Love in Bloom (6 page)

"I'll say!"

"Great idea."

"Way to go, Clay."

"If it's not too expensive," a dissenting voice added.

Ron stretched his legs out in front of him.  "People will pay for something different.  I heard of a guy in Lineboro who pilots one.  A new resort south of here used him when they had their grand opening.  I'll get his name."  He turned to Clay.  "You might have to drive over, see what he's got, and make arrangements."

"That's no problem."

Ron turned his attention to Paige.  "Well, Dr. Conrad, that leaves one area open for you.  How are you at planning games?"

"Games?"

"Yeah, you know--egg toss, relay races, that sort of thing.  Think you could plan the afternoon for us?"

Paige seemed out of her depth.  Clay wondered if games hadn't been a part of her life.  He supposed that was possible.  She asked, "Do you have examples of what you've done in the past?"

"Naw.  No one keeps notes on this stuff.  But if you talk to people, they'll tell you."

"I can help her out with that," Clay offered.

"Great!  So I'll put you two on the games committee."

"I didn't mean--"

Ron cut Clay off.  "And I'll take care of the fireworks.  Sounds like a whopper of a day to me.  Okay, everybody, that's it.  There's drinks and chips on the back porch."

Paige looked at Clay; Clay looked at Paige.  They both laughed.  Clay said, "It looks like we have a job to do.  I'm tied up Thursday.  Will you be free Sunday afternoon?"

"Around one."

"Do you want to ride with me to Lineboro?  We can discuss games.  Maybe when we get back we can take that canoe ride."

"If it's not too late."

"If it's not too late.  I know you doctors need your beauty sleep."

She blushed and pushed her hair behind her ear.

He frowned.  She acted as if she wasn't used to receiving compliments.  "How old are you, Paige?"

Her blue eyes widened.  "Twenty-nine.  Why?"

"Just curious."

He stood.  She rose, too. "Don't you know a woman's age is a secret?"

As she came around the coffee table, he could smell perfume and delicate woman.

"Before we go out with the others," she said, changing the subject, "I wanted to tell you I found a counselor for Ben."

Clay breathed an inaudible sigh of relief.  "That's great.  I know that's the right way to go."

"I hope so."

She seemed unsure, as if he would still be better suited to talking to the teenager than a professional.  Clay couldn't understand why.  He was relieved she'd found help for the boy.  He was also relieved there was a group of people socializing on the back porch.  As much as he'd like to be alone with Paige, he knew a group atmosphere would be safer.

Now, Sunday...

****

Friday afternoon, Paige settled in the chair behind her desk and read Ben Hockensmith's chart, though she didn't need to.  She had it memorized.  He'd seen his counselor yesterday.  Paige had talked to her this morning and wasn't encouraged by what she'd heard.  "Physically, you're doing superbly, Ben.  Your grip strength in your left hand is normal."

Ben's brown eyes were defiant.  "But my leg isn't.  And it's never going to be, is it, Dr. Conrad?"

The car had hit Ben on the left, broken his left arm, but had done much more damage to the left leg.  The surgeon had inserted a pin.  "I can't tell you what will happen.  A large part depends on you.  Look how far you've come.  By the end of the summer, you probably won't need the cane."

"But I'll never play pro football now; I'll never get that athletic scholarship."

"There are loans, grants--"

Ben's chin jutted out as he banged his fist on the chair arm while his other tightened on his cane.  "Don't you get it, Dr. Conrad?  I don't want to do anything but play football."

"Ben..."

He threw his cane on the floor in disgust.  "And I don't want to use a damn cane one more day.  Everyone stares at me!"

"Everyone?"

With a sullen glance, he muttered, "You know what I mean.  They look at me like I'm a...cripple."  He lowered his head, his chin practically touching his chest.  "Maybe I am."

Paige hated the hopelessness in the teenager's tone.  She grasped at anything to say to make him feel better.  "Franklin Delano Roosevelt was President of the United States and he was in a wheelchair."

Ben looked at her as if she'd suddenly grown three noses.  "I don't want to be President of the United States.  I want to play football."

Ben's major problem was he didn't want to change his view of his future, let alone his life.  "Your parents tell me you get good grades.  Doesn't anything else interest you?"

