Her Sister's Shoes Read online

  His shoulders sagged. “I wasn’t thinking.”

  “You were thinking, all right. Just not with the head on your shoulders. Are you going to tell my sister or should I?”

  He slumped back against the car. “I should be the one to tell her. Although I think I should wait until after the party tonight.”

  “That’s awfully big of you, considering it’s her fiftieth birthday and she’s been planning this party for months.”

  “You never have liked me much, have you, Sam?”

  She smacked him on the back. “Don’t take it personally, Bill. Aside from my father and Captain Mack, I’ve never met a man I could trust.”

  Two

  Samantha

  By the time she arrived at the office complex at the hospital, Sam was nearly thirty minutes late to pick up her son. She slid into the closest handicapped-parking place and ran inside. She found Jamie waiting in the lobby, hunched over in his wheelchair, watching a baseball game on ESPN.

  “You’re late,” he said, his eyes glued to the television.

  She bent down to kiss the top of his dark head. “I know, honey. I’m sorry. Something important came up.”

  “Moses wants to see you. He’s waiting for you in his office.”

  Sam glanced at her watch. They were due at Jackie’s in an hour. “Okay. Wait here and I’ll be right back.”

  “Seriously? Like, where else would I go?”

  Sam dashed down the hall to the physical therapist’s office and burst in without knocking. “I’m so sorry, Moses. I had a family emergency.”

  “Nothing serious, I hope.” He came from behind his desk to greet her. He towered over her as he took her hand in his. Although she’d gotten to know the therapist well over the past six months, Moses’s size always amazed her. Jamie referred to the framed articles on the walls and the trophies lining the shelves as his shrine, a tribute to his time playing tight end for the Georgia Bulldogs.

  Sam let out a deep breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. Revealing family secrets was not in her nature, but Moses had proven his trustworthiness many times. “I caught my brother-in-law Bill in a rather embarrassing situation this afternoon.”

  Moses’s chocolate-brown eyes grew large. “Uncle Bill, the brother-in-law who’s married to the sister with the twins?”

  “Exactly. Cooper and Sean.”

  “That’s too bad,” he said, shaking his head.

  “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but I thought you should have a heads-up about the situation. The last thing Jamie needs right now is more drama, but considering his close relationship with the twins, he’s likely to get mixed up in the fallout from the divorce.”

  “Calm down, Sam. You’re snapping the ball before the quarterback calls the play. Millions of men and women have extramarital affairs. Not all of them end in divorce. Hopefully, for the twins’ sake, your sister and her husband can work out their problems.”

  Sam paused, letting that thought sink in. She couldn’t imagine Jackie letting Bill off the hook for something as big as an affair, but she’d given up on second-guessing her older sister a long time ago. “Maybe you’re right.”

  Moses took Sam by the elbow and guided her to the door. “I have to meet another patient in a few minutes. Do you have time to walk with me to the recreation room? I’d like to talk to you about Jamie’s progress.”

  “Of course.” Sam followed him out of the office and into the hall.

  “I spoke with Jamie’s neurologist this afternoon about his recent MRI. Apparently Dr. Mitchell has been trying to reach you.”

  Sam increased her pace to keep up with Moses’s long legs. “We’ve been playing phone tag for the last few days. Did Mitchell have good news?”

  “Good and bad,” Moses said. “I’ll give you the good first. The MRI showed the bone has healed and the swelling is gone.”

  “And the bad news?”

  “The obvious. Jamie should be walking by now and he’s not.” Moses took her elbow and drew her to a halt. “Your son’s problem is no longer physical, Sam. Dr. Mitchell believes, and I am in agreement, that his paralysis has become psychosomatic.”

  “Yo, Mo!” A bald-headed man, his muscles bulging from his navy scrub top, approached them. “Can I have a quick word with you about a patient?” He pulled Moses aside, leaving Sam to stand alone in the hallway.

