Blue Skies by Catherine Anderson
“I can tell it bothers your eyes to stare at those books so much.”
“I’m used to eye pain.”
He didn’t want her to experience pain of any kind. “Why not enjoy this time some other way and train your visual cortex after your next surgery? You’ll be able to see more clearly then, and it’ll be a lot easier for you.”
She closed the book and went into the kitchen for a glass of water. “I could wait, but then I’d be wasting today.”
“You have lots of days ahead of you. This is only a temporary setback. Next summer, you’ll have surgery and be able to see for years and years.”
“Will I?” She turned, holding the glass midway to her mouth. “If all my surgeries are successful and each procedure lasts as long as it should, I’ll be able to see for twenty, maybe thirty years before I begin to reject my transplants. But what if each procedure doesn’t go well?”
His belly clenched with dread. “What do you mean?”
She trailed her fingertips over the glass, catching beads of water. Then she rubbed her hand on her jeans. “There are no guarantees. Dr. Merrick can promise me nothing. Dozens of things can—and do—go wrong. Something as simple as a flu shot—or a virus—or any number of other variables can escalate the lattice or cause rejection. And, for a few, the surgeries don’t work at all.”
He swallowed hard, and suddenly he was the one who wanted to shake his fist. What in heaven’s name was she saying, that things could go wrong and she might never be able to see at all?
“Even if everything goes perfectly, my days of sightedness will be numbered. If things go wrong—” Her eyes went dark with shadows. “There’s just no telling. I may have as many as fifteen years or as few as five or maybe no time at all. Knowing that, if you were me, would you waste a single day?”
Hank thanked God he was sitting down. No time at all? “No,” he admitted. “I don’t guess so.”
“Exactly. Each and every minute I can see is a precious gift.” She took a long drink of water, then set the empty glass on the counter. “The visual cortex is a memory bank of sorts. Everything I see today, everything I master visually, will remain in my memory. If my surgery next summer goes nicely, it may take me a few days to orient myself, but then everything I learn now will come in very handy. I’ll be one step closer to reading proficiently, and it’ll be easier for me to do things, like dial a phone or balance my checkbook. I’ll have made headway if I use this time wisely, and I’ll be better prepared to make the most of my life as a sighted blind person after the next surgery.”
The walls of Hank’s throat felt as if he’d swallowed Elmer’s glue. A fierce protectiveness welled inside him. He wanted to hold her in his arms and shield her. Unfortunately, lattice dystrophy was a villain he couldn’t fight.
He looked out the window at the sunlight filtering down through the pines. She had today. It was something he hadn’t really understood until now. Today. Faced with those odds, he would have been outdoors, feasting his eyes on everything—flowers, blades of grass, and the way the wind swayed the trees. He sure as hell wouldn’t stay in the house with his nose stuck in a book.
“It seems like a piss poor way to make the days count.”
She gave a startled laugh. “What would you suggest?”
“Aren’t there other things you’d like to do?”
She dimpled her cheek and sighed, her eyes going dreamy soft. “Oodles of things. But why dream and wish when it’s not possible to do them?”
“If you could do whatever you wanted right now, what would you do?”
“One thing I always wanted to do was learn to drive.” She shrugged. “Even now, my long distance vision isn’t good enough to try. Maybe someday.”
“And?” He waited a beat. “What else?”
“If I were rich, which I’m not, I’d travel.”
“Where to?”
“Everywhere.” The dreamy look in her eyes became more pronounced. “I’d see everything I possibly could before my eyesight goes—the Eiffel Tower, the Egyptian pyramids, the Sahara desert, Mount Everest.” She laughed lightly, the sound drifting musically on the air. “I’d love to see a camel.”
“A camel?” They were the ugliest critters Hank had ever clapped eyes on.
“Oh, yes. And a zebra. Maybe even a tiger if I could manage it without getting eaten. I guess that seems silly to you.”
