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What in the hell was the matter with her?
Darin looked up, saw them and waved. With a tap on his shoulder, Angelica called his attention back to her and the bar she’d placed within his brother’s left grasp.
“If you want to hand me over to whoever’s going to show me the grounds, we can move on,” Grant said. “He’ll do better if I’m not here distracting him.”
“Lila, our managing director, was going to go over things with you, but she’s…busy…this morning.” Their newest resident, a middle-aged woman named Melanie Zoyne, had appeared on the doorstep in the middle of the night with no broken bones or cuts that needed stitching, but bruising on every bruisable part of her body. “My next appointment isn’t until after lunch, so as long as there aren’t any emergencies, I’ve been elected to do the honors.”
She’d been up with Melanie since three—thankfully there’d been no indication of internal injuries to accompany the varying stages of bruising the woman’s brother had left in his wake—and was running on adrenaline.
Which might explain the weakened state that was allowing for inappropriate reactions to the jeans-clad man standing beside her.
He was just a man. Like any other.
“Darin’s eager to please you.” It was one of the things she’d noticed about the brothers four years before. Rather than being cantankerous or resentful, as many injury patients were, Darin just seemed to want to keep his brother happy.
Did Grant have that effect on everyone?
“He’s eager to get the use of his arm back,” the man at her side said, his gaze trained on his brother. And then he glanced at her. “Dr. Zimmer says that the location of the injury, the part of the brain affected by the surgery, is retrainable. With hard work Darin will be as good as new.”
As good as he’d ever be with an incurable brain injury. Grant was still watching her. Waiting?
“I know, he told me,” she said. “And while I’m not a surgeon, I dealt with a lot of brain injury patients during my years on the neurosurgery ward, and from everything I’ve studied, seen and learned, I completely believe that Darin can recover from this latest setback.” She sounded like the consummate professional. With a last glance in the therapy room, not at Grant’s brother, but to make certain that Maddie was fine, Lynn headed down the wide hallway, stopping to straighten a magazine on one of the cherrywood end tables in one of the conversation nooks stationed along the wall.
She’d take him to Lila’s outer office. Show him the large map of the grounds on the wall across from Lila’s desk. Take him out to the garage that housed the lawn equipment and fertilizer they already owned—collected through donations. Then give him a brief tour of the private beach and the bungalows because he couldn’t explore those unescorted—and finally get back to real life.
Lunch with Kara, whom she hadn’t seen since Maddie had brought the little girl to her office on the way to the preschool housed on the property. This was the private preschool for residents at the Stand, not the preschool run by current and former residents that was attended by neighboring children and—like the other businesses—helped support the Stand.
She’d get through these next moments and then get her mind back on the things that mattered most.
* * *
“YOU AND DARIN have the biggest part of the battle won,” Lynn Duncan said as she guided him through a maze of hallways that were wide enough to be rooms. “He’s willing to work hard.”
“Darin’s always been willing to go the extra mile.”
“But his attitude is good,” she said, turning another corner closely enough that he bumped into her.
And moved away immediately.
“After what you said about his depression, I expected him to be at least minimally resistant. In my experience, patients with a brain injury like his, one that allows moments of complete lucidity, tend to battle with frustration, resentment and even bitterness as they experience awareness of their loss again and again.”
She didn’t seem bothered by his accidental touch. Grant filed the knowledge away. Yet she’d shied away earlier, when he leaned in too close. He’d never dealt firsthand with a battered woman before, and while he’d assured the gorgeous nurse that he and Darin would behave with impeccable decorum, while his brother’s future depended on them doing so, he’d just realized that he had no idea what that decorum required.
