I look over at Clark, who suddenly seems very pale under his tan. Actually, he is not so much pale as slightly green. “Charlotte,” he gasps. “Your head… I didn’t realize that it looked…”

  “She’s missing half her skull,” Valerie says. “How did you think it looked?”

  “I don’t know,” he mumbles. “I just thought…”

  I see a few beads of sweat break out on his forehead. Then he whirls around and races in the direction of my bathroom. I hear him retching.

  Valerie rolls her eyes at me. Usually she’s rolling her eyes about me to someone else, so I like the change.

  “Quite a gem you’ve got there,” she comments before she spritzes her hands with alcohol and leaves the room.

  Clark emerges from the bathroom a minute later, walking slightly unsteadily. He won’t even look at me. Somehow I think of when I showed Jamie my skull. He didn’t seem fazed at all. But then again, his own head was covered in staples.

  “Listen, Charlotte,” Clark says. “I’ve got to go. But I’ll be back tomorrow morning.”

  “You promise?” I ask him. My voice sounds tiny, like I’m five years old.

  “I promise,” Clark says firmly.

  Then he gives me a little awkward wave. He doesn’t try to hug me or kiss me, and it occurs to me that he hasn’t done either of those things since I got hurt. He doesn’t even seem to want to touch me unless he has to.

  I watch my husband race out of the room as fast as he can go.

  Chapter 44

  Five Months After

  Clark is supposed to come the next morning at eight a.m., and this time he’s only ten minutes late. Valerie, fortunately, predicted this, and scheduled us for an extra fifteen minutes at the end. So really, as she explained, he’s early. Except not really.

  As soon as Valerie walked into the room, I asked her if she would put my helmet on. Even though I hate that helmet, I don’t really want to be without it when Clark is here. I don’t think I could bear it if he got that look on his face again

  I’m still in bed when he arrives, which is part of the plan. Valerie is supposed to teach him how to help me get dressed. I’m not sure if “help” is exactly the right word though, considering I can’t do any of the dressing process myself. Basically, she’s teaching him how to dress me. That’s more accurate.

  Clark is wearing a T-shirt and jeans, and looks incredibly fit. He doesn’t look like the sort of man who should be learning how to take care of his disabled wife. He looks like he ought to be out there on a surfboard or something with a fit blonde supermodel. Especially with the tan he’s sporting.

  I’m really lucky he’s here for me.

  “Okay,” Clark says, rubbing his hands together. “What do we do?”

  “We’ll get her pants and socks on while she’s in bed,” Valerie says, “then we’ll sit her up to put on her shirt.”

  Right now, I’m wearing a hospital gown, which is stained with the remains of my breakfast (oatmeal). I can’t wait to get out of it. Valerie pulls back my blanket then hands my socks over to Clark to put them on. Once those are in place, Valerie starts lifting my gown up, but I stop her with my right hand.

  “What’s wrong, Charly?” Valerie asks.

  So somehow I’d forgotten until this very moment that I was wearing a brief. I know, how could I forget, right? But I did. And the idea of my handsome, virile husband seeing me in what is (let’s face it) essentially a diaper is too mortifying for words. He can’t see me this way. He can’t.

  Except what am I supposed to say? Clark just volunteered to do all my care after I leave here. So how can I possibly get around this?

  The answer is that I can’t.

  “Nothing,” I mumble.

  Valerie flips up my gown, revealing the blue plastic briefs underneath, secured in place with four pieces of tape. I can’t even look at Clark. And just when I feel like I couldn’t possibly feel any more humiliated, I hear Valerie announce, “This is wet. She needs to be changed.”

  Clark, who has apparently been playing Angry Birds on his phone this whole time or I don’t know what, gasps, “She’s wearing a diaper?”

  Valerie frowns at him. “We prefer not to use that word. She’s not an infant.”

  “But that’s what it is…” Clark shakes his head. “She really needs that?”

  “Obviously,” Valerie replies impatiently. She clucks her tongue at me. “Charly, didn’t you realize you were wet?”