In that moment, he thought she was the most amazing individual he’d ever known. He loved the way her face glowed when she dreamed. A searing sensation washed over his eyes. “If I had the money, I’d take you to all those places. We’d just pack our clothes and take off.”
Her expression clouded. “I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. You’re already doing so much, more than you should, actually, and I’m very grateful.”
He didn’t want her to be grateful, damn it. All he wanted was to make her happy. If only he had the money, he would lay the entire world at her feet.
A sudden thought occurred to him. Maybe he couldn’t give her Egypt and Paris, but he could come through with driving lessons and exotic critters. “When’s your checkup with the corneal specialist?”
“It was on July seventh, but last week, I rescheduled for the following Monday.”
“Why? I could have driven you up on the seventh.”
“I wasn’t sure what plans you might have for the holiday weekend.”
Hank had forgotten the Fourth of July was on Friday. “Just a family gathering here. That evening, we may take the kids to watch the fireworks.”
“Fireworks?” Her eyes sparkled with interest.
Hank realized that she’d never seen a firework display. “Wanna go?”
“I’d love to. If it won’t be a big bore for you, that is.”
“I love fireworks,” he assured her. “I wouldn’t miss them for anything.”
There was so very much she’d never seen—and so much she might never see. It didn’t matter how many times he’d done things. He’d enjoy the same-old, same-old because it would all be new to her.
He just hoped her vision held fast until her appointment with Merrick on the fourteenth. Mentally crossing his fingers, he smiled and said, “When we drive up for your checkup, plan on staying overnight in the city.”
“Why? It’s only three, maybe four hours to Portland. My appointment’s at two. We can easily come back the same day.”
“Nope. We’re going to take a day trip when you’re done that afternoon to take in some sights. The Columbia Gorge, for starters, and if we’ve got time, maybe Mount St. Helen’s.”
“We can’t afford to—”
“Don’t argue with your husband. When we get back to Portland that evening, we’ll do the town—go out to eat at a five-star restaurant, stay in a fancy hotel. I’ll order you a whole mixing bowl of dandelions.” He winked at her. “You can have that strawberry shit on top that folks with sophisticated palates love.”
“Strawberry vinaigrette?”
“There you go. And all day Tuesday, we’re going to play.”
“That isn’t necessary. Fancy dinners and hotels cost a lot, especially when we’ll need two rooms.”
The lady was always thinking. Hank bit back a grin. “Let me worry about the finances. All right? I want to take you to the Portland Zoo on Tuesday, and I don’t want to be in a hurry when we go.”
Her eyes widened. “The zoo?”
Hank chuckled and pushed to his feet. “Now I’m talking your language. Camels, zebras, giraffes, elephants, maybe even a tiger. I haven’t been there in years. I’m not sure what all they have.”
A delighted smile spread slowly over her face. “The zoo?” He wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d started jumping up and down, she looked so excited. Instead she raced across the room to clutch his shirtsleeves, her eyes fairly dancing. “Oh, Hank, that’ll be so much fun! A zebra? I’ll get to see a real, live zebra.”
“Maybe a zebra.” God, how he wished she’d followed through on th
As if she hadn’t heard, she said, “And a camel!”
She twirled away from him, flinging her arms wide and laughing. Her balance wasn’t the best, and Hank tucked his thumbs over his belt to keep from grabbing for her.
“The zoo. What a fabulous idea. I can barely wait.”
When Hank left a few minutes later, she was still naming off all the critters she might see. Given his profession, the last way Hank wanted to spend a day was with a bunch of mangy animals, but he was grinning like a fool as he stepped from the porch. He stopped to gaze back at the house. Give the girl diamonds, and he got a hesitant smile and polite thank you. Offer her camels and zebras, and she almost launched herself into his arms.
Damn. Maybe he’d been baiting his hook with all the wrong lures.
Late that same afternoon, Carly was working on her letters again when she heard a vehicle pull up out front. She closed her book, wondering who was there. Hank’s Ford diesel made a sound like rocks rattling in a bucket.
