Book of Days, Healing

Disclaimer: Characters you recognize are not mine. Just borrowing them for the purposes of this story. I sure wish I could get paid for this. :)

Summary: Steve has a setback in his recovery.

Rating: G, no language or anything. Just a little of angst.

Author's Note: This story is number three in the Book of Days series of Vignettes. The previous stories are also available on this site under my screen name. The stories flow better in order, but should still stand alone.

Kathryn Sloan stared at the door in front of her. For the past three days her son had remained in that room, cutting himself off from his family and the rest of the world. She wasn't having it, not for a moment more.

After the first month, where he sometimes had whole days of moody silences, his emotions seemed to smooth out. And then the past few weeks, he had been doing exceptionally well. He had been going to his physical therapy sessions as directed, and was making very good improvement. The doctor had given the go ahead for him to switch from crutches to the cane, even suggesting that if he felt comfortable that he might try driving for short distances. But none of that seemed to matter to Steve anymore. He would speak to no one.

Kathryn remembered his first physical therapy. They had arranged to have his appointments moved to Community General so that he could ride into the city in the mornings with Mark. Then Mark would bring him home during an extended lunch hour. But seeing him making his way into the house that first noontime, she'd nearly asked her husband if something had gone wrong. Steve had appeared so pale and exhausted, seeming to barely have enough energy to make it into the house on his own.

Mark had shot her a look, warning her not to react over much. But it was so difficult seeing her son gray and in obvious pain. She'd bit the inside of her lip to keep from protesting before uttering her usual greeting. She had then watched father and son disappear along the corridor to Steve's bedroom.

Keeping herself busy with the laundry until Mark reappeared had been difficult. But then he'd finally returned, and she had cornered him, demanding to know what had been done to her child.

"He's hardly a child anymore, Kathy," Mark told her with a warm smile, before kissing her gently on the cheek. She'd learned over the years that it was his way of telling her that he loved her. A side effect was that it normally diffused things when she found herself getting overly worried and upset. Sort of an I love you, please calm down in physical form. It worked. Sort of.

She had sighed, and felt a bit of the tension easing away. And when she repeated her question, insisting that he would always be her child, there had been humor and love in the gaze she directed toward her husband.

Mark had laughed and gestured his surrender before explaining, "Steve had some pretty deep tissue injuries. It's only normal that this first session would be pretty rough on him. But the therapist told me that he did very well."

"Oh, all right. If you're sure." Kathryn trusted Mark's medical judgment. She knew that he would never steer her wrong, especially with the children. However, that didn't mean that she wasn't going to worry, or hate the fact that her son was suffering, even if it was for the better in the long run. "What can I do to help him?" she asked.

"I've given him something for pain. Other than that he just needs to rest. If he wants something for pain later, he can have one more in about 4 hours. He should take it with food."

"All right Dr. Sloan, Sir. I've got it, Sir."

"I'm glad to hear it, Nurse. 'Cause Dr. Sloan is a busy man. He's got to get back to the hospital or he's going to be there all day on Saturday."

They'd teased for a few moments longer, and then Mark had left. When Steve had awakened an hour later, Kathryn had gone in to sit with him, catching him up on the goings on with the other families that they knew.

After that, it had become a routine. Each time he came home from therapy, he seemed more improved and less exhausted. Soon, instead of having their chats after his nap, they begin to have them over lunch. That was, until three days ago.

Three days ago, he had received a letter from Robbie Saunderson, one of his best friends from school, saying that his tour would be up soon, and that he would be coming home. On the same day, he had learned that Robbie had been killed in action. It had been a cruel twist that due to the time it took for mail to be routed, Robbie's letter had arrived on the same day as the news of his death. Steve had taken it very hard.

For the first day, they had left him to himself, figuring he needed the space. They had all been hurting, as well. Robbie had been in and out of their home many times, often helping Steve in his attempts to eat everything that wasn't nailed down.

But then, on the second day, she had insisted that he at least come out of his room for meals. He'd obeyed, but had wandered like a ghost, only speaking when it was necessary, and eating just enough to keep her from making an issue. He then vanished back into his room, not even willing to go out onto the beach, or attend his physical therapy sessions.

Today, the third day, she'd had enough. He had barely picked at his breakfast, and then fled back to the solitude of his room. It was now a little before noon. Mark wouldn't be coming home for lunch as there was no physical therapy today. It was just her and Steve.

Moving closer to the door, she tapped lightly on the wood. There was no sound from inside, so she tried again, more loudly. Still nothing. "All right. If that's the way you want it," she murmured, then tried the knob. It turned easily in her hand. She pushed the door open slightly and glanced inside. The scene before her tore at her heart.

