Forever: A Lobster Kind Of Love (13 page)

After I left Ryan’s house, I had a new mission. Sometimes, there were just not enough hours in the day, and his resources at the house were limited. I wanted to get him the services he needed as soon as possible. I still had his patient file from Woodhaven Rehab and combed through it for any contact info or resources.

On my way home, I stopped by the Rose Garden Bar & Restaurant to speak to Al, the owner. He was a good enough resource as any; just like Ethel. He had lived in this town all his life. If there were anyone who knew someone who could help, it would be him.

I pulled into the parking lot adjacent to the Rose Garden and sought him out. It wasn’t prime time yet; it was just past six, so I hoped he would have time to chat with me.

As I walked through the white washed doors—contrasted by the blacked out glass windows—I spotted the short bald pot bellied owner at the end of the bar polishing the brass fixtures adorning the taps. The jingle of the sleigh bells attached to the door caused his head to pop up from his task.

“Hey Al, I was hoping I would find you here.” I said as I crossed the bar to join him.

“Lydia, it’s so good to see you! What brings you here so early in the afternoon?”

“It’s six, Al; it's almost dinnertime.”

“Then what can I get you? Are you hungry, young lady? How about a lobster roll?”

“I can’t stay, besides, Ethel will have my head if I eat out. It seems she is cooking a happy-first-day-of-work dinner.”
Somehow, I think she will be making up all sorts of holidays and the accompanying meals
. I’m definitely not complaining and giggled to myself as I thought of the possibilities.
Happy Oil Change Day. Happy we ran-out-of-coffee-so-have-some-wine Day
.

“Well then I will make two to go for you ladies. I miss Ethel. I heard she came into town yesterday. Next time, bring her by to see me.”

“Absolutely, I will.”

“So you aren’t here to eat, and you’re driving so I don’t think you came for a drink. What brings you by today? You know I’m a married man; you can’t have your way with me.” Al joked with an ear-to-ear smile.

I gave him a gentle side shove as he wrapped his arm around my shoulders.

“Talk to me. How can I help?”

“I started with my new client today and they installed a wheelchair ramp at his house, but he can’t fit through any of the doorways. Do you know anyone that can help install some safety equipment for my client?”

“Sure, who is your client?”

“You know I can’t disclose patient information.”

“Lydia, I don’t need to know all his personal stuff. I just need to know where to send my son, Sam.”

I felt foolish and blushed with embarrassment. “I’m sorry Al, I didn’t mean to…”

“Stop,” he cut me off. “Don’t worry your pretty little head. This is a small town; we all know everyone. How is Ryan? I heard he was coming home, but didn’t know when.”

“Wait, how did you know?”

“My son installed the wheelchair ramp to his porch. We don’t have too many people in wheelchairs around here.” Al said with a chuckle. I felt relieved at that moment. I took my patient’s confidentiality very seriously.

“Oh, then Sam will know where to go tomorrow.”

“Let me give him a call and I’m going to pack you up some lobster rolls for you ladies.”

Al walked into the back to the bar’s kitchen and whistled as he prepared Ethel and me some takeaway packages. We sat a short while longer as he inquired about Ethel. I assured him she was well. I still had more phone calls to make, so I headed home as the first dinner customers started arriving.

“Tell Sam eight tomorrow morning and don’t be late!” I called behind me as I waved with my takeaway bag in hand.

“I will let him know. See you soon, Lydia!” Al waved as he grabbed a couple menus and greeted his guests.

When I got home, I called Woodhaven Rehab, and they referred me to the volunteers called Rise to Alpha. Apparently, they worked with some of the patients at the rehab and helped transition with patients going to a home environment. I called the number they gave me, left a message, and programmed the contact in my cell. I was excited when my phone rang less than an hour later and it read Rise to Alpha across my screen.

“Hello, this is Lydia.”

“Hi Lydia, my name is Craig. You left a message on my machine.”

“Yes, I got your number from Woodhaven Rehab. I was told you might be able to help with one of my patients.”

