is about. I’ll shoot you the deets on the street fair and you can text me if you want to go. Love you both. Drive safe.”
She clicked off, leaving Rory chuckling. “How many words did we get in there?”
Daralyn’s smile returned, but her eyes were thoughtful.
“What?” he asked.
“She said ‘our men.’ It made me think of Amanda.”
“What about her?”
“She’s been a good friend to you. I didn’t really realize that, until recently.”
He wasn’t sure where she was headed with the comment, but that appeared to be it. She subsided, returned to watching the passing scenery. At the next stop light, he re-captured her hand and rubbed a thumb over her palm, drawing her attention. “Daralyn?”
“Yes?”
“I am your man. A hundred percent.”
Her hand tightened over his and she nodded, gazing down at it. He didn’t say any more. Even though it was sometimes difficult to tell with her, she looked okay with that declaration, not troubled.
He’d learned to wait her out. Watching and listening often told him what she needed. Time. It was usually all that was needed to prove to her the words meant something real.
Brick had assured him the place was a cottage, not a stinky fishing shack only suitable for male friends wanting a weekend of beer swilling, fishing and peeing off the back porch.
“I have a property manager,” he’d told Rory. “Preps it before I have guests or am coming myself. No ramps though, bro. I’ll look into fixing that before your next visit.”
“How many girls have you brought there? Do I need to hose the place down?”
“Naw. Property manager handles that, too. Probably has to wear a haz-mat suit, but…”
“Ass wipe.”
The conversation had satisfied him that Daralyn would be comfortable there. As for the ramp, all he’d needed was a heads up. Rory had brought a portable aluminum one Brick had said would be long enough to ascend the three short steps to the porch. He’d told Rory not to hesitate to screw it to the boards if he wanted to do so.
The cottage was as Brick had described it, a smallish place with neat blue wood siding, a tin roof and wraparound porch. There were a couple flower boxes in front. Sago palms and a scattering of begonias populated the natural areas clustered around the base of mature palm trees. The place looked welcoming to a woman, but not too fussy for a man with Brick’s tastes.
The marsh area out back was at high tide, the sun starting to set, creating a mellow gold and silver sky, reflected in the water. After he and Daralyn put their few items inside, they sat on the back screened porch and watched the sun crack on the horizon. She moved her chair closer to him so he could put an arm around her. With her leaning against him, he couldn’t help but think what it would be like to have this experience forever, the two of them in their own home. Being a family.
The only shadow on that thought came from his recollection of the brief call he’d made to Dr. Taylor, after the hammock afternoon. He’d learned the truth about Daralyn’s statement about children.
“Childhood stress and trauma, particularly chronic sexual abuse, can have a very strong impact on fertility,” the doctor had told him. “And as we discussed, there were times her uncle wasn’t as restrained as her father was. Daralyn has some physical damage to the reproductive system that may have been from that.”
She’d paused. “As far as adoption, until she demonstrates a far higher degree of socialization than she currently does, she wouldn’t be approved as a prospective parent, even with my recommendation, which I would certainly give when I feel she’s ready for that step. Now, if she marries someone who meets their requirements, that could help things. But…”
He’d smoothly filled in the blank. “I’m paralyzed, and whether or not they’ll admit it, the two sets of factors added together wouldn’t put us at the top of the list.”
Even a healthy paraplegic who took care of himself knew the biases, which unfortunately were fed by the facts associated with the passage of time. He’d likely need a power chair at some point, because he’d have degeneration in his shoulder joints. He could also develop complications related to the simple fact the internal organs and systems were not designed for a human to spend his life sitting on his ass.
All of which were potential risks, not certain ones, and even if they happened, they could