“Nausea?”
“Yes.”
“Vomiting?”
Did he really have to spell it out? “Yes.”
Dr. Howarth nodded to himself, seemingly immune to Jed’s patented death glare. “When was your last major flare-up?”
“In the hospital, after the second surgery on my leg.”
“And since then?”
“It comes and goes.”
“That’s the unfortunate way of gastroparesis. It won’t ever go away entirely, but there are things we can do to make your quality of life better. The right diet, plenty of rest. I know you’re eager to get back on your feet, and when your leg is healed sufficiently you’ll find regular exercise a boon.”
Jed let the medical spiel go over his head. He’d heard it all before. “I guess.”
“Itisguess work at the start, make no mistake.” Dr. Howarth finished up his abdominal exam and pulled a chair up close to the bed. He didn’t seem to expect Jed to get up anytime soon. “Everything seems in order, relatively speaking, at least,” he said, “but I want to talk about the blood work you had done a few weeks ago. Your iron count is too low. I’m surprised you’re still standing.”
Jed sat up carefully and shrugged, recalling a similar conversation with a doctor at the VA hospital in Boston. “They gave me a shot.”
“That’s something, I suppose, but they probably should’ve kept you there a little while longer. Did the shot help? Iron injections can be hit and miss. Sometimes the side effects are as bad as the actual anemia.”
“It made me puke.”
“I see.” Dr. Howarth made a note. “Perhaps we can try a lower dose. What are you taking for pain? I see they prescribed you some tramadol. Is it working for you?”
Jed was silent. He hadn’t filled the scrip yet, and he had a sneaking suspicion that the doctor already knew that. Doctors were like that: an all-knowing force that seemed to see everything, even when there was nothing to see. Glenn’s face flashed uninvited into his mind. The medic was one of his oldest Army friends, and he’d saved his life that fateful day in Kirkuk, but Jed pushed the image away, back into its locked vault. Glenn was still in the field on the other side of the world. There was every chance he’d come back in a box, like Paul.
“Sergeant Cooper?”
“Hmm?”
Dr. Howarth eyed him for a moment, weighing him up. “You might find it more difficult to manage your pain when you commence physical therapy. If you need something, come and see me. We’re here to assist you in any way we can.”
Jed didn’t respond, and Dr. Howarth sighed. “Let me tell you something, Jed. I spend two days a week at the VA, and you soldiers are all the same. There’s no shame in asking for help.”
“Thanks, but I’m fine.” Jed slid off the bed, finding his feet on the second try. Part of the reason he’d opted to do his rehab at the local hospital and not the VA had been to get away from misplaced psychological bullshit. He’d been shot in the leg, not the brain. He didn’t need any help to understand that, but it seemed the sky bridge that connected the civilian hospital to the VA just wasn’t fucking long enough.
HELEFTthe hospital with an iron shot crawling through his veins and made his way back to Kim’s flashy BMW. The car lit up like a flare when he unlocked it. He cringed. Really? Like it wasn’t bad enough that he was driving around in a pimp wagon? The last vehicle he’d driven had been a military Humvee. Not exactly heated leather seats and electric windows.
He backed out of the parking space, going easy on his throbbing leg, and pulled out onto the main street, considering his options for the rest of the day. For the next few months, most of his time would be taken up by rehab and physical therapy, but there was no denying he was already bored with life in sleepy Ashton. He didn’t miss dicing with death, but he missed being part of something in constant motion. Add in the restriction on his physical activity, and he felt like he was losing his mind.
The town border flew by as he debated doing yet something else he’d been avoiding. Kim’s brother lived in a cabin by the lake on the outskirts of town. Jed had put off stopping by his place for a few weeks, perhaps in a vain hope that life at Nick’s place wasn’t like sticking pins in his eyes, but as he rounded a bend in the road and saw the mountains surrounding the lake in the distance, they suddenly seemed more welcoming than Nick’s chaotic family home.
Mind made up, Jed left the main road and headed north to the lake. He pulled the car to a stop in front of the only dwelling for miles and hauled himself out, taking in his surroundings as he calculated the distance back to the Cooper house. Three miles, he reckoned… a quick jog six months ago.
Probably a two-day crawl now, if you could make it at all.
Jed glanced around the tidy yard, stifling the pessimistic monster who’d taken up residence in his brain. He knew the lakes around Ashton well, but he didn’t remember the cabin, which was exactly as Kim had described it—small, run-down, and very much a work in progress. Curious, Jed looked beyond the cabin and cultivated vegetable patch to the strange outbuilding opening onto the banks of the lake. Complete with doors and windows, the huge upturned boat was an interesting retirement for a disused vessel. The boat was far too big to have sailed on the lake, and Jed wondered where it had come from. It reminded him of the giant wooden houseboats he’d seen in Sri Lanka, just upside down and without the vibrant decorations.
A black-and-white collie appeared in the yard. The dog sniffed Jed suspiciously, padding a full circle around him before she set off toward the outbuilding. He followed her, figuring she’d lead him to her owner eventually, and his faith turned out to be well placed. The collie was a few feet away from the wooden structure when she let out a bark that brought her owner out.
A youthful man emerged from the boat shed. His face was smooth and boyish, set off by a buzz of dark stubble cropped close to his head. Jed wanted to call him a kid, but he knew from Kim that Max O’Dair was twenty-five.
Damn. Jed trailed to a stop, swallowing hard. Kim was an attractive woman, but she hadnothingon her brother. His coal-dark eyes were almost black in contrast to the small silver studs in his ears, and they were warm as he held out his hand. “Hey, I’m Max. Can I help you?”