Chapter 2

Unlike the doctors and therapists who typically made themselves scarce after Paul had answered their question in his usual manner, Lois Silverthorn didn't swallow her tongue or take her leave.

"That's a bad break," she said. "I know it's got to be extra-hard, for an athlete, to suffer a loss like yours."

Paul looked around the room at his three cohorts -- all of them paraplegics, or worse. All of them broken U.S. military men from Afghanistan or Iraq. At least one of the three was, quite obviously, worse off physically than Paul.

And the others -- the two guys who had been maimed by war but who hadn't been big-deal pro athletes. Were they supposed to be dismissive of their enormous loss? Were they supposed to think it was worse, for Paul? Just because he'd been a jock?

Paul didn't think so.

"Yeah, it's bad," he said to Lois. "But no worse than for these guys."

"That's true," she said at once. "And, y'know, when you go to the Therapy Center? --You're not going to believe what you see, down there!"

Paul had mixed feelings about Lois Silverthorn's reaction to his injuries. On the one hand, he recognized that her response -- her refusal to cower, or to overreact to his sad, sad "fallen athlete" persona -- was exactly the proper way for an adult to behave.

He recognized that no amount of sympathy, however sincere, was going to grow back his missing limbs.

On the other hand, Paul conceded to himself that a little bit of express, maybe understated personal sympathy from Lois would have been welcome.

This beautiful young girl, obviously in possession of enough human kindness to motivate her to volunteer in a veterans' hospital, was someone he would like -- very much -- to impress. He wanted to impress her at least enough that she might consider revisiting his bedside, sometime soon.

Paul knew he would get nowhere -- with Lois or with anyone else -- by feeling sorry for himself. Still, seeing her so readily agreeing with his own stoic assessment -- his "brave" declaration that his situation was no worse than that of his fellows on the ward! Well, that was disconcerting.

Paul laughed, inwardly. He recognized what he had really wanted. He had wanted her to touch his brow with her outstretched hand and pet him a little. He wanted her to say something like, "What a brave, brave man you are!"

Instead, she had simply agreed with him. In effect, she had said, "Yeah, Paul Elias, you've gotten yourself fucked up in the War -- but, hey, I've seen guys a lot worse off than you!"

Disconcerting.

So Paul did the only thing he could do. He covered up his insecurities and let her remarks slide right off his back. He kept up his stiff-upper-lip imitation for the duration of Lois' lengthy visit, and when, finally, the spell was broken by the evening-shift nurse coming in to take his vital signs, Lois got up to go.

"It was nice of you to come by," Paul told her. "I hope you'll drop by again -- soon."

"I enjoyed talking to you," she said. And then, just like that, she was gone.

Paul figured his chances of ever seeing her again were slim and none.

The next morning, Ophelia showed up right after breakfast and, as always, was upbeat and cheerful, both to Paul and to his ward mates. It was amazing, how she managed, every day, to make all four of them feel special -- like each was her favorite patient.

Paul could see that Ophelia was unfailingly democratic in her approach to the four mangled men in the ward.

Even so, he kind of thought he might be her real favorite.

"Captain Elias," Ophelia said, "this 'a big day in your young life! You going to start with your therapy!"

She explained that, for the first time, he would be delivered into the hands of the hospital's team of physical and occupational therapists, who would begin the long process of helping him learn to walk, to take care of his new prosthetic limbs, the works.

"You'll be comin' back here, evenings, for awhile," Ophelia explained. You'll be workin' with them all day, sleepin' here in the ward. Later on, they'll move you down there, to another bed in that part of the hospital. Until then, you'll be my Baby, like always!"

"How can I have physical therapy," Paul said, "when they haven't brought me those prosthetics yet?"

"They gonna play with your legs down there, for awhile," Ophelia said. "More evaluation. But you'll get fitted, real quick -- maybe this very week -- and then they'll start working you, with them new legs."

The sooner the better, Paul thought. He knew he'd only have limited ability to get around on prosthetic limbs, even after all the training and therapy they could give him, downstairs. But to stand up! To move around on his own, even a little bit. That was something awesome to look forward to!

"Hey, Cap'n Paul, I hear you had a visitor last night!" Ophelia hadn't been on duty when Lois Silverthorn had come around, but it wasn't the first time Paul had noticed that Ophelia Parker, or at least her hospital grapevine, saw all and knew all.

"Young woman named Lois Silverthorn," Paul said. "You know her?"

"Oh, yeah, I know her," Ophelia said. "She's a nice girl. She's been comin' here, visitin' the men, ever since they started shippin' men back from the Middle East, more than two years ago!"

"She's a law student," Paul said.

"Yep! Whole family's lawyers! Her daddy 'a big-shot lawyer, downtown. Big brother, too! She goes to Penn."

"Yeah, she mentioned it."

"Even though the whole damned family is lawyers," Ophelia said, "she's a nice girl!"

"She -- does she come around here a lot?" Paul asked.