  “No, I didn’t,” I mumble. I wish I could crawl under the bed and just disappear. Why can’t Clark just accept this and move on? Besides, if he’s around me all the time to help me to the bathroom, I might not need the briefs when I get home.

  Thankfully, Valerie changes me herself before instructing Clark on how to put on my pants. Sweatpants, that is. I wonder if I’ll ever wear anything besides sweatpants. Maybe shorts. Maybe a skirt. Anything would be better than sweatpants. I really hate sweatpants.

  Valerie helps me sit up on the bed. Since I’m already wearing my helmet, she’s selected a zippered hoodie sweatshirt for me to wear. I can get my right arm through the sleeve easily, but the left is tricky. Valerie lets Clark struggle with it a bit, and I can hear him grunting on my left side.

  “God, this arm is impossible,” he mutters. “How do you do this every morning?”

  “You get used to it,” Valerie says.

  “Couldn’t we just leave her in the gown?”

  “Sure,” Valerie replied. “I mean, why bother ever changing her clothes at all? It’s not like she’s going anywhere important.”

  “Exactly,” Clark says.

  Even I realized she was being sarcastic that time. I’m pretty sure Clark completely missed it though.

  Clark manages to get my arm through the sleeve, but he seems very put out by the whole thing. Honestly, I’m beginning to worry that Clark had no idea what he volunteered himself for.

  I feel like he’s one more revelation away from throwing up his hands and walking away forever.

  _____

  In the afternoon, I have physical therapy with Natalie, and Clark sits in for that session as well. Lately, during our one-on-one sessions, Natalie and I have spent more time working on wheelchair mobility rather than walking, since I get to do walking during my group, and anyway, she’s told me repeatedly that I’m mostly going to be using the wheelchair when I get home. But today, Natalie gets me up with my hemi-walker and starts walking me across the hallway.

  “She’s been doing much better with walking,” Natalie tells Clark, after I’ve done about ten steps, with Natalie supporting me on my left side, and holding me up by the waistband of my pants. I feel like I can’t control my left leg, but a lot of the times it just moves forward on its own volition. It’s sort of weird. Other times, it doesn’t budge, and Natalie has to nudge it forward.

  “Yes, she’s doing great,” Clark says in this overly enthusiastic voice. The kind of voice you’d use to tell a five year old that their fingerpainting was a masterpiece.

  After another ten steps, Natalie and I are both exhausted, so she asks Clark to fetch my chair, and I collapse into it.

  “Obviously, she’s going to mostly be using the wheelchair,” Natalie says. “But this is great exercise.”

  Clark nods. “Sure…”

  “Unfortunately,” Natalie says, “her insurance will only pay for a wheelchair or a walker, not both. So we’ll get the wheelchair paid for, and you’ll have to pay for the walker out of pocket.“

  Clark frowns. “Why do we have to buy a walker at all?”

  “I just explained to you…”

  “Yeah, for exercise, right.” Clark shakes his head. “So let me get this straight. I’m going to be getting her out of bed in the morning, bathing her, dressing her, helping her to the bathroom, making her food, giving her medication. And on top of that, you expect me to try to basically drag her across the room so she gets some ‘exercise’?”

  Natalie’s lips form a straight line. “Exercise is incredibly important. For her bones, her general health—”

  “Her general health?” Clark raises his eyebrows. “I think it’s a little bit late to be worrying about that, don’t you think? I mean, look at her.”

  I hate the way he’s talking about me like I can’t understand him, like I’m not sitting right there. I want to tell him that he’s being a jerk, but the truth is, he has a good point. He is going to be doing a lot for me. And he’s right that it does seem like a waste of time to be focusing on walking when it’s not something I’m going to be doing a lot of.

  Don’t get me wrong, I love walking with Natalie. Even though I’m terrible at it, it makes me feel almost normal again even though I fully recognize that I don’t look normal. But I have to admit, it’s not entirely practical.