She stepped to the front window and peered out. An old gray pickup was parked near the porch. Carly couldn’t make out the driver until he threw open the door and swung out. It was Hank, after all.
He cleared the steps with one long-legged leap, waved at her through the glass, and threw open the front door to poke his head inside. “You busy, angel face?”
“I, um—no, not really.”
He flashed a broad grin. “Good. Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“For a ride.” He narrowed an eye at her. “Come on. Don’t look so suspicious. This barroom lothario has seen the error of his ways.”
Carly pushed at her hair. “Will anyone see me? I’m a mess.”
“Only me, and I think you look great.”
Bewildered, Carly followed him to the truck. Her confusion increased when he circled around to climb in on the passenger side. She stepped closer to the vehicle and peered in the open driver’s window. “Why are you over there?”
He plucked a beer bottle from a six-pack on the seat beside him. “ ’Cause you’re gonna drive. Climb in.”
Carly’s heart skittered. “What?”
He winked, twisted off the bottle cap, and gave it a flip out the other window. “Driving lessons. Remember? One of the things you’d love to do while you can still see. Stop gaping at me and get in.”
“I can’t drive! My long distance vision is terrible.”
“Trust me, darlin’.” He took a long pull from the bottle and whistled as he came up for breath. “Let’s go.”
Carly had trusted him once when he was drinking, and just look where that had gotten her. “You’re drinking.”
“I worked in the hot sun all day. I’m wetting my whistle, not drinking.”
“There’s a difference?”
“There is. Trust me to know. Would you get in?”
“I can’t drive. Have you taken leave of your senses?”
“Where’s the fearless daredevil who skateboarded blind and jumped out of airplanes?”
“She developed common sense.”
He gave her a twinkling look. “You chicken?” He tucked his free hand in his armpit and flapped his elbow like a wing. “Bruck-bruck-bruck-br-rr-uck!”
Carly had never been called a chicken in her life. She opened the driver’s door, stepped up, and slid under the steering wheel. “If I kill us both, it’ll be on your head.”
“Won’t happen.” He motioned with the beer bottle. “Dirt roads, wide open fields. Not much out here to hit. It’ll be fun. I learned to drive in this same old rattletrap when I was ten. Dad handed me the keys and turned me loose. I was so short, I could barely see over the wheel.”
Carly dragged in a calming breath and stared at the dusty dash. It was nothing like the one in his Ford—hardly any gadgets or knobs. “What’ll I do?”
He told her to depress the clutch, then spent a moment showing her how to operate the floor shift. “You’ll probably never get out of second on this rough terrain, but once you get the hang of the first two gears, you’ll have them all licked. Now, keep the clutch pressed down to the floor and start her up.”
“How do you know this truck isn’t a he?” she asked, stalling for time.
His mouth twitched. “Because it’s high maintenance and totally unpredictable.”
“That isn’t nice.”
He grinned. “Actually, I kept it polite and left out the satisfying ride. You gonna go, or are we going to sit here, talking it to death all night?”
Carly did as he said and bleated in terror when the engine roared to life. “Oh, God!”
“Just relax. As long as you hold the clutch in, you’re in complete control. There’s a girl. Now tromp the gas to get the feel of acceleration.”
Moments later when Hank deemed her ready, Carly let out on the clutch. The truck lurched violently forward, then the engine coughed and died.
“What’d I do wrong?” Carly was so nervous she could barely breathe. Her legs started to jerk each time she pressed on the pedals. “This isn’t a good idea. I appreciate the thought, Hank. Really I do, but—”
“Would you stop? You’re doing great. Everyone kills the engine at first. You have to synchronize the pedals, letting off the clutch as you press on the gas. It takes a little practice.”
A little? Carly started the truck again. On her second try, the vehicle lurched forward, but the engine didn’t die. She clamped her hands over the steering wheel. “We’re moving!” she cried in a voice gone thin with panic. “Now what? Tell me what to do!” She saw a tree up ahead. “Oh, God! A tree, Hank! What’ll I do?”
