and be done with it.
Her fault for not following her program of cooking on weekends and freezing meals for herself. She’d let it slide, and now she was going to pay. Even a search to the very back of her freezer didn’t yield a container of stew or lasagna.
She finally poured a cup of coffee for herself and sat at her kitchen table, drumming her fingers on the wood, thinking. She was more efficient than this. Usually. But lately she seemed to have been letting things slide, like her meals.
And when you let things slide, as she told her students, you got yourself into the last-minute woes. Now, tired or not, she needed to cook.
Mentally throwing her hands up, wondering what had been getting into her lately, she went back to the pantry and started rooting for ingredients. She prided herself on efficiency, so what was going on?
She found some yellow rice and remembered the thick slices of ham she’d bought to cook for breakfast. Some of that cut into the rice would make a meal along with veggies. Saved.
She was just pulling her rice cooker out from under the counter when she heard a knock at her door. It didn’t sound like the usual tap-tap. The raps were spaced farther apart. Curious, she went to open the door.
Nell, Zane’s golden retriever, was standing there, wagging her tail with a rawhide bone in her mouth. She must have used that to knock on the door. Wow.
Then she looked past Nell and saw Zane in his wheelchair at the end of her sidewalk.
“Check her saddlebag,” Zane said. “Your pie plate is in there.”
“Oh, thank you! You could have just called me to come and get it.” But she looked down at the dog and smiled. “However, I do like your errand girl.” Bending, she dared to give Nell a quick pat before lifting the flap on the saddlebag and pulling out the glass dish.
She straightened. “So she knocks on doors, too?”
“Yup. The pie is great. I still have nearly half of it in my fridge, but I’m not sure it will survive until morning. Thank you.”
“Glad you enjoyed it.” Then awkwardness hit her. Ordinarily she would have invited him in for a cup of coffee. But there was no way he could get up the three steps to her porch. Her house was as inaccessible to him as a fortress. Discomfort commingled with sadness washed through her. This was awful.
He gave a whistle, and Nell turned and trotted back to him.
Ashley decided to just be frank about her awkwardness. “I’m sorry I can’t invite you in for coffee, but I don’t know how you could get up here.”
He smiled faintly. “That’s what I have arms for. Anyway, I only wanted to bring back the pie plate. My mother guarded hers like a dragon with a hoard of gold. If a neighbor didn’t bring one back soon enough, she’d go over to hunt for it.”
Ashley had to laugh. “I’m not quite that attached.” He started to wheel away when impulse took her by surprise and she said, “I was just about to start making my dinner. Yellow rice with ham, broccoli on the side. Would you like some?”
He froze. She watched it happen. He didn’t even look at her, but he was no longer moving. Oh, God, he’d warned her he wanted to be alone, and now she’d ignored him. After this, he might never want to talk to her again, and she would have only herself to blame for that.
Or he could just bite her head off right now and leave her in a quivering mess. God, what was wrong with her? He’d been perfectly clear, and she’d just been perfectly stupid.
Then he astonished her. He turned his head and looked at her. She braced for the scolding. Instead, he said, “I’d like that, if you don’t mind.”
Then he rolled away along the sidewalk and up his ramp.
She didn’t move for a minute or so while he entered his house, with Nell’s assistance for the door, and disappeared.
She had heard that right, hadn’t she? He’d like her to bring over dinner?
Back inside, she changed out of her wool skirt and sweater into jeans and a blue flannel shirt. Okay, then. If she was going to cook for two, she was going to do it over there. If that was too big a trespass, she wanted to know it now.
She had never been into playing mind games. While she felt bad for all Zane had been through, that didn’t mean she was going to let him run hot and cold like a kitchen tap. Either he wanted real company, or he didn’t. If he expected her to just bring over a plate of food, she wasn’t about to do that. She was part of the package.
She jammed most of what she needed into her rice maker and a paper bag to carry the rest of it next door, then looked at the fresh pot of coffee she’d just made. Dang, she wanted another cup of coffee. There’d been none since this morning.
Well, she seemed to remember he had a coffeemaker on his counter. If not, she’d come back for hers. For now, she switched it off.
She had the odd feeling she was about to enter a boxing ring. Well, time would tell.
* * *
Zane wondered what had possessed him. Asking her to bring dinner over? The next thing he knew, she’d probably be delivering food to him and trying to help him in ways he didn’t want to be helped.
Independence mattered to him. Yeah, he needed some assistance, like the bar over the bed that helped him transfer to and from his wheelchair. The shower seat and security bars. The dog, his wonderful Nell.
But most of that meant he could still look after himself in ways that mattered. He could cook on a counter that was at chest height, although it wasn’t the easiest thing. He could do most everything one way or another with a little adaptation.
But he really did have a problem with PTSD. Why it had all blown up on him after he lost the use of his legs, he didn’t know. He’d survived a lot of years going in and out of danger and war with few apparent problems. Then, wham! It was almost like once the focus was broken he became broken.
Unfortunately, when the shift had occurred in him, he’d found triggers everywhere, things that could throw him back in time. Sounds, smells, even some voices. And sometimes he couldn’t figure out any reason for it to hit him. Those instances were the worst of all, because he had no idea what to avoid. Sometimes he didn’t even have a flashback, just a surging, almost uncontrollable rage.
So he’d come here to wrestle with it by himself. He knew there was a group here he could join, but he wasn’t yet ready to do that again. It would be good for him, but the move had disturbed him in strange ways and he felt a need to settle in first.
Wondering at himself, he wheeled to the kitchen and began the complicated process of making coffee. He had to lock his chair in place and pull himself up on his elbows to fill the pot and put the grounds in the basket. Practice had made it easier, but it was a crazy dance all the same. Still, he’d have had to live without coffee and a lot of other things if he hadn’t learned to pull himself up.
Once the pot was turned on, he settled back into his chair. Then came the knock at the door. He unlocked his chair and rolled out to greet Ashley, thinking that he needed to get new knobs for the door. Nell could operate the lever kind, but the round knobs just picked up a lot of tooth marks.
But
