“That’s the way. Nice and slow,” Laverne encouraged. “Use the crutches to support the motion, just as I showed you.”
As awful as the recovery was, Phoebe knew that Jake could handle it better than any of the rest of the family. He was not prone to self-pity, as she and Perry could certainly be. Things happened, and Jake usually found a way to roll with them. But what he wasn’t good at was relying on others, and now he would have to.
When he’d finished his session with Laverne, he settled back into his wheelchair and Phoebe pushed him out of the training room and down the hall. Sunlight spilled through the windows, reflecting off the sheen of the floor. “What I’d give to be out there today,” Jake mumbled.
“Don’t they let you outside?” she asked.
He shrugged. “They air us out, for short bits of time. But that’s as you get closer to discharge.”
She knew he felt like a caged animal in here. “Give it time. You’re doing great.”
When they got back to his room, a young woman in pink scrubs was setting a lunch tray on Jake’s nightstand. Her face lit up when she saw them. Or rather, Jake, Phoebe realized.
“Hey there, Jake. Brought you extra fries. And more of the tapioca pudding you like.” She winked at Jake.
“Thanks, Tiff. You’re the best.”
Phoebe tried not to roll her eyes when Tiffany fussed over the tray, opening the pudding for him and unwrapping the plastic spoon. “You let me know if you want any more. I’ll sneak you some.” There was that wink again. Phoebe fought the urge to ask her if she had something stuck in her eye.
Jake seemed embarrassed, but he thanked her again.
Tiffany tossed her hair and flashed him one more smile. “Bye for now!”
“Wait, where are you going?” Phoebe cried. She had no idea how to help Jake out of the chair, and she knew he was already drained from his OT session.
Tiffany halted, and looked Phoebe up and down. “To deliver lunches.”
“You’re not going to help him get into bed?”
“Oh, I can’t do that. I’m not certified staff.”
Phoebe scoffed. “Well, who is? He can’t just sit here.”
Tiffany glared.
“It’s okay,” Jake interjected. “Thanks, Tiffany. We’ll be fine.”
Tiffany smiled sweetly at Jake once more before leaving.
“Geez, Phoebs. Can you not alienate the staff? She’s a nice girl.”
“She’s a moron, and you’re engaged.” Phoebe bent down and adjusted the footings of his wheelchair. “If you fall on my watch, I will kill you. Shouldn’t Laverne be here for this?”
But Jake was already trying to lift himself out, balancing on one crutch. “Not unless I plan to take Laverne home with me, too,” he grunted. “This is part of my rehab. I can do it.”
She watched nervously as he lifted himself using the armrests. “How can I help? Do you want me to move the chair?” Oh, how she wished a therapist was there. She’d even take Tapioca Tiffany. If he fell now, with the rods and screws in his leg,shewould need therapy.
Jake gritted his teeth as he balanced on his good leg. “Yes, back the chair up. Quickly.”
Phoebe whisked the wheelchair back and stood close, arms out. “You’ve got this,” she told him. She hoped she sounded more convincing than she felt.
Slowly, Jake managed to pivot so that his back was to the bed. She winced along with him as he leaned against it and slowly dragged himself up over the edge. At one point he caught sight of her expression. “Geez, Phoebs. Sorry this is so hard for you.”
“Shut up and keep going!”
Ever so slowly he scooted back against the pillows. When he finally collapsed against them, Phoebe settled in the bedside chair. She swiped the glass of cranberry juice from his lunch tray and sucked it loudly through the straw.
“Jesus. Next time I’m coming when you’re already in bed.”