  The prognosis for Jamie’s recovery had always been good. A team of doctors at MUSC had inserted a rod and repaired the damage to his lower spinal cord, an injury sustained in an ATV accident at his best friend’s house. But that was five months ago, and Jamie had yet to take his first step.

  “Sorry for the interruption.” Moses rejoined her and they started walking again, in the direction of the lobby. “As I was saying. I know Jamie had several sessions with a psychiatrist on staff while he was in the hospital. Has he seen anyone since then?”

  “No. He refuses to talk about the accident. He says it only makes things worse.”

  “And I empathize with him,” Moses said. “What your son experienced would be tough for anyone to handle, especially an eighteen-year-old kid. Jamie is a very angry boy, Sam. He is grieving and he is carrying a load of guilt. He has hit a wall. I’m afraid he won’t walk again until his heart gives his body permission to do so.”

  None of this was news to Sam. Her hope was that time would heal all her son’s wounds, both physical and emotional. “What can I do to help him?”

  Moses handed her a business card.

  Sam read the card. “Dr. Patrice Baker, MD, Psychiatrist.”

  “Patrice is a close friend of my older sister’s. She’s helped many of my clients before.”

  She dropped the card in her handbag. “I trust you, Moses. I’m willing to give her a chance. I only hope I can convince Jamie to do the same.”

  When Sam returned to the waiting room, she saw Jamie deep in conversation with a police officer. Panic gripped her chest as she approached them. “Is my son in some kind of trouble, Officer?”

  Jamie’s head jerked up, surprised to see his mother standing over them. “Right, Mom. What could I possibly have done wrong, drive my wheelchair over the speed limit?”

  The officer chuckled. “That’s a good one, speed limit for a wheelchair. I’ll have to remember that.” He stood to greet Sam and offered his hand. “I’m Eli Marshall. Your son and I have just been discussing batting averages. I’m impressed with his knowledge.”

  Sergeant Marshall, according to his name badge, was about the same size as Jamie, medium height and stocky build. Judging by the crow’s feet around his eyes and the dark curly hair graying at his temples, Sam guessed him to be in his midforties.

  She accepted his callused hand, a workingman’s hand. “Sam Sweeney. Nice to meet you.”

  “Jamie was telling me about his recent trip to Turner Field.”

  Sam followed the officer’s eyes to the television. “Aha. The Atlanta Braves. Jamie’s uncle was good enough to invite him along when he took his boys to Atlanta last summer,” she said, reminded of Bill’s more generous qualities. “But did Jamie also tell you his true devotion lies with the Red Sox?”

  Eli smiled. “He may have mentioned that.”

  Sam ignored her son’s glare. “I bet Jamie didn’t tell you he’s been offered a scholarship to play shortstop for USC.”

  Eli’s gray eyes grew wide. “Wow! The Gamecocks are huge. Congratulations.”

  “That’s all in the past, Mom. The sooner you realize that, the better.”

  “Baseball is your future, Jamie. The sooner you realize that, the sooner you’ll get out of that wheelchair.”

  Eli placed a hand on Jamie’s shoulder. “I don’t know what your situation is, buddy, but never give up on your dreams no matter how many bumps in the road you encounter. Trust what you feel in your heart and everything else will work out.”

  “That’s the problem,” Jamie said under his breath. “I don’t feel anything in my heart anymore.” He
spun his chair around, and wheeled toward the door.

  Sam watched him go, and then turned to Eli. “I apologize for my son’s rudeness. He’s really not himself these days.”

  Eli held up his hand. “No apology necessary. He’s a good kid with a lot on his mind.”

  Sam shook the officer’s hand again before following Jamie to the parking lot. When she caught up with him, Jamie was struggling to hoist himself up into the Wrangler. Refusing her help, he managed to lift his body onto the passenger seat. She folded the wheelchair and stowed it away on the special rack she’d had installed on the back of the Jeep.

  “You were pretty rude to that policeman,” she said, climbing into her seat. “I know you’re hurting, but you have to at least try. Having a positive attitude is the most important thing toward your recovery.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Can we please not start this again?”

