Proof of Angels (12 page)

A
FEW MONTHS AFTER HIS FIRST STEPS TO HIS FRIENDS
in the restaurant, Sean, back to his full 285 pounds and free from his chair for nearly two months now, stood up in the occupational therapy gym and took steps without the assistance of a walker or his leg braces. Holding on to Chief's leash in one hand and a cane in the other, Sean walked the length of the workout room. He had to swing one leg out in front of the other and brace himself with the cane, which made for an awkward gait, but when all was said and done, he was able to walk nearly twenty feet.

Tom cheered for and encouraged him the entire way. “You got this, Sean. You got this, man. See how easy it is getting. It's because you're strong. Those strength workouts are working, man.”

“You've been hanging out with James too much, Tom.
Better watch out. Today it's saying things like
man
, tomorrow you'll be eating carbs.”

“Come on, Sean. Come on. You got this. Come to papa!” Tom held out his arms and beat his chest once.

Sean exhaled hard and puffed his cheeks and let out small shouts of pain with each step, as he often did.
Acchhh
. Step.
Goddammit. Step. Goddammit
.

“That's it. That's it. Let it out.”

When Sean stopped Tom caught him in his own arms and hugged him.

The two stared at each other for a second and then pulled back, repelled, as if they were both the North Poles of magnets.

“We shall never speak of this again,” Tom said, standing up straight.

“Aw, come on, Tom, you know you love me,” Sean said, wiping the sweat off his head and sitting down on a chair that Tom had waiting for him.

As excited as he was to go so far without a walker, Sean was still disappointed. He had hoped that by now he would be jogging. He had hoped there would be no discomfort. But with every step, he felt an explosion of pain that radiated up through his legs and his lower back.

“The pain you feel is just sciatica; the nerves are out of whack because of all the adjustments to your structure and your weird gait. You'll feel better with more work,” Tom assured him.

“More work?” Sean said incredulously.

“You've come far, my little grasshopper, but you have far to go,” Tom said and bowed to Sean mockingly.

“Knock it off, Tom,” Sean said, snapping him with his towel. “I was just thinking that by now I'd be up and running. Gaspar said it would only take six months. It's been nearly a year.”

“Gaspar's a cardiologist. I'm a PT. Would you take heart diagnoses from me?”

“Point taken.” Sean shrugged. “I just gotta get moving. Not only here, but with my life. I can't be stuck inside all day. I have to figure out what I am going to do. And I can't do that if I don't get to Chiara, and I can't do that if I don't get better.”

“Well, Sean, let's say, for the sake of argument, we take Chiara and this cockamamie idea to head off to Italy next month and sweep her off her feet like in some dumb chick flick, and we focus on the first part of your statement: getting you out of the house and figuring out what you want to do with your life.”

“I'll know what I want to do after I see Chiara. I need to figure out what she wants me to do.”

“No.”

“No
what
, Tom?”

“No, that's a bad idea. Worst idea I've ever heard. No woman in her right mind wants some guy appearing on her doorstep and saying,
I'm all yours, tell me what you want me to do
. They want you to know
what you want
. They want to see that you're decisive. Because, chances are, if you exhibit signs that you know what you want and what you want to do, then she'll be pretty sure that your intentions toward her are equally decisive. I think most people feel this way.”

“How's that working for you, Tom?”

“Whaddya mean?”

“Well, you seem to know exactly what you want—your job, your perfectly chiseled body—but does your wife know you want her? Does she know you've decided to fit her into your plans, your work? How about your kids?”

Tom took a step backward and walked around in a small, tight circle, as if looking for a contact that had just fallen out of his eye. When he looked up his eyes narrowed into two slits. Sean thought Tom was going to punch him, but he didn't. Instead, Tom opened his eyes and his shoulders dropped.

“What, Tom? I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. It just came out. Are you okay?”

“No, no, I am not.”

“What is it? Did I strike a chord?” Sean asked, using the same line Tom had used on him the first day they'd met.