Ben's eyes were no longer defiant but dull and lifeless.  "I started playing football with friends when I was eight years old.  In junior high, I could run faster than anybody else on the team.  I've practiced and played in heat and rain and mud and I love it.  Nothing...absolutely nothing can replace football."

She said softly, "It's not only the game, is it?  As star quarterback, you received an awful lot of attention."

His smile was smug.  "Girls couldn't wait to go out with me."

"But were they going out with you because you were the star quarterback or because you were Ben Hockensmith?"

The smugness faded along with the smile.  "What difference does it make?"

"You tell me."

He was quiet.  Finally he admitted, "I guess I was more important when I was quarterback."

"Do you want people to like you for that reason?"

Ben shifted restlessly in his chair.  "I don't know.  I just..."

"Just what?"

He stared pensively at the leg that wouldn't work as well as he wanted it to.  "When I first had the accident, everybody was there.  With flowers and cards and...just there.  Then I went into rehab for a month and it was like everybody forgot I existed.  And when I came home, I was a semester behind in work and everybody acted like the accident never happened.  Like they didn't care anymore.  My old friends...they're just not around now."

Her heart went out to him and she wanted to ease the loneliness and abandonment he felt, yet she didn't know how.  "Ben, I don't know what to tell you.  Change is hard for everyone.  And people do get sidetracked."

"I have one friend, one, who still calls and comes around."

"Then he's a real friend."

"But I want to play football with the guys, hang around the sports store."

She heard the catch in his voice.  "I understand how you must feel.  But, Ben, you have to start over."

He raised his head and his eyes were shiny.  "I don't want to start over.  I want it all back."

She leaned forward.  "You have to look ahead, not back."

"Now you sound like that counselor you sent me to.  She doesn't understand squat."

Paige held his gaze.  "Have you given her a fair chance?"

"Talking about it isn't going to change it.  She wants me to take these tests."

"What kind of tests?"

He lifted one shoulder halfheartedly.  "I don't know.  Bunches of questions that are supposed to show what I like and what I don't."

She nodded.  "Interest surveys.  They're not exactly tests.  They'll show where your strengths and weaknesses are, what you might be good at.  If you take them, it might give you direction."

Ben pushed at his cane with his right foot and shoved it closer to his chair.  "I know what I'm good at.  Football."

Paige stood and went around her desk.  She leaned against the front.  "Will you do me a favor?"

His expression was wary.  "What?"

"Do the interest surveys."

"It's not gonna do any good," he mumbled.

"Just take them and see what they say."

He surveyed Paige speculatively.  "Okay.  As a favor to you.  You've been okay with me, Dr. Conrad.  You're straight and don't feed me a line  that everything's going to be fine."

She had to be honest with herself and her patients to treat them effectively.  That had been her big problem in Africa.  She hadn't been honest with herself.  Compassion and honesty had gotten rolled into one until neither was clear. 

But she had to forget that for now.  "I want everything to be fine for you, Ben.  But you've got to look ahead, not back."

He shook his head dejectedly.  "I don't see how."

She had to make Ben open his eyes to new possibilities, but she didn't know how.  She'd bet her stethoscope Clay Reynolds did.

                                                             ****

Paige glanced at Clay as he drove Sunday afternoon, admiring his profile.  His bone structure created strong, defined lines.  His jaw especially was insistently masculine.  He had a way of setting it when she asked him questions he didn't want to answer. 

He was relaxed today.  She knew why.  He didn't think she'd mention Ben again.  He was wrong, but the early afternoon had been enjoyable and she didn't want to break the mood just yet.  She liked being with Clay, though her reactions to him confused her.  Why did she respond so strongly to him?  Because she was at a crossroads in her life?

Or was it Clay himself?  His strength, his gentle support, his appreciation of life.  He'd been enthusiastic as he showed her the hot air balloon.  She'd seen it lying in a barn, all spread out.

As they drove back to Clay's house, she asked, "Is that wicker basket the passengers stand in really safe?"

"Randy said he's been piloting about ten years.  He's never had an accident.  So I wouldn't worry."

"I just thought when it comes back down to the ground, it would land hard."

"Not if it's done right.  Do you think you'll try it?"

"I'm not sure."

His quick glance was puzzled.   "You fly in planes, don't you?"

"Yes.  But they're closed in.  This is open, suspended in midair."

Clay flicked on his turn signal and passed a tractor rumbling in front of them.  "Did you ever want to be a bird?"

"Not particularly."