The doctor smiled. “Excellent. Can you lift your arm?”
She could.
She could.
By the time she’d finished the range of motion tests, she was smiling. At the end of the appointment, she wheeled herself out of the room. It took real effort to make her right hand contribute, but she did it.
“You’re looking good, soldier girl,” Conny said, getting up from his chair in the waiting room.
He rolled her back to her room and positioned her by the window again. “PT in one hour. We need to start working on your grip now, too,” Conny said. “And you can start on crutches.”
“I don’t think I’m ready to go home, Conny. We should postpone until—”
“Until when?”
She saw the understanding in his eyes. It shamed her to show such weakness to him. “Until I’m ready,” she finished lamely.
“Today,” he said quietly.
After he left, she sat there, staring out at the sunshiny day, squeezing the ball he’d left with her. I did it, Tami.
Yes, you did, flygirl.
Jolene would have sworn she heard the words, but no one was there. She looked out the window. Was that you, Tam? She wanted to believe in it, believe in the idea of her best friend finding a way to communicate across all these miles. Maybe it meant Tami had awakened …
“Mrs. Zarkades?”
She looked behind her. An orderly stood at the door, holding a few envelopes rubber-banded together.
“I’ve got your mail.”
“Okay, thanks.”
He came into the room and put a pair of letters on the table beside her. She stared down at them, surprised. Finally, she picked up the packet and pulled out the top letter. It was from someone in Kansas.
Dear Jolene Zarkades:
I read about your story in the Topeka Gazette. I can’t believe I’m writing to you—a stranger—but my heart won’t let me say nothing.
I close my eyes and I think of you because I know how you’re feeling.
I was fourteen years old when I lost my leg. Just an ordinary girl from a small town, worrying about getting pimples and passing tests, and wondering when I would need a bra. Not a helicopter pilot or nothing cool like that.
Then I heard the word: cancer.
My mom cried more than I did. I was more worried about being different. I know you’re probably strong, because you’re in the army and all, but I wanted to make sure someone told you to be gentle with yourself. I wish I’d known that. It took me a long time. You think life will never be normal again, but it will. You and your daughters will be fighting again in no time—and about her chores or her choices. It won’t be about your leg at all!
God bless. I have lit a candle for you and your family in my church. Our prayers go to you.
Sincerely,
Mavis Sue Cochran
Topeka, KS
Jolene wiped her eyes and put the letter back in its envelope, then opened the second one.
Chief,
I’m PFC Sarah Merrin. I’m at Walter Reed, after six months in-country.
I don’t really know what to say or even why I’m writing to you. I guess because it’s quiet here now. And you’re a woman.
I lost my leg last week. Now they’re afraid I’m going to lose the other leg. Infection in blast injuries is bad, but I guess you know that. I’m going to be here a long time.
How do you do it? I guess that’s what I want to know. They tell me I’ll be able to walk again—even run—but it hardly seems likely and when I look down at what’s left of me, it isn’t pretty. Can’t see my husband sticking around after I take my clothes off.
Any words of wisdom you got would sure be helpful.
Sincerely,
Sarah Merrin
Jolene put the letter back in the envelope and stared down at it. She knew how Sarah felt, lying in her hospital bed, so far from home, wondering what part of herself she’d get back and what she’d lost forever.
But wisdom? Jolene had none to offer.
She would just add Sarah Merrin to the list of people she couldn’t help, the people she’d let down.
*
That night, after a long, grueling day at work, Michael left the office and drove to the rehab center. As he drove through the stop-and-go rush-hour traffic, he thought about the jury consultant he’d met with today. They’d begun voir dire proceedings—jury selection—in the Keller case. As every criminal defense attorney knew, cases could be won or lost before the trial even began. Jurors were crucial. He would need to find compassionate, liberal-minded people who believed that a good man’s mind could be broken by war. The prosecution would be looking for hard-liners who thought psychiatric disorders were just excuses for criminality.