  Sam knew she sounded like a nag, but she had no idea how else to reach her son. She held three fingers up Boy Scout-style. “I promise. No negative talk tonight. We have a party to go to.” She started the car and weaved her way out of the parking lot.

  She thought about the long night ahead of her, of being forced to watch Bill make nice to her sister for the sake of the party. She would have to be careful not to let the secret slip to her sister and her mother. If only she had her son back to confide in. Sam missed their camaraderie, but mostly, she missed his humor. The old Jamie had always taken a light-hearted approach to life’s difficulties. But there’s nothing funny about being confined to a wheelchair. And no place for humor when you are mourning the loss of your best friend.

  “Did you get a chance to enjoy the nice weather today?” Sam asked.

  His eyebrows shot up. “Since when is hundred-degree heat nice weather? I took your suggestion and wheeled my way over for my appointment this afternoon. I was dripping with sweat when I got there.” He lifted his arm and smelled his armpit. “I smell like shit.”

  “Come on, Jamie. It couldn’t have been that bad. The hospital is only five blocks from our house, downhill all the way.”

  “I’d like to see you try it.”

  Sam waited for the traffic to clear before turning right onto Main Street. “I’m sorry, honey. I wanted you to see that you can still have some independence. Prospect is a small town. You can wheel yourself over to a friend’s house who can drive you places. My schedule is going to be busy after the market reopens this weekend. I’m not always going to be around to take you where you need to go.”

  “You don’t need to worry about me, Mom. I’m fine at home. I just want to be left alone.”

  “Staying cooped up at home in front of the Xbox is not good for you. You should be out and about, enjoying your summer.”

  A group of Jamie’s friends from school pulled up next to them at a red light. The driver motioned for him to roll down his window, but Jamie ignored him. The boy shouted at Jamie through the closed window, “Beach Week wasn’t the same without you, dude.”

  Sam felt a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Jamie had never mentioned going to Beach Week.

  The light turned green and Jamie flashed his friends the peace sign before they sped off.

  Mother and son rode the rest of the way home in silence.

  Fifteen years ago, Sam bought her little yellow cottage from Captain Mack when his wife died after a long battle with breast cancer. He couldn’t stand to live in the house surrounded by all the memories of the good times they’d shared. Without children to consider, Mack made Sam an offer she couldn’t refuse, and moved to the old houseboat he kept on a wooded property he owned. The property was on the inlet outside of town.

  Built in the early 1940s, the cozy one-story Cape Cod offered everything a mother and her young son needed—front porch and back deck, three bedrooms and two baths, sitting room, dining room, and kitchen. The fenced-in yard had given Jamie plenty of room to run around in when he was little, and the detached garage had provided storage space for all his hunting and sporting equipment as he got older.

  Sam drove in the driveway and parked in front of the garage. She shifted in her seat to face him. “I had a nice chat with Moses today. He’s convinced you will walk again.”

  “What does Moses know?” Jamie stared out the window. “All he does is work my worthless muscles.”

  “I have never known you to shy away from a challenge. You are a strong, gifted athlete.” She grabbed his chin and turned his head toward her. “You just need to work a little harder, push yourself a little more. You’ve always been a fighter. You set your goals high and go after them with gusto. That’s who you are.”

  “This isn’t a baseball game, Mom. I’m not trying to lift more weight or reach a certain speed. In case you haven’t noticed, I am paralyzed. Translated, I can’t walk.”

  “There’s a difference between can’t and won’t.”

  He opened the door to escape, then realized he couldn’t get far without his wheelchair. He closed the door again. “I’m the one who got screwed here. I get to spend the rest of my life in a wheelchair while Corey gets to fish for eternity in the great big ocean up in heaven.”

  “What happened to Corey is not your fault.”

  “How can you say that? I was driving the Gator.”

  “On Corey’s family’s property. His parents were responsible for making sure the trail was cleared. If anyone is to blame, they are. Look,”—she tilted his chin toward her—“I understand you are still coping with a lot emotionally. I think talking to someone might help. Moses gave me the name of a doctor—”

  “How many times do I have to tell you, I don’t need a damn shrink?” He drew his fist back and punched the dashboard. He winced in pain and his eyes filled with tears. “Will you please just get my chair?”

