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Benjamin was overcome with relief at being released from the hospital. But he couldn’t negate that the being-sent-home-to-die aspect of the conundrum sullied the piece of heaven. And no longer having full use of his legs was inconvenient but navigational. Ceasing to exist, on the other hand, was beyond his range of adaptation.
Not a man to poke and mope, he made quick work of the death-phase situation, arriving as unscathed as one could at the final destination--acceptance. But since he was under the self-imposed impression that he could carry on with his life as before, perhaps he’d come full circle and then some in his metaphorical trip to the grave.
Be that as it may, his significant other and fatherly duties remained intact until he drew his last breath. That meant life would indeed go on, and perhaps be celebrated with a little more gumption despite this most diabolical turn in circumstances. On the more gallingly painful days that were promised to come, he’d swallow his pride and one of the horse-coma-pain-killers they’d prescribed, and live normal for whatever time they had remaining on the life clock.
That was the gist of his plan anyway and execute it with every crumb of his strength he would.
Charlie’s silhouette appeared beyond the screen in the door and Benjamin put the brakes on the wheels of his chair, staring at him. Even in the shadow, hidden hopes sparked in his blue eyes, a fierce war clashing with their dire dilemma. Ben allowed a rebellious smile to pull his lips wide as he pushed slowly forward down the sidewalk to their home. At the bottom of the ten steps, the screen door flew open and his wife hurried out to him. She moved so quickly he thought she bypassed the steps entirely somehow.
“Ben!” She gripped both sides of his chair and pressed her mouth to his ear. “I need to talk to you!”
A rush of adrenaline and fear hit his already flooded veins as he leaned away to get a look at her, or whatever could possibly cause this on-the-verge-of-tears tone.
Charlie was suddenly standing on his right and Ben stared up into his son’s eyes, meeting the war waging in his spirit full force. He could always read Charlie’s eyes that way. They were open and clear to him, and in that second, Ben saw he’d been scared of this moment.
Charlie was a lot like Ben. He kept things inside and worked on them there. “You’ve been holding down the fort?” Ben asked with a stern brow.
He nodded with a hint of a smile, still holding tight to his manly posture. It pained Ben that he had to wear it for such a thing, but there was no question about it—he did. In fact, he may need to never let it go again. It was up to Ben to see that Charlie was able to.
He reached his arm up for a hug, and when his son lowered, he grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him to his forehead. “There’s no other man I’d trust more than I do you.” He shook him lightly then let him go. “How about we go inside and get me settled, then you can ask me the hundred questions I see burning up that clever brain of yours.”
Charlie grinned, seeming relieved as he headed inside. Ben turned to Cheryl on his left, taken aback by what he saw in her gaze. Aside from the beauty of her pouring love, there was a secret screaming to be free. Whatever it was had Ben burning to hear it.
****
Cheryl wheeled Ben into their bedroom then shut and locked the door behind her. She was nervous. So nervous. Sick with it. Fear, hope, regret. Sadness and anger. All swirled up into a boulder sized knot in her stomach.
Ben locked the wheels on the chair.
“Do you want to lay in the bed?” she asked, realizing the risks of him moving from the chair to the bed. She also realized he'd eventually have to, and why on earth had she not figured a plan for it?
“I can do it,” he said, like it was easy peasy, mundane even to be in a wheelchair.
The mile-long list of deteriorations the doctors promised would come sent her flying to the side of his chair.
“I got it,” he assured her softly, looking up at her.
The fear part of that knot inside stiffened her spine, followed by a spark of the anger. Did he plan on being a fool? Go on living like he wasn’t dangling from a cliff? Like they weren't? “You’ll let me help,” she said back.
He studied her a moment. She wasn’t one to order him to do anything and while she waited for the verdict, her heart walloped in her ears.
“I won’t be pushed out,” she explained, though it sounded like a warning.
He gave a small head shake. “I’m not pushing you out. I’m just getting out of the chair.”
His gentle tone and reassurance turned her fear and anger up a few degrees. Like he was handling a child, or a delicate-minded female instead of a wife about to lose her husband. Like he was the hero and she was in need of saving. That wasn’t the case, and he needed to see that. He needed her.
“I plan on being right by your side. And you need to get used to it,” she said with a calm severity.
He gave a small nod finally. “Okay, honey.”
It was permissive, a compromise. The honey meant he might not understand entirely but he understood enough.
Her heart went back to racing as he placed his hands on the chair’s armrests. She inched closer as he pushed himself up. If he fell and hit his head…. “We have to be smart about this,” she managed around her fear as he made steps toward the bed, his hands reaching out. Was he dizzy? “If you fall and hit your head," she tried to reason, "this will go bad a lot quicker than it already is, Ben.” Her shaking hands now shadowed his body as it made the slow, six-foot trek to his salvation. And hers.
Her hands flew out with a gasp when the right side of his body suddenly dropped six inches. “Ben!” She pushed his weight toward the bed, grunting when he leaned in the wrong direction.
She couldn’t stop her sob as she shoved him onto the bed and he rolled onto his back, his face covered in sweat. “Don't you dare do that again!” she cried, her voice breaking.
His eyes clenched shut with his forearms tightly to his chest, shooting panic through her. He was in agony. Oh God. “What!? Tell me, what’s wrong, what do I do?”
“Sit…up,” he barely got out.
She froze for a second then shoved her low heels off and scrambled onto the bed. Straddling her feet next to his body, she fought to work her hands between his arms and torso, feeling him locked up in pain, groaning with it. She wedged her hands in, then tugged him two shallow steps toward the headboard. “Charlie!” she yelled, gasping.
The door flew open a few seconds later.
“Help me!” she wept, fighting to move him.
“Move,” he hurried. She got out of his way and watched as her son got in the same position she’d been in. “Pillows,” he hurried.
Cheryl climbed on the bed and piled all of them together as Charlie hefted him in one pull into an upright position.
She covered her mouth at the horrific sounds of his agony. She was stupid. Their room wasn’t even properly fitted for somebody in his condition. They’d given her a list of necessary things they’d need, but they didn’t have the money for most of it. A secondhand hospital bed was supposed to come. That was the most important, and she managed getting it after selling her mothers’ ring.
By the time he was elevated, she was pacing next to the bed, fighting sobs. Charlie stood, staring at him then her in worry as Ben’s agony seethed out in horrible groans that made her sick. “What do we do?” Charlie whispered, worried.