Keith (Hathaway House #11) - Dale Mayer Page 0,14

me.”

She grinned at that. “In that case, it’s a good thing that I got sidetracked.” Just like that, she turned to leave again.

“Wait,” he called out.

She turned to look at him. “What’s up?” She saw him hesitate and then shrug.

“Nothing really, but thanks for the coffee.”

Knowing he was trying to say something else but wouldn’t now, she wished she had given him an opportunity to speak before she left. Aware that the moment was lost, she shrugged and said, “You’re welcome.” And, with that, she headed back to the kitchen.

Keith didn’t even know what he should say. She was going out of her way every day to say hi first thing in the morning, to ask him about coffee, and then she came by and brought him one. He wasn’t used to this special attention, certainly not from a chef in a place like this. She was also super friendly and approachable. He always figured chefs were these six-foot-tall men with massive chests and beer guts, hacking out orders like a command center in a big kitchen. She was the complete antithesis to who he thought would run a kitchen here.

But, from the food that he had tasted, it was absolutely exquisite. And lots of it, which was not that easy to do. Institutional food was well-known for being bland, overcooked, and completely tasteless. But not here. Not here at all. Yet another bonus of his visit. But, like he’d said to her, so far nothing was happening. It was just testing. And that was frustrating.

He slid off the edge of the bed, grabbed his crutches, and supported himself on the aluminum “sticks” while he tried to stand. He had told her that he could walk, and he could—but only in an emergency. One step, two steps. In the meantime, getting from point A to point B without crutches was a major trauma to his system. The right leg still dragged more than he would like. But he managed to make it to the bathroom, and, after using the facilities, he wondered about a quick shower, then decided to go for it, regardless of whether it was the thing to do or not. Of course his shower was equipped with all the bars and seats needed for people like him.

He turned on the hot water and made his way under the heavy stream and just sat here, letting the heat beat down on his head and body. He stared down his body, at the one leg that she’d seen, studying it, as if with her eyes. He’d become so used to the scars that crisscrossed his body that the purple welts and the new tissue never looked the same as the old tissue.

He was like a Frankenstein put back together again. Modern medicine had done a heck of a job, but it hadn’t left him in very pretty shape.

By the time he was done with his shower and got dressed and back to his bed, he was shaking. He swore lightly.

Just then a man spoke around the corner. “That doesn’t sound good.”

Keith glared at the open door. “It’s not bad though,” he said to Shane.

Shane walked in, frowning at him. “What exhausted you this morning?”

“I just had a shower,” he said.

Shane looked at him in surprise. “Did you get there under your own steam?”

He nodded.

“Did you have the shower on your own?”

He nodded again.

“Did you get back here and get dressed on your own?”

At that, he nodded once more.

“Then I sure wouldn’t be too upset with that much effort on your own,” Shane said with a big smile. “I’m thrilled to know you have that much independence.”

He stared at him in surprise. “Yeah, but, I mean, I’m exhausted,” he said. “I could barely even make it back.”

“Barely is a mind-set,” Shane announced. “The thing to remember is you did make it. Now how about some breakfast?”

“I was thinking about it, but I’m pretty tired now,” he admitted.

“No problem,” Shane said. He grabbed the wheelchair, pulled it around, and said, “Let’s use this.”

He looked at it, then at Shane, and said, “I generally don’t go out in public in a wheelchair.”

“Hathaway House is not public,” he said. “This is home, so hop in.”

Shane was just one of those guys who was really hard to ignore or to argue with. The wheelchair sat in front of Keith, one of those specters of his current life that he hated, but no give was in Shane’s voice or in the look on his face.