I frown at the thought of Lindsey lifting the wheelchair but remind myself she's going to be doing a lot of that in the next few weeks. Best to see if she has a problem with it now.
I watch as the orderly shows Lindsey how to fold the leg-extension prop and then the chair. She waves him away when he offers to load it, though, and swings it up and into the space beside my daughter like a pro.
Two shakes later, we're in bumper-to-bumper Wilmington traffic, jockeying for position with the tourists on their way to the beach for summer vacation. "Thanks again. For getting me out of there. I didn't want to be that guy busting out of the rehab in a hospital gown with my butt sticking out."
"Daddy, you said butt!"
Lindsey and I laugh due to Dani's infectious giggles from the peanut gallery in back of us.
Lindsey taps her fingers against the steering wheel in time to the music drifting from the speakers and glances my way via the rearview mirror.
"I can totally sympathize with you on that. It's kind of like me staying with Bronwyn. I mean, I love her dearly, and she's been gracious and wonderful."
"But?" There's definitely one there.
"But," Lindsey drawls, "she's hovering like a mother hen. If I'm moving here, I need to do this on my own terms, you know?"
Her independence is obviously important to her. I like that.
"I get it. Just remember she cares about you."
"And I appreciate it," Lindsey says, nodding as her gaze returns to the road in front of her. "But I have to stand on my own and figure this out, and I'm?—"
Lindsey breaks off, and I make no bones about watching her closely until she finishes that thought—whatever it is.
When she doesn't, I narrow my gaze on her until she inhales.
"Fine," she says, lowering her voice and meeting my gaze in the mirror once more. "I guess I'm afraid I'll get a little too dependent on her. I don't want that. I have to do this myself. Because that's the way that it is. The way it's going to be. That means I have to prepare for it, and this is a way of doing that."
I want to argue but can't. Because I get it. The whole single-parent thing is hard, and it takes a lot of adjustments along the way. Doing all the things physically is one thing but the emotional load? That takes some adjusting, too. I admire Lindsey's determination and tenacity to figure things out. "How did you break the news to her?"
Her fingers start tapping again, this time more rapidly than before. I narrow my gaze on the tell and shift my attention back to her face. When she remains silent and avoids looking at me, I groan. "You didn't tell her."
I see her grimace via the rear-view mirror.
"I tried. But the words just wouldn't come out."
"So what does she think you're doing today?"
"Um…giving Dani a ride."
"Lindsey." I huff out a breath that's half amusement and half disbelief. "Gabe knows I'm being released today. I talked to him this morning."
Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.
"Well, I guess that'll break the ice when I talk to her next then."
Several seconds pass while I study those frosty-pine eyes. "What about your clothes? Are they still at Bronwyn's?"
"Most of them."
I lean my head back against the rest and swipe my good hand over my mouth. The bristles feel odd against my fingers. I'm not used to having a beard since firefighters have to be clean shaven for the respirator to fit properly. "Do I need to find someone else to stay with the girls?" I leave me out of the equation. My girls are the important ones here. Maybe she'd agreed because of me needing care, but when it boils down to it? I have to know they're okay.
"What? Why would you do that?"
"Why would I find someone else?" I ask her, sliding her a reproachful glance. "You're really asking that?"
"Fine," she said, emphasizing the word. "I'll clear things up with Bronwyn as soon as we get back and settled."
