Bess checked on Aly’s mom, and then went home to her own family and my dog. Tony brought me clothes from the gym. Reluctantly, I called Camper and asked her to check on the construction. After all, she owed me. When we spoke on the phone, I told her about Aly, and we eventually made the connection between Camper’s stalker and the woman who attacked Aly. The police were able to get a pretty good sketch from Camper’s description.
Afraid of his woman, who I learned was named Marina, Gus Cameron turned himself in. He spilled everything she’d been up to, including how he’d found Aly and what condition she was in when he dragged Marina away. He did call 911 to send help, but by then, Shirley had taken Aly. The cops had thought it was a prank call when they found an empty barn, so didn’t bother to look close enough for blood or evidence.
Barry stopped in daily to report to Aly on the case’s progress, stale smoke and coffee on his breath. Aly continued to be silent. She listened to his updates with a blank expression and nodded at what seemed like the appropriate times.
Drew Fucking Burnes sent flowers. I wanted to throw them in the trash, but instead I set them on her windowsill and read Aly the card. She didn’t even smile as I hoped she would.
The police finally caught Marina. While searching her bag, they found a key to a storage locker where she kept enough evidence to lock her up without bail until she would stand trial. She had been the one setting up hate crimes all over the city. Yes, Cameron shared beliefs with her, but he was mostly the hired muscle and Marina was the mastermind.
Of course, Cameron immediately cooperated, and I didn’t know what kind of plea deal they cut with him. But at the end of the day, I had to give him props—he got that bitch away from Aly with only a gun shot in the air. Who knew what his original plan was, or if he even had one. According to Barry, Cameron probably thought he could protect his girl and pin it on someone else. But he rolled over like a dead fish when given the chance, handing over Marina, unharmed and smeared in guilt.
With all of us rallied around her, fierce Aly didn’t lift from the silent fog she’d cocooned herself in. She went about everything that was expected of her, doing her stretches and following the hospital staff’s instructions. But all the while she stared blankly, not speaking, ignoring what happened to her, and apparently not caring.
One afternoon, a woman named Hilary showed up to visit. I assumed this was the roommate Aly had mentioned once before, and I welcomed the support, swallowing back tears. I was a mess, and not a very manly one. Everything between Aly and me had grown so deep and gone so hard, I didn’t know much other than she was the one for me, and she was lying there suffering.
I didn’t care whether it was irrational or not. I just knew she was my “it girl,” and I needed her back.
Apparently, Aly’s friends at work had called this Hilary, and she immediately hightailed it to Pittsburgh from Cleveland.
“You must be Jake!” The vivacious Asian chick pulled me in for a hug. The tiny thing must have only weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet, but when she yanked me hard into her skinny arms, I felt comforted for the first time in days.
Relief swept over me as I mumbled, “That’s me,” into her shiny black hair, trying to steal some of her enthusiasm.
She reached up to pat my back, telling me how sorry she was for what we were going through. “I love this girl too, you know,” she whispered, then pulled away and looked up into my eyes, hers glistening with unshed tears.
All too soon, she pulled away and seemed to bury her worry deep inside before she plopped down on the bed next to Aly. Smiling brightly as she chattered about random inconsequential things, she dug through her enormous purse until she found a hairbrush, then nudged Aly until she sat up and turned her back so Hilary could brush her hair.
Aly didn’t speak, but tears slipped from her eyes as Hilary rambled on.
When she noticed Aly reach up to swipe away a tear, Hilary stopped and caught Aly’s chin, turning her face toward hers. “Aly, honey, I know you don’t trust easy, but you trust me, and I’m telling you it’s going to work out,” she whispered.
Reaching her hand to brush Aly’s hair away from her face, Hilary went on. “See that man? He’s it for you. I knew when you told me about him a few weeks ago. I could see the twinkle in your eye. It had never been there before, and I want to see it back. So you get better and when you are, you’ll see I’m right.”
When she left a few hours later, Hilary squeezed my hand, sticking her business card with her cell number written on it inside my palm. “Stay strong and keep me posted, Jake. She doesn’t have too many people in her corner. She needs you.” With a gentle kiss on the cheek, Hilary left me to pretend to be brave again.
After ten days, my beautiful Alyson Road went to rehab a mute, and we—Bess, Lane, James, Barry, and even Camper—all continued to move forward, crossing our fingers she’d come around soon.
Aly
Disgusting salty-smelling sweat trickled down my back. Even the underarms of my T-shirt were soaked through.
“Good job, Aly!” my physical therapist chirped at me.
I didn’t respond; instead I repeated the task once more. Using only my arms, I transferred myself from the chair to the bed and back again. My right foot dragged on the floor, and my stupid stump hung there useless because I refused the temporary prosthetic, wanting the constant reminder of my half-a-woman status.
I went back and forth a few more times before finally falling back on the pillow. Settling my right leg and shutting my eyes, I tried to sneak in a cat nap, even though I didn’t believe they would let me stay there and be comfortable.
“Aly, we have one more exercise, and then you can go back to your room,” Little Miss Chipper said, and I nodded.
I didn’t talk anymore. Sadness coursed through my entire body, rendering words useless.
Why did I need to speak anyway? I wasn’t practicing law. I wasn’t working or studying or climbing stairs. I wasn’t falling in love. I was in an awful-smelling, ugly, bleached environment surrounded with other victims. Some suffered from strokes while others had been in accidents. They were a cross-section of society, both old people and young daredevils, and I despised all of them.
I was rehabbing, which was another way of saying I was broken and they were trying to fix me. There was no cure for losing half your leg, apparently.
“Crutches or chair?”
Sunny, my therapist, was so peppy and cute. She was all smiles, all the time, and I hated her.
I heaved myself back to the chair and up onto my crutches. No way was I riding in a wheelchair. They tried to do that with me a few times, and I became so combative, they had to sedate me.
We did the stupid stretches on the mat, then Sunny worked out the kinks in my neck. The neck rub was heavenly, so I actually muttered a thank-you before loping back to my room on the crutches.
Finally settled in my bed with my eyes closed, enjoying a quiet moment being left the hell alone, I heard a soft knock on my door and huffed out a sigh.
Who now?
No one ever left me alone. Jake came every day, always with goodies in hand, both for me and for the nurses. Sometimes they were smoothies, other days they were some organic vegan brownies that were supposed to be full of protein. Whatever. I wasn’t interested, not in food or anything else.
Jake would murmur with the nursing staff about me, probably going over my progress with them, and then would sit with me while I didn’t say shit. He’d run his hand up and down my arm, telling me all about the gym. And every day, he would say he was sorry.