“Not sure how I can help. We have a group already that visits Woodhaven Rehab on Saturdays.”

“Oh no, not at the Rehab, I have a previous Woodhaven patient that was recently discharged and needs some assistance at home.”

“Where are you located in Queens?” Craig asked.

“Eastport, Maine.” I waited through the long silence on the other end of the phone as I waited for Craig to respond.

“Maine? Um, well, it’s doable. And drivable. There is no sense in flying because I would just have to drive up anyway. When do you need some help?”

“Can you come tomorrow?” More silence filled the line as I prayed for his agreement.

“That’s kind of short notice. I would have to leave now if I wanted to be in any kind of shape in the morning.”

“I know it’s a lot to ask, but you come highly recommended by Woodhaven Rehab. He could really use the help. It will be all be paid for by the insurance as occupational therapy.”

“We are a community group, not therapists,” he said.

“This is more about getting him situated and you are familiar with alternatives. Woodhaven told me your organization does alternative exercise programs and has set up a few places. We need to modify his living environment. I have a contractor lined up for the morning so anything you require or think you will require, just let me know and I will have it ready to go.”

“Most of the time I set up gyms, but I am always up for a challenge.”

“Thank you for taking this one on.”

“You are one tough cookie. Okay, so tell me why I am getting ready to drive all night?”

I spent the next twenty minutes giving Craig Ryan’s patient history and a brief layout of his house. I even drew a picture and sent it to him via SMS so he could get a rough idea of the floor plan.

Afterward, he gave me a shopping list of things to be installed.
He is really coming
. I did an internal happy dance as I hung up the phone.

Feeling accomplished, I grabbed the parcel of lobster rolls from the Rose Garden and headed over to Ethel’s for dinner to share the news. Things were looking up and I couldn’t wait until tomorrow.

The next morning, I heard the crunch of the gravel as Lydia pulled up the driveway. Then, another vehicle crunched the gravel and the sounds of three car doors slamming put me on alert. I rolled over to the front door to greet Lydia and whoever else had arrived. As I opened the door, I saw a pick-up truck with Watts Bros. Contracting along the side of it parked behind Lydia’s SUV. I recognized Sam with all his tattoos and his bright blue colored Mohawk. With him was an unfamiliar face, a medium height stocky light skinned guy dressed in sweats.

Same as yesterday, Lydia proceeded to unload her vehicle with package after package and Sam with this other dude helped her as they unloaded things from the back of the pickup.

Pipes? What do I need with pipes?

Lydia made it to the top of the ramp. “Good morning Ryan. I brought back up today,” she said with a brilliant smile behind her oversized sunglasses.

Lydia introduced the guys to me. The second man, Craig, was not a contractor; he was a designer.

What was he doing here? He was wearing a sweatshirt with a chevron shaped symbol on it that read: Rise. I didn’t understand why he was here and he didn’t look like any interior designer I had ever seen.

Sam quickly went to work installing saddles across the thresholds, additional small ramps across the deck doors, safety bars, and other disability features throughout the house.

This Craig guy intrigued me because he just stood there with his hands in his pockets sizing both my house and me up. Not sure which was more disturbing since he was so quiet.

“Lydia, is that a Crock-Pot?” I asked peeking into the kitchen as bags and boxes filled the countertops.

“Yes, it sure is. I have three, so I brought this one over so I could make some stuff here and prep it for you,” she said as she made another trip out to her SUV. As she passed me again, with yet another grocery bag I asked, “Are you moving in?”

“No, of course not, silly. You had nothing in the cabinets. I had to stock up on the basic essentials. ”

The sound of a drill made me whirl around to find the source. Sam turned the drill on again to bolt a straight bar across my bedroom doorway.

At this point, Craig became engaged.
Why did I need such a high bar
? Craig grabbed the bar and pulled down a few times testing it, for what I wasn’t sure, and finally spoke.

“Hey man, Ryan, right? Can we talk a bit?”