  “Look,” Clark says to Natalie. “I think it’s great what you guys are doing for her here. But let’s be realistic. At home, she’s going to be in the wheelchair a hundred percent of the time. That’s just the way it has to be.” He looks down at me and smiles, “Charlotte, you’re okay with that, aren’t you?”

  I force a smile to my lips. And I nod.

  Chapter 45

  Five Months After

  The worst time to need the bathroom is during the nursing change of shift. It happens at eight in the morning and four in the afternoon. The change of shift means that the nurses are busy signing out to one another, too busy to take a patient to the bathroom. No matter how badly I have to go.

  But it’s not like I can control when I have to go.

  At about a quarter after eight, I feel the urge come over me. Number two. I jam my thumb vigorously into the red call button, as if that would make a difference.

  About ten minutes later, it’s too late.

  By now, I’m used to it. That’s what the briefs are for, after all. No, I don’t like being cleaned up after wetting myself or worse, but the nurses here are nice and don’t make me feel bad about it. The only reason I care today is that Clark will be here any minute to practice dressing me with Valerie. I really would prefer if he didn’t find me sitting in my own shit.

  I know I should be practical. When we get home, Clark is going to be cleaning me up on a daily basis. But like I said, I’m certain once I get home the accidents will be less frequent. Clark is my husband. I want him to still feel attracted to me, not grossed out.

  About five minutes after I relieve myself, Clark walks into the room with Valerie. Just my luck, it’s the one day he’s actually on time. They don’t smell anything, but they will soon.

  Clark is dressed casually as usual, in a T-shirt and jeans. But somehow, he looks especially handsome today. I can’t help but notice. It reminds me about the fact that it’s been a really long time since I’ve had sex. Hell, it’s been a really long time since I’ve kissed a man. Or been physically close to a man who wasn’t doing physical therapy on me.

  I expect that at some point Clark and I will resume a more intimate relationship. I know that might take some time and adjusting though. I’m not going to push the issue. I can be patient.

  “Okay,” Valerie says, rubbing her hands together. “We’re going to work on lower body dressing today. Sound good, Charly?”

  Now might be a good time tell them about my accident. I should probably tell them, just to warn them. But I can’t make myself say it. Especially considering how good Clark looks today.

  Valerie takes my silence as a positive response. She pulls back the covers from my bare legs, and Clark winces. “Christ,” he says. “Don’t they have razors here, Charlotte?”

  The truth is, until that second, I hadn’t even realized that it had been months since I shaved my legs. It hadn’t even occurred to me. There were so many other things to be embarrassed about besides a little hair on my legs. I didn’t think I was that horribly hairy.

  But now that I’m looking where Clark is looking, I can see he has a point.

  “You’re welcome to shave them,” Valerie says.

  Clark snorts. “No thank you.”

  Maybe I can get my mother to shave my legs.

  And oh God, what about my eyebrows? I haven’t had my eyebrows done in such a long time. They probably look terrible. And what about that one hair under my chin that I always have to pluck? That hair must be like six inches long by now! It’s practically a ponytail.

  My hair-related thoughts are interrupted by the stench that suddenly fills the room. And I remember that I have much worse things to be embarrassed about than a single hair.

  It’s horrible. Particularly horrible today, for some reason. Not that fecal matter ever smells good. But there is some sort of spectrum. And today is a bad day. Maybe it’s something I ate.

  “Oh my God!” Clark gasps, clenching his palm dramatically over his face like there is poisonous gas in the room. “What is that?”

  “Charly,” Valerie scolds me, shaking her head. “Why didn’t you tell me you had an accident?”

  “I didn’t realize,” I lie.

  Valerie looks skeptical. “Seriously?”

  I shrug.

  Valerie shakes her head. “Well,” she says thoughtfully, “it’s a good opportunity for Clark to learn incontinence care.” She turns to my husband. “Let’s get her cleaned up.”

  Clark pales under his tan. “What? I don’t want to do that.”

  Valerie puts her hands on her hips. “Mr. Douglas, if you can’t get your wife cleaned up after she has an accident, how do you expect to take care of her?”

  It’s a really good question. A really, really good question.

