize that not everybody will judge you as you are judging you. A lot of people won't even notice it. And those who do and reinforce this less than feeling in you, they don't matter. They aren't the people who are important to you in life."

"And what about the ones who are important to me?"

"If they love you," she stated, "it won't matter to them either. So you'll need to pick and choose the people in your world because it'll be the people who can accept you as who you are who will be the ones who you want to keep. Everybody else? If they can't? I hate to say it, but it might be time to clean out your friend closet."

He stared at her and nodded. "Would I really get rid of a long-term friendship because they can't accept who I am?"

"Would you really want a long-term friendship with someone who can't accept who you are today?" she countered.

He sat back and stared at her. "No, not really."

"Exactly. It's all about new beginnings in all directions."