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She pushed my wheelchair over to an area with wrought iron furniture surrounding a fire pit. Lennon told me she liked to go out there in the evenings to wind down, pointing straight ahead. As promised, the brilliant blue of the water was visible.
“There’s nothing better than seeing the vastness of the ocean to put things in perspective. Any problems I might have pale in comparison to others’. They’re like a teardrop of water among billions.”
Lennon’s words, along with the rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the rocky shoreline settled something deep inside of me. Since the kidnapping, I’d been a jumbled mess of uncertainty. Yet somehow, sitting with a woman I’d just met, I knew everything would be all right. Not that day, or the next, but someday.
Baby steps, Pru.
“I was kidnapped.”
The words tumbled from my lips, shaky at first, steadier the longer I talked. Without divulging the gory details, I told her enough for her to understand how I ended up in a wheelchair. I told her about Zak, mainly about my feelings and my fears that he only wanted to be with me out of guilt.
“I’ve heard of Zakhar Vlaschenko. He’s pretty much the Russian godfather of New Jersey. That man doesn’t do anything out of guilt.”
“You didn’t see him at the hospital. He tiptoed around me as if I were made of glass.”
“Jesus.” She smacked her palm to her forehead. “If only we’d met sooner.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means since we just met less than an hour ago, I don’t feel comfortable enough in our friendship to shake the shit out of you for being clueless.”
“Harsh,” I muttered.
“Facts.” She pinned me with a glare. “Think about it. Really, truly think about everything you just told me. The reserved, distant man the rest of the world sees dropped everything, flew hundreds of miles, and risked his life to save you. You, Pru. It’s obvious he cared about you long before he knew how badly you were injured. The guilt you’re talking about is because he didn’t get to you in time. Nothing more.”
“He hasn’t seen my leg,” I said softly.
“What do you mean?”
“He hasn’t seen my stump.”
“So?”
“What if he thinks it’s repulsive?”
“Then he isn’t the man for you.”
“Maybe it’ll be different once I get Mathilda.”
“Huh?”
“My prosthetic leg.”
“You’re going to name your prosthesis?”
“People name their cars all the time. Why can’t I name my prosthesis?”
“Never said you can’t, but Mathilda? You couldn’t come up with anything better?”
“It means strength in battle––”
“And you’re fighting a war,” Lennon cut in.
“Exactly.”
“Mathilda it is.”
After that, we steered away from limb names and heavy conversations. Instead, Lennon regaled me with stories about becoming a chef.