Steve sat in a chair by the window, looking out. His expression was so sad and forlorn almost caused her to back away, but then she urged herself forward. Steve barely reacted to the intrusion. Coming in, she decided, had been the right decision. Her son needed her.

Moving across the room, she settled on the bed. "It's almost time for lunch. I was thinking of having something a little different today. Maybe some of that pizza that you love so much. But I'd have to go down to Gent's and get it."

Steve shrugged. "I'm not very hungry. Anything is okay."

"I thought you might say that," she said. "Come with me." She stood up and headed for the door. Steve didn't move. She looked back and gave him a pointed look. "Steven Sloan, are you going to start now being disobedient to your mother?"

Steve looked over toward her, sadness clearly visible in tired eyes and shook his head. He pushed himself into a standing position and moved toward the foot of his bed where his shoes were located.

"Oh, you won't be needing those," she told him.

Steve looked up startled. "I thought you said we were going to Gent's."

"And I thought you said that anything is okay. So, you've missed your chance at pizza. And me offering to eat it willingly, too." She softened the words with a tentative smile.

Some subtle tension eased in Steve's shoulders, but his return smile was a poor excuse and didn't even attempt to reach his eyes. She would accept it anyway as it was progress.

She led him through the house and out toward the beach at the back of the house. The curiosity that he was feeling was almost palpable, but as he refused to ask, she simply smiled and led him toward the far edge of the sand away from his bedroom window. She'd dragged a fold-up table out onto a level section in the shade and set up a picnic lunch complete with bottles of coke and three miniature cakes. The third cake had a single candle in its center.

Steve stared at the table setting, obvious confusion written all over his face. Yet he seemed hesitant to sit.

Kathryn made the first move and settled in one of the two chairs. She gestured that Steve should do the same. As he sat across from her, she pushed a hand into her pocket and wrapped her fingers around the metal object there. Her next step required a gathering of her courage. When she felt strong enough, she withdrew the lighter from her pocket and held it across the table toward Steve.

He accepted it. "What's this for?" he asked, his face still marred with confusion.

"The cake," she gestured toward it, struggling with inner emotions that were threatening to bubble to the surface.

"The cake?" Steve frowned. He looked down at it where it sat in the center of the table atop a saucer from her best china. He focused on the candle stuck in the middle of the chocolate icing. He looked thoughtful as he opened the lighter and lit the candle before handing the lighter back. "Why are we lighting a candle?" he asked.

Kathryn swallowed, but still her voice was a bit husky as she spoke. "For Robbie. To remember him. Chocolate cake was always his favorite."

Steve's face flushed red and he pushed up from the table so sharply that one of the sodas tipped over and the chair fell backward. She only took a moment to rescue the drink which was in danger of drenching the table before hurrying after his limping form. She caught up to him just before he managed to close his room door.

He didn't fight her when she pushed it back open. He simply covered his face with his hands and began to cry. Kathryn's heart broke for him. She followed her instincts and pulled her tall son into her arms and let him release his sorrow.

The episode didn't last for long, but when he pulled away, there were tears on both their faces. Steve wouldn't meet her eyes, obviously embarrassed at having broken down.

Kathryn sniffed, and wiped at her own eyes. "He was a very nice boy," she said, breaking the silence. "I'm going to miss him."

"Me, too," Steve agreed, looking up tentatively.

"His parents are going to have a funeral for him day after tomorrow. It would be wonderful if we could all go. Maybe you could even drive us."

Steve nodded in answer to the question. Then, "I probably don't even remember how to anymore."

"Oh, I'm sure you do," Kathryn insisted. "Why don't we try out that old jalopy of yours? I'm sure it's anxious to have you behind the wheel again."

When Steve smiled this time, a little more light shown in his eyes. "I never thanked Dad for keeping it up for me."

"Well, Carol did offer her services on a number of occasions," Kathryn said, remembering vividly. "But, I'm sure your driving it again will be all the thanks that he needs."

Steve looked away for a moment. "Do you mind if we finish the lunch first? For Robbie?"

Kathryn smiled, pleased. "Of course not." She turned and headed out of the room to return to the lunch on the sand. But Steve stopped her before she could take more than a few steps.

"Mom, do you mind . . . . not . . . not saying . . . ." Steve stumbled all over the words. Kathryn understood without needing to hear them all.

She reached for her son's hand and squeezed it. "It'll be our little secret."

The End.

Previous Stories:

Book of Days 1 Coming Home

Book of Days 2 First Night

Book of Days 3 Healing