  Her son reminded Sam so much of his father with hair and eyes as black as coal. Until now, he’d never exhibited any signs of Allen’s dark moods. He’d always been a happy boy, but lately, she’d sensed a storm brewing beneath the surface.

  Sam glanced at the clock on the dashboard. “We will table the discussion for now. But only because we’ve got to get ready for the party.”

  Sam helped Jamie into his chair and pushed him up the wheelchair ramp, through the back door and into the kitchen. “Aunt Jackie is expecting us to be on time. Can I help you get cleaned up?”

  “I’m not going to her stupid party.”

  “Of course you’re going. It’s her fiftieth birthday.”

  “Seriously, Mom. I’m not in the mood to have everyone staring at me, the poor pitiful cripple. Please, will you just go without me?”

  Sam squatted down beside his chair. “We are family, honey. We have to go and support Aunt Jackie.” She ran her hand down his unshaven cheek. “Besides, Cooper and Sean are counting on you to come. After you make polite conversation for a few minutes with the adults, the three of you can go off and do your own thing.”

  “You make me sound like a little kid. My legs are paralyzed, not my brain. I’m capable of having an intelligent conversation.” He rolled off toward his room.

  “Can I help you with anything?” she called.

  He slammed his bedroom door in response.

  She tapped lightly on his door. “Don’t forget to shave. And wear a collared shirt.”

  Sam headed down the hall to the smaller bedroom on the front of the house.

  After the accident, she gave up her master bedroom so Jamie would have easy access to the en suite bath. Even with the special sink and shower her handyman had installed, it took Jamie a long time to carry out his routine. He’d begun to let his hygiene slip. His hair hung in greasy strands to his shoulders. Angry pimples covered his forehead, the result of not using his cleanser. He hardly ever shaved. His facial hair grew in patches, giving him a bedraggled appearance rather than the outdoorsy scruffy look popular amongst his friends. A sour odor emanated from his body, a combination of dirty hair and sweat.

  Sam showered, towel-drie
d her short hair, and rummaged through her closet, wishing she hadn’t loaned Faith her favorite black dress. She settled on a pair of white jeans and a pale-blue sleeveless silk top. Grabbing her straw clutch, she went to the kitchen and dumped the contents of her everyday bag onto the counter. She retrieved Dr. Baker’s business card from the pile and created a contact with the doctor’s numbers in her cell phone, then tore the business card into little pieces, depositing them in the trash can.

  Time was running out, and Sam was desperate for help. She would drag her son to see Patrice Baker if she had to. If Jamie didn’t walk again soon, she would have to make some hard decisions about his future.

  Last spring, during Jamie’s junior year in high school, the University of South Carolina offered him a partial scholarship to play baseball. When the head coach learned of his accident, he consented to hold the spot open for several months in light of the speedy recovery the doctors had promised. But when spring arrived and Jamie showed no signs of improvement, the coach withdrew his offer, claiming he had a long list of healthy recruits to choose from. Sam remained optimistic the coach would consider Jamie for the team when he recovered. She was thrilled when the university offered him the same amount of money based on his academic merit.

  After several knock-down-drag-outs, the subject of college had become the elephant in the room that neither mother nor son dared to mention. Sam viewed the academic scholarship as an opportunity for Jamie to get an education she could not afford otherwise, while Jamie viewed the money as a consolation prize. He refused to consider leaving home for reasons he would not discuss.

  Moses was right. Jamie had hit a wall. He had given up.

  Three

  Faith

  Curtis whistled when he saw Faith wearing her sister’s simply cut, form-fitting black dress. “Why are you so dolled up?”

  He lay, sprawled out in his boxers and undershirt, with one leg thrown across the back of the couch, while their six-year-old daughter, Bitsy, sat on the floor next to him, busily coloring at the coffee table.