Here I Am (Arabesque) - By Rochelle Alers Page 0,31
five reps and indicated it would eventually increase to twenty-five or more. A printout with illustrations of home exercises was affixed to a corkboard on the wall next to a schedule of NFL and AFL games for the upcoming season.
Dr. Behrens had given Brandt a recovery timeline: six weeks to walk with crutches, eight weeks before he would be able to walk with canes. After ten weeks he predicted he should no longer use a cane and then it would be another five months before he would be able to walk without evidence of limping. He had cautioned Brandt against playing any contact sport until a year after the accident. Only then he would be medically cleared and nearly one hundred percent recovered and discomfort-free. Whether Brandt would ever suit up and play football again was something that would be determined by the NFL.
Walking into the dining room, she removed an armchair at one end of the table to accommodate Brandt’s wheelchair. The table was set for six. Not only had Leona and her husband accepted the invitation to come for dinner, but Brandt’s brothers and sister had also asked to attend.
Picking up a water goblet, she checked it for water spots. She’d returned it to its proper place when Brandt rolled in. “How was it?”
“A lot better than the last time.” He maneuvered closer to the table. “You’re missing a place setting.”
Ciara’s brow furrowed. “I don’t think so. There’s one for you, your sister, brothers and parents. That’s six.”
“Where’s yours, Ciara?”
She gave Brandt a long, penetrating stare. “I’m not eating with you and your family.”
“And why not?”
“Because I’ve made other plans,” she volunteered. She’d searched online for restaurants and cafés on Second or Third Avenue that had caught her interest.
The first thing that sprang into Brandt’s mind was that Ciara was going out with a man, and he didn’t want to think of her smiling, touching and/or kissing another man. She was his…his nurse, and she was there to… His thoughts trailed off when he realized he had no basis for being jealous of Ciara and another man. He would expect her to seek out male companionship.
“Are you going out with someone?”
Ciara stared at Brandt, baffled. Why would he assume because she’d opted not to eat with his family that she would have a dinner date? “No.”
“Then that does it. You will eat here.”
“No, Brandt. I don’t want to intrude.”
“You’re not intruding. You’ve eaten with me every day since you’ve been here, so why should tonight be any different?” Brandt held up his hand when Ciara opened her mouth to come back at him. “Enough. Please put out another place setting. And I’d really appreciate it if you would stand in as my hostess tonight.”
“I’m surprised you ask, because I look dowdy.” Her query was dripping with sarcasm.
“That’s not even close to being funny, Ciara. You wouldn’t be a mess if you didn’t wear those smocks.”
Ciara glanced down at her light blue top with bright red and yellow butterflies. “I think it’s rather cute.”
“It’s cute if you were a kindergarten teacher. If you need something to wear, then I’ll give you my credit card and you can go shopping.”
“You want me to go shopping for an outfit and leave you home alone?”
“I’ll be all right for a few hours. I’ll stay in the sitting area either reading or watching TV.”
Ciara looked at Brandt as if he’d suddenly lost his mind. She didn’t want to think of going into a boutique to shop, then attempting to pay with Brandt Wainwright’s credit card. In no time she would find herself arrested, read her rights, cuffed and entered into the criminal justice system for credit card theft.
“That’s okay. I’ll use my own card.”
Brandt shook his head. “No, you won’t. You’ll take my card. If there’s a problem, then have the store clerk call me.”
Ciara worried her lip. “You must not like me very much.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Why would you say that?”
“Even if the clerk does call you, I’ll still have to go through the humiliation of people believing I’d stolen your card.”
The seconds ticked as Brandt stared at the woman who continued to confound him. Most women would’ve jumped at the chance to go shopping for clothes and not have to pay for them. “Do you have a favorite store?”
She angled her head. “I have a few.”
“Name one.”
“Barneys.”
“Where is it, Ciara?”
“Sixtieth and Madison.”
“What if I call the manager of Barneys and let him know you’re coming in with my credit card. I’ll