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Jesse slipped his wife a look. A secret message passed between them, and just when I was about to pound my palms on the table and demand to know what was going on, our waiter arrived to take our drink orders. Jesse ordered a Coke with me, as he always did now that I’d virtually stopped drinking. The girls would usually still order a drink, but Rowen ordered a Sprite. Josie whined about not wanting to be the only lush of the group and wound up ordering a Cherry Coke.
I waved my finger around the table. “The four of us are together and no one’s drinking? Cue the end of the world.”
Jesse gave an intentional clearing of his throat.
Rolling my eyes, I modified my original comment. “Fine, the three of us are together and no one’s drinking.” This time, my finger only indicated Josie, Rowen, and myself.
“So, really, how are you doing, Black?” Rowen dug a piece of bread from the basket before passing the basket around the table. I was opening my mouth to answer when she added, “The non-wiseass, sarcastic version please.”
Josie chuckled as she placed a piece of bread on my plate before snagging one for herself.
“I’m okay, I guess,” I said, feeling like having my eyelids stapled open would have been less torturous than talking about how I was doing and my . . . feelings.
“You’re okay, you guess?” Rowen repeated as she spread butter on her bread. When she was done, she tore it in half and gave a piece to Jesse. Jesse just put his piece back on her plate. “What does that mean in non-vague terms?”
I sawed off a piece of my bread and chewed on it for longer than necessary. “It means I have good days and bad days like before. I just experience those good and bad days from a wheelchair.” My words came out sharper than I’d intended, but if it upset anyone around the table, they didn’t show it.
“What’s the latest news on your spine? How much longer do they think you’ll be in that wheelchair?” Rowen took a sip of her water after she’d taken a small bite of bread. She winced and took another sip. Jesse seemed to be watching her without blinking.
“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” I said, gripping the arms of my wheelchair. “Why is everyone so concerned about me getting out of it when they’re not the ones confined to it in the first place? Why is everyone so fucking concerned with what’s going on with my spine?”
Josie’s hand dropped to my leg and gave it a squeeze that warned me to cool my jets. My eyes closed as I took a slow breath. I was just about to apologize to Rowen when she spoke up.
“We’re all so concerned about you and your spine and your defensive disposition because we care about you. We also were around to see you go from paralyzed from the neck down to only being paralyzed from the waist down, and we’re hopeful the mobility trend will continue.” Rowen took another sip of water.
Jesse scanned the restaurant, relief flooding his expression when he saw the waiter approaching with our drinks.
“If we didn’t care what happened to you, we wouldn’t ask, so don’t take a shit on us for caring. It would be a lot easier to not care.” Rowen’s words were searing, but her tone was quiet, almost as if she were nursing a headache. “So why don’t you sideline the a-hole act for a couple hours so we can enjoy the rest of the night? You can slide back into it tomorrow if you want.”
Josie was pursing her lips to keep from smiling while staring into her lap, and Jesse looked as if he were about to flag down the waiter before Rowen and I got into one of our infamous horn-locking “discussions.” When the waiter set our drinks in front of us, Rowen downed half of her Sprite before we’d finished ordering. We all ordered the New York strip, but when Rowen ordered hers medium-rare like the rest of
ours, Jesse’s forehead wrinkled.
She lifted her eyes to the ceiling. “Make that medium-well.”
“If anyone catches wind of the wife of one of the biggest cattle ranching names in the area ordering a steak a hair below well-done, the Walker name will take a serious tarnishing,” I said in a lowered voice.
This time it was Jesse who lifted his eyes to the ceiling.
“So Josie mentioned something about an MRI,” Rowen said with her straw between her teeth. “That you’re pretty much refusing to have one done because you’re a cheapskate. Is that right?”
I wrapped my arm around Josie’s neck, drew her close, and mussed up her hair with my other hand. “Traitor.” I gave her hair one last muss before letting her go. “In so many words, yeah, that’s right. Doc Murphy did recommend an MRI, and yes, it would cost more than the cozy little trailer I grew up in was worth in its prime, but the thing is, the MRI won’t make me better. It can’t diagnose something that can be fixed with surgery or therapy. All it will do is tell us what happened.” I shrugged and motioned at my legs. “I already know what’s happened, so I think I’ll save myself the five grand, but thanks for inquiring.”
“Are they sure that fall didn’t break something inside your head too? The part that regulates logical thinking?”
I put on my most impressive smirk, but if it fazed Rowen, she didn’t show it. “That part got knocked loose way back when I was a baby and Clay would have sooner dropped me than let a bottle of hooch slip from his hand.”
“Get the MRI,” Rowen said, followed by a long exhale. “If only for your peace of mind.”
“Hey, Sterling-Walker, I don’t need peace of mind to accept what’s happened to me, and I don’t need peace of mind to accept what’s going to happen to me in the future. I do, however, need the five grand since I’ll be lucky to get hired on part-time at the thrift store on Main, sorting people’s used crap and making minimum wage.”
“Garth—” Rowen started, shaking her head.
“I’m paralyzed. Every day I stay this way adds a few more percentage points to the odds of me staying this way for good. The fancy machine isn’t going to tell me something I don’t already know.” I took a long drink of my Coke, wishing I’d ordered a double whiskey instead. I wasn’t angry at Rowen for asking questions—I was angry at the questions for being there in the first place. I was angry at the situation that had put me in the position of those kinds of questions existing. I was furious at myself for not being able to fix this or figure out all the answers or make up my goddamned mind about what I should do moving forward.
Rowen shoved her seat forward, her eyes narrowing at me in a way that had me bracing myself to get it, when Jesse spoke up. “So we’re going to be moving back to Willow Springs.” He glanced at his wife, seeming to gauge her emotions. “At least for part of the year.”
That shifted the conversation topic real quick. Josie’s and my heads whipped toward him, our jaws practically hanging open.