“Yeah, you jackhole. You did.”

“You know, Italy is beautiful this time of year,” Sean said, looking out the window. “It's late spring. Northern Italy is just spectacular. And nights in Florence . . . they can be very romantic.”

“What are you getting at, Sean?”

“I'm saying take your wife to Italy. Take her away. Tell her she matters. Carve out some place for her. Go a little nutty and take a few days off from working out. Heck, go home early today and take her flowers. Tell her you want to try. Tell her that your marriage means something, that you both deserve better. Your kids, too.”

“Is this so you can get me on a plane to take you to Italy?”

“Maybe,” Sean said with a wry smile, “maybe not. But you know, ever since I followed that angel out of that building and
took that leap of faith, I've started to believe that we're all in need of angels and second chances.”

Tom turned quickly and looked at Sean. “What angel? You never told me about any angel.”

Sean caught himself and realized he'd slipped.

“Oh shit. It's nothing.”

“No, it is not. You never told me any crazy story.”

“Gee, I wonder why?”

“What is this all about, Sean?”

“Do you believe in angels, Tom? I mean, do you believe in them even though there's no real proof they exist? Other than, say, that I am sitting here and alive to tell the tale.”

“I don't, Sean. I'm sorry, but I don't.”

“But I saw one, Tom. I did. Clear as day. Just like you standing before me. She was real. And if she hadn't pointed me to the window, I'd be charred toast right now. I believe that with my entire body. I believe it, even if no one else does. I believe that I was spared for a reason. I believe I was spared to make my life better, have a fresh start, and make things right, especially with Chiara. Every day that I get up and work out with you, I see her. I see her at the end of every exercise. Every walk across the room. I see her. She is my finish line. My angel. My everything. She is the reason I get up in the morning. The reason I didn't give up a long time ago.”

“Sean, I think the world of you. I do. And I admire your optimism. I see how hard you're trying and I don't want anything to get in the way of that, and if this girl Chiara is the carrot at the end of the stick and will get you to walk and move on with your life, so be it. But I know from experience that you can't go back. You can't undo the hurts, you can't
take back the things you said and did. The hurt stays forever. Second chance or no. Angel or no angel.”

“Are you talking about you? Your wife? Or me?” Sean asked.

“All of it. I am talking from a lot of experience that I earned in the world of effing-it-up.”

“But have you tried? Have you really put forth an effort to be better? Have you given the same effort to your wife that you do to your workouts? That you do with me?”

Tom looked up at the ceiling and exhaled. “No, Sean. If I am being totally honest, no. But it's complicated.”

“No, it's not. James is right. It's not. One of you has to make a step in the other's direction. I'm sorry, Tom, but from where I'm sitting, that person should be you. I know she loves you. I know you love her. I saw how you took care of her the night of James's party when she got a little tipsy. I've never seen you so tender. So taken with someone. I know you love her. And I know she's devoted to you. She stood by you when you were more ripped up than I was. She could have left you. You weren't married back then. She could have given up on you. But she didn't. She stayed by your side, like you've stayed by mine. That means something. That means everything. And I've had you to myself for too long. You need to start carving time out for her. You need to go to her. Just start working on it. I'm telling you there's always hope. There's always a chance to make up for lost time.”

“I know you're right. I know that. But it's so hard. I
don't know if I can bridge this distance between us. It's been too long. I don't even know what to talk about with her. I don't think she'll ever leave me. But I know she wants more. I just don't know if I can be the type of husband she wants. I don't know if I can be . . . I just can't . . .” Tom shook his head.

“I know you're tough, Tom. No one doubts that. I know it takes one hell of a man to go to war, almost lose a limb, come home, get married, and then go on living the rest of your life like you're strong enough to handle it all so you don't burden your wife and family. I know what you're up to. What you've been up to, because I've been there. I threw myself into work for years and I thought that would be my ticket out of the pain I felt. But it's not. The best way to get better is to walk right through that pain. You've been teaching me how to do it for months. Now you need to do it. And you need to walk to her. You need to do it even though it hurts like hell. You need to tell her she matters. She's enough. That you're not running from her, but running from yourself, your memories, your nightmares. Whatever. You just need to tell her you don't feel so tough. You need to stop running away, Tom.”

