He hurled the soft ball at the wall behind Frank with all his pent-up anger and fear. “Aahh! I can’t squeeze it and I’ll never be able to.”
The ball hit with a soft thump, then tumbled down the wall to the floor.
Frank retrieved the ball while Houston stood there panting and feeling like a two-year-old who’d just thrown a tantrum.
“Feel better?” Frank asked mildly.
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” He sank back into the half-turned chair and ran his fingers through his hair, taking a deep breath in exasperation. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”
Frank shrugged. “Hey, don’t worry about it. You’re goingthrough a tough time. Though I’m thinking this isn’t just about your hand, is it?”
It was about his hand, his life, Josie, everything.
He was a disaster. A physical and emotional wreck. With a useless hand and a useless heart.
He was in love with Josie. He knew that as clearly as he knew his thumb didn’t bend. Yet he hadn’t told her. He had stood there like a dumb ass and let her walk away. Protecting his vaunted control hadn’t been worth losing Josie, wasn’t worth facing every day alone.
He loved her. Her generosity, her smile, her chatty run-on sentences. He loved everything about her. And he wanted her back.
The question was, would she take him? Him, an asshole of a man with little to offer. Not particularly good at relationships, frightened to be a father, and facing an uncertain career path.
But he’d never know unless he tried.
When Frank handed him the ball a second time, he took it. He gave it his best effort. He really did.
“It’s going to take time, Dr. Hayes. Weeks of therapy.”
But his hand didn’t move.
“Are you using your hand at home, Dr. Hayes? Because part of what you need to learn how to do is adjust how you use your hand. You shouldn’t be ignoring it, but neither should you expect it to do what it did before. You’ve got to relearn some things, change.”
Easy for Frank to say. But Houston heard the words, really heard them for the first time, and knew they were true. He couldn’t ignore the problem or sit around waiting for a miracle anymore.
“I was always good at school,” he said, begrudgingly.
Frank gave a laugh. “You’ll ace this yet.”
After twenty more minutes of exercises designed to manipulate his fingers into movement, Houston felt sick to his stomach from concentrating so hard.
It was a relief when Frank massaged his hand again and rested an ice pack against it to reduce any swelling or pain that might occur from the intense activity.
“Well, see you tomorrow, Dr. Hayes. Same time.”
“Thanks, Frank. Sorry about the ball.”
“I’ve seen worse, trust me.”
Houston stood up, rolled his neck to alleviate tension, and went to meet with Dr. Stanhope, the chief of staff.
He knew what he had to do.
It was time to resign.
Then he was going to go to Josie on his knees and beg her for a second chance.
Josie grabbed the last tissue in the box on the couch and blew. She coughed, nostrils completely plugged. Tossing the used tissue wad onto the towering pile with its germ-laden brethren, she shuffled across the living room to wash her hands.
She had a cold. Which seemed an appropriate representation of her feelings for the last five weeks. Exhausted, miserable, teary-eyed, and foggy-brained.