“Steer.” He grabbed the wheel, helped her veer around the tree, and then patted her arm. “There, you see? Easy as pie.” He pointed to a rutted road off to their right. “Go that way. It circles around to an upper pasture and a nice, wide turnaround.”
Carly turned too sharply and then overcorrected, but she finally got the truck on the road. The old pickup bumped over the ruts at a slow crawl, allowing her plenty of reaction time while she got the hang of steering. After a few minutes, she began to relax.
“I’m driving,” she said. “I’m actually driving.”
Hank grinned and settled back to drink his beer. “You sure are, and doing a damned fine job of it. How’s it feel?”
“Like I own the whole world.” Carly laid on the horn. “It’s even better than skydiving! Thank you, Hank. I can’t believe you trusted me with your truck.”
“Sweetheart, this old bucket is indestructible. Vintage Ford, 1949, and made for punishment. It’s our ranch truck. We use it for all the heavy work. Been butted by bulls, kicked by horses, and battered at both ends by more trees and boulders than I can count. If you add a new dent, no harm done.”
Minutes later, they reached the turnaround. Hank inclined his head at the windshield. “Watch out for the fence.”
Sunlight slanted across the dusty windshield just then. Carly squinted, trying to see. “What fence?”
Hank sat straighter on the seat. “That fence. Stop. Hit the brake.”
Carly slammed down her foot. Only somehow, she hit the gas pedal. At the sudden acceleration, the truck engine roared, the vehicle surged forward, and she finally saw the fence—just as she crashed through it.
“Holy shit!” Hank shouted. “Watch out for the cows!”
“Cows?”
Before Carly could see them, let alone avoid them, the pickup hit a mound of earth at the edge of an irrigation ditch and went airborne. An instant later, they landed smack-dab in the middle of the pasture, cows fleeing in all directions with loud and raucous bawls of complaint.
After the bovines escaped, a sudden silence descended. The truck engine had died. Carly sat frozen, her hands locked over the steering wheel. Hank still held his beer bottle, the contents of which now decorated the front of his shirt.
??
Carly couldn’t breathe and she wanted to cry.
“You okay?” he asked.
She nodded. Then, after struggling to find her voice, she managed to say, “Oh, Hank, I’m sorry. Sunlight hit the windshield, and I couldn’t see. Are the cows all right, do you think?”
“You curdled their milk, that’s for sure.” There was an odd, tight sound in his voice. “Did you see the looks on their faces?”
“No. All I saw was their butts.”
He snorted. Then he burst out laughing—not just chuckles, but great, huge, body-shaking guffaws. He laughed until the empty bottle slipped from his hand and dropped to the floorboard. He laughed until he was holding his sides. He laughed until tears streamed from his eyes.
When he finally fell quiet, Carly said, “I fail to see the humor.”
For reasons beyond her, that only made him start laughing again.
“You’re out of your mind. This isn’t funny. I destroyed your fence, I scratched your truck, and I almost killed your cows!”
His mirth finally abating, he said, “I can fix the fence, the truck doesn’t matter, and the cows are just a little shaken up. They haven’t seen a woman driver since Bethany.” He sighed and rubbed his belly. “Oh, man, I haven’t laughed so hard in a coon’s age.” He gave her a weak grin. “I take it back. You can go fast enough to have a wreck out here. It just takes rare talent.”
He straightened, drew in a deep breath, and slowly exhaled. “Well,” he said, inclining his head at the ignition, “see if this baby will start.”
“Oh no. I’m not driving back.”
“Sure you are. You got us here in one piece, didn’t you?”
He plucked another longneck from the pack. The instant he twisted off the cap, beer spewed from the mouth of the bottle, hitting him directly in the face. Foam dripped from his dark eyebrows. Rivulets ran down his cheeks.