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The pool volleyball net was Conner’s idea to help Lita with her physical therapy. He also had the idea to take her to the horse sanctuary owned by his assistant. Angela and her husband rescue horses and train them to be therapy animals. We spent the afternoon there yesterday. Lita was given the gentlest horse to ride. At first I balked when Conner urged me to saddle up. I’m glad I gave in. Though I hadn’t sat in a saddle since I was a child, I had no trouble remembering the simple joy of trotting alongside my sister. Conner stayed behind, content to watch from a chair and chat with Angela’s husband as she led us on a leisurely walk.
Lita raises her arms and smacks the ball back to Conner. He lightly taps it back in her direction. She nails the ball with her fist and it lands in the water on Conner’s side.
“Point!” She claps her hands. “Even though you weren’t exactly trying.”
“I was totally trying. Volleyball just isn’t my game.” He scoops up the ball. “Your serve.”
“Not your game,” she mimics. “Stop letting me win or I’ll tell my sister you’re a wimp.”
“She knows. That’s the reason she sleeps with me; pity.”
“Weirdo.” Lita laughs.
She serves the beach ball.
Conner deliberately gets under it so it bounces off his head, sails over the new pool fence and rolls under a patio chair.
“Watch it.” I move outside so they can see me. “You’ll give him another concussion.”
Conner rubs his head. “Yeah, that really hurt, Lita. Don’t be so savage.”
Her mouth falls open. “It’s a beach ball, Conner. It probably weighs about three ounces.”
Conner holds his arms out to me. “Honey, I need you to save me from your brute of a sister.”
Retrieving the ball, I tuck it under one arm. “If you kids can’t learn to play nice then you won’t be allowed to play at all.”
Lita yawns and wades to the steps. “I’m getting tired anyway. Thanks for the game, Conner.”
“No problem,” he replies, looking at me.
Lita shakes water out of her hair and grabs the towel I hold out for her. “I thought you said you’d be home late,” she says.
“Changed my mind.”
She nods and then yawns again. Though she looks far healthier now than she did when she first emerged from her coma, she still gets tired easily. But she seems to be having a good day. Not all of her days are so upbeat. Sometimes she gets quiet for hours. Other times she panics suddenly, convinced that she’s about to be lost to the darkness again. Her therapists help her work through the emotions. The things I take for granted, like falling asleep and waking up, will never be easy for her.
Lita drapes the towel around her shoulders. “As you can see, I borrowed your bikini. Hope it’s all right.”
“Always.” Hard to believe there was a time when we would go to war with each other over borrowing a piece of clothing.
She combs her fingers through her hair. “I think I might watch something on my tablet and then go to bed.”
“Do you need help with anything?” I always ask that question.
My twin pulls her towel tighter and stares at me.
It’s not the first time that I wonder what she sees.
A face just like her face. A terrible sister who clashed with her relentlessly. The person she’s now stuck relying on.
“No,” Lita says softly. “I don’t need any help.”
Her doctors have encouraged her to look ahead to the future, perhaps finish her education. So far she’s given no sign she’s even considering the idea.
There are times when I’m tempted to ask if she remembers any part of those endless hours when I sat beside her, speaking to her far more than I was willing to speak to anyone else. And never with any reassurance that she could hear a word.
Please don’t take my sister away…
