Sisters in the Wind(31)
When she shrugs, only one shoulder moves. Jamie mentioned a career-ending shoulder injury. Her one-shouldered shrug makes sense.
“Did you play any sports, Lucy?”
“I was on the track team, but not for long.”
“Why not?” she asks.
I deflect with, “Did your dad play hockey too?”
She nods. “He was what people called a hockey god,” she boasts. “Levi Firekeeper was the pride of Ziisabaaka Minising. That’s what we call Sugar Island in Anishinaabemowin.” She repeats it: Zee-suh-BAH-kuh MIN-ih-sing. “He was supposed to get drafted into the NHL.” When Daunis meets my eyes, hers are filled with tears she doesn’t bother wiping away. “He was in a car accident with my mom the night she told him she was pregnant with me. He broke both legs and didn’t get the appropriate medical attention, so he never fully healed.”
After a lengthy pause, she gives a wry smile.
“That’s why I get after you, Miss Hippity-Hoppity.”
No wonder her face scrunches disapprovingly when I don’t use my walker.
I decide to open up a little.
“I moved here seven months ago because I wanted to be somewhere that would’ve been familiar to my dad. He stopped playing baseball after his sophomore year. I was born that summer. Hard to play outfield when you’re a single dad trying to earn a degree.”
It’s the most I’ve ever revealed to Daunis.
“Maggie went to the tribal college near here.” Daunis gestures out the window as if it was next door. “She left Lily with relatives on Sugar Island. We were four. But Lily always said she remembered me, before we met officially in elementary school.” Daunis smiles and shakes her head. “I thought she was reaching because the only time our paths could’ve crossed was when my aunt Teddie brought me to Sugar Island.”
“So, your dad’s legs never healed properly. Is that what he died from? How did he cope with going from hero to zero?”
It feels like a cruel lob, but Daunis knows I don’t want to hear about my birth mother or the family.
She stares at me, her saucerlike eyes unblinking. Maybe, for the first time, Daunis Fontaine sees me as I truly am.
I am a ruthless survivor. I have done heartless things in the name of self-preservation. I will do whatever it takes to land on my feet—walker and all.
* * *
Daunis takes me to my Friday physical therapy appointment. Things have been stilted between us since she brought up Maggie. I thought getting her to shut up about my birth mother would be a relief. Instead I get a version of Daunis that is friendly but not chummy.
Today is my sixth appointment. I’ve been going three days a week for the two weeks since I left the hospital. The PT guy puts me through my exercises: straight leg raises, clamshells with resistance bands, leg extensions, and hamstring curls. Then I change into a swimsuit and go to the performance pool, where I swim against an adjustable current. It’s my favorite part of PT.
I feel more like myself in the pool. My body remembers freestyle, backstroke, and breaststroke. Since I’m swimming against an endless current instead of laps, I don’t need to count strokes for a flip turn. I can forget about everything and swim without stopping. Today I go until the PT guy turns off the current.
“You’ve been swimming for forty-five minutes. I’d let you keep at it, but there’s another client scheduled,” he says. “I made a note in your chart for your doctor about how strong a swimmer you are. Dr. Rao might want you to add the underwater treadmill to your physical therapy. It’s a way for you to start walking without the full-body-weight concerns.”
It’s the best news I hear all day.
I lift myself out of the pool and position the walker so I can stand up. After I towel off, I shuffle toward the changing room for a quick shower.
Daunis is waiting for me in the lobby. She reads or talks on the phone while I’m with my physical therapist. She sees me and smiles. It’s a polite one that doesn’t reach her eyes.
I didn’t realize how much I liked her full-strength smile.
The downside of not having had friends growing up is that I never really learned how to fight and make up. When Devery and I disagreed, I just gave in because of her temper.
I walk over to Daunis, mulling over how to make things right with her.
“Excuse me, Miss Smith?” The receptionist calls for me.
Daunis comes with me to the receptionist’s desk, probably to handle any questions about billing or scheduling.
“These are for you.” She motions to a floral bouquet in a glass vase on the counter.
I freeze. Every muscle in my body tenses. Breathing becomes difficult.
“How thoughtful,” Daunis comments. She sounds far away.
My gut churns. I feel as if I swallowed quick-setting concrete.
I reach for the small card in the clear plastic holder among the pink carnations. The message is written in block lettering.
LUCY
GLAD YOU’RE ON THE MEND.
WE WILL CROSS PATHS SOON. SLEEP WELL.
* * *
I “accidentally” drop the vase on the sidewalk outside the PT facility. Daunis gathers the pieces of glass and offers to buy a replacement vase. But I toss the flowers and card in the trash next to the smokers’ enclosure in the parking lot.