“But how? What do I say?”

“Sometimes you don't have to say anything. You just need to show up. Be there for her. Start small. You have a lot of time to make up for. You can't go crazy. Just start making an effort. Start tonight. After you get me home, go to her. The best time to start, when trying to make a change, is now. Right now. Just go to her.”

“But James and Libby won't be by the apartment till dinnertime. That's hours from now. I'll just wait till quitting time.”

“No, Tom. I insist. Go now. I mean it. I will be fine on my own for a few hours. I still have my walker and Chief.”

“Are you sure? No. Wait. I can't. Gaspar will have me fired.”

“Go! Drop me at home first. I won't report you to the VNA. Then go and take her some flowers. The kids will be at school, so maybe you can use the time alone . . . you know . . . to really knock her socks off . . .”

Tom held up his hand to stop Sean from saying something he didn't want to hear.

“What? I meant fold some laundry or load the dishwasher . . . of course . . .”

Tom cracked a knowing smile. “Yeah, that's what I'll do.”

“Sure you will,” Sean said with a wink.

“You did great today, Sean. And you've made terrific progress these past nine months. I have no doubt you can do this. But do you really think you can do this? You'll be careful? I don't want to have to make any phone calls to Gaspar explaining why you fell in the shower and hit your head.”

“I cross my heart: I will not set foot in the shower. Besides, if I want to go to Italy next month, I have to be able to be at home alone one of these days. I'll be fine. Never better,” Sean said, patting Chief on his back. “No one needs to worry about me. I've got a hell of a guardian angel,” Sean said, grinning.

“Sure you do,” Tom said, shaking his head. “She looks like she did a bang-up job last time,” Tom said, grabbing his medic bag and keys from the table. “Let's get you home.”

Outside the gym, Tom walked Sean and Chief to the car. Sean looked strong. Tom barely needed to help him. With the exception of letting Sean use his shoulder to lever himself into the truck, Tom wasn't much help at all. He was just backup if Sean needed a hand or got tired. Once Sean was settled in the truck, Tom tossed Sean's walker in the truck bed with his medical bag and jumped in the driver's side after Chief.

“Gorgeous day out there,” Tom said, looking out the windshield at the bright sun.

“If I could, I'd be out on the waves. Man, I miss it.”

“It won't be long. In fact, there is no reason why you can't at least try.”

“Nah. Still a little nervous about saltwater. I can't imagine what it would feel like on some of the wounds that still haven't healed completely.”

“You can wear a wet suit. We should get you out there.”

“I don't know. I don't think I'm ready. It's so weird, though. You know, I've spent the majority of my life without surfing and then it totally took over my life. Once you learn how to do it, once you catch your first wave, there is no going back.”

“I know what you mean.”

“You surf?”

“I did. Long time ago. I grew up out here on these waves. I haven't actually hopped up on a board in a long time. I swim though and body-board. I do just about everything else.”

“Your legs?”

“Nah. They're strong enough now. It's just that . . .” Tom shook his head, unable to finish his thought.

“You're scared to get back up on the board? To have to be a novice all over again?” Sean said.

“Exactly,” Tom said and nodded.

“Me too, Tom. Me too. Nothing scarier than starting all over.”

“It's a bitch,” Tom acknowledged.

“You can say that again,” Sean said.

Then, apropos of nothing, Tom turned and looked at Sean,
suddenly remembering a flip comment Sean had made earlier at the gym. “You know what you said back in the gym about going to Italy? You used specifics. You said you want to go
next month
. Have you made plans I don't know about? What about Gaspar and your sister? Didn't they want to take you?”