“Yeah, sure.” He grabbed a dining room chair and sat across from me bringing us to eye level.

“Do you want to be able to move around your house and have a little more freedom and not do daily auditions toward being the ChiaPet spokesperson?”

My mouth dropped.
Did he just fucking call me a ChiaPet
? With clenched fists and my teeth grinding, I managed, “What did you just call me?”

Craig just chuckled, smiled wide, and put his hands up in submission. “Awesome. You still have some spark in there. Dude, relax I was just checking you.”

“Checking me for what?" I asked, puzzled.

“Checking to see if you still had some fight left in you. I had to, man. It’s a long drive from New York City.”

I liked this guy even if he had just pulled a totally dick move. “Okay, fair enough. So what kind of designer are you? I don’t see you as the type to be hanging curtains.”

Craig stood about 5’11”, average height for a guy, short black hair, suntanned skin, smooth clean-shaven face with a hint of dimples and blue eyes. He was a solid guy, but it wasn’t until he removed his “Rise” sweatshirt that I realized the cuteness ended at the dimples in his cheeks. He was stock full of muscle. His arms were bigger than my legs. His “Rise To Alpha” t-shirt pulled taut across his broad chest and strained around his biceps. One deep breath and he could easily Hulk out of his shirt.

“So Ryan, you ready to get started?”

Started? On what? Craig just stood there waiting for a response. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to say. “I’m a little confused. What are we doing?” I asked as I scrubbed my hand through my increasingly greasy hair.

“You ready to get out of that chair for a little while? Do you trust me?” He huffed out a long breath and continued. “I need you to get out of your own head and just follow me, and I promise you, you will be happy with the results. But you have to want it. I can tell by looking at you that you used to be a strong dude. You probably still are, you just don’t know it. We need to re-train your muscles for something new, something useful.”

I let what he was saying sink in for a bit. What did I have to lose?

“Okay, what do I have to do?”

He took the dining room chair he was sitting in and carried it over to the bedroom doorway and sat in front of it, where a metal safety bar was mounted on each side of the doorway at shoulder height, and a straight metal bar was mounted just above Craig’s head.

“First, I’m going to show you what to do and then you are going to do it. We are going to play a little ‘Follow the Leader.’” He sat in the dining room chair then grabbed the safety bar to the left of the doorway and pulled himself to a standing position but let his obviously operational legs dangle beneath him. He reached across to the pull-up bar with one hand and then the other until he was hanging in the doorway with his feet a couple inches off the floor with knees bent. He sat down gracefully and moved his chair out of the way. “Your turn,” he said, cocking his head to the side with a grin.

“I can’t stand in case you haven’t noticed. This chair isn’t a fashion accessory,” and I smacked my legs.

“You don’t need your legs man. It’s all arms. Stop focusing on what you
can’t
do and let’s do what you
can
. Let’s go, your turn. Sam is almost done in the bathroom. He will need to get through this door for Phase Two and we all need to get in the bedroom for that.”

I rolled my wheelchair in front of the doorway to the same spot Craig had the dining room chair before and locked my wheels. I unbuckled myself and took a deep breath.

“Safety bar first, pull up, then each hand to the big bar and done.” Craig reminded me. I pulled my pant legs, placing my feet on the floor.

“Nice kicks man.”

“Thanks they’re KD6’s,” I said with a nod.

“I’ve never actually seen a pair. Those are hot shoes, my man.”

“Some people collect stamps and decorative plates; I collect sneakers.” I shrugged.

“Okay, man. Hold on a sec.” He grabbed his backpack and pulled out what looked like two thick maybe 6-inch wide Velcro straps.

“I think these will help until you build your strength, until you get the hang of things.” He wrapped one of the Velcro bands around my thighs midway and the other bound my calves together. “Okay, now go for it. Grab the safety bar.” I grabbed the safety bar to my left and pull on it. My knees were still slightly bent but my feet were not slipping with my sneakers on.