  Clark just stands there, open-mouthed, for a minute. Finally, his shoulders sag. “Okay,” he says.

  Valerie rolls me over and instructs Clark on how to get me cleaned up. I’m glad Clark is behind me so I don’t have to see his face. I’m sure he’s less than thrilled about the entire thing.

  But he’s doing it. That’s love, I’ll tell you. I feel bad that I ever doubted him.

  When I am dressed and settled into my wheelchair, I can finally look Clark in the eyes again. Except I’m noticing he’s having some trouble looking me in the eyes. He seems very focused on the whiteboard overlooking my bed.

  “So,” Clark says, more to Valerie than to me, “if we’re all done, I really should get going.”

  “Would you like to sit in on Charly’s Walking Group?” Valerie offers.

  Although it’s pretty obvious what his answer is going to be, I still feel disappointed when he shakes his head. “I really have to get going.”

  “That’s okay,” I say quickly, not wanting to let on how I’m feeling. My care is so high maintenance, the last thing I want to be is emotionally high maintenance.

  I raise my head to look at him. This is the point when a normal husband would probably give his wife a kiss on the lips goodbye. But when Clark leans in, he just brushes his lips against my forehead. Like I’m a child or an elderly aunt.

  I guess it will take time to get back to where we were. Good thing I’ve got plenty of time.

  Chapter 46

  Two Months Before

  Back in the old days, a woman might discover her husband was cheating by finding lipstick on his collar while doing his laundry. Or maybe she’d smell an unfamiliar perfume on his clothing. Or she’d overhear him talking flirtatiously on the phone.

  But this is the twenty-first century and I first start to suspect Clark of cheating because of a text message.

  Usually I wake up at six in the morning and am out the door by seven, but yesterday, our morning clinic was pushed back due to some sort of carpet cleaning adventure, so I decided to sleep in until a luxurious eight o’clock. I woke up feeling deliciously well-rested, and only slightly resentful of a still-snoring Clark lying next to me in bed.

  After I got out of the shower, I heard Clark’s phone buzz with a text message. I swear, I wasn’t trying to spy on him or anything. I just wanted to see if it was something important that I needed to wake him up for. I picked up his iPhone, still attached to the charger, and saw the message on the screen:

  Is she gone yet?

  There was no name attached to the number. And no further messages aside from that one.

  I didn’t pry any further. Well, I couldn’t. Clark locks his phone and I don’t know the code to unlock it. Otherwise, I’m pretty sure I would have scoured every message on his phone.

  I never said a word about it to Clark, but I was distracted all day, thinking about that message. It was all I could think about. Maybe there was some benign reason somebody could be asking Clark if I had left the apartment yet, but in my head, I couldn’t think of anything that made sense aside from a girlfriend on the side.

  Bridget agreed to let me come over after I was done with work, and I was practically tearing my hair out by then. Bridget looked comparatively calm in her new uniform of ripped sweatpants and a T-shirt stained in baby food.

  “Is she gone yet?” Bridget repeats, mulling over the phrase, while she opens a can of something she called “baby ravioli” for Chelsea.

  “He’s cheating on me, right?” I say.

  “Not necessarily,” Bridget says. “Maybe he’s getting the apartment cleaned?”

  “No,” I say. “I’m the one who deals with the cleaning woman.”

  “Maybe he’s planning a surprise party for you?” Bridget suggests.

  I just look at her.

  “Okay, fine,” she sighs. She dumps the can of ravioli on Chelsea’s tray. Chelsea picks up the slimy little noodles with her chubby fingers and shoves them in her mouth happily. “You really think Clark would cheat?”

  I think back to Clark’s revelation about having been fired over a year ago. “Yeah. I think he’s definitely capable of it.”

  Bridget is silent for a minute, thinking. Finally, she says, “Hey, how do you know that ‘she’ even refers to you?”

  I frown. “Who else would it be?”

  Bridget shrugs. “It could be anyone. I mean, what if it has something to do with work? Like, maybe ‘she’ is a client? Or a judge?”

 

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