and to serving her community through her career in emergency services. Both goals served as a sort of. retribution, and only after reaching them could she even think about finding a way to forgive herself for causing the whole thing in the first place—if one existed.
She’d worked in the comm center for eleven years now, and loved it. Giving back to the community kept her sane. And, although it had taken a decade, all her friends had worked through their own pain, come to terms with the past, fully recovered. Brody and Faith had a beautiful baby girl, Mickie, and a teenage foster son, Jason. Erin and Nate had been blessed with little Nate Jr. Cagney and Jonas were still in that newlywed state and probably would be for a while. But they’d more than earned it.
Lexy had done all that she’d set out to do. Mission accomplished.
So … what now?
She’d always imagined she’d feel a sense of serenity, of closure, of having set things right once all the pieces fell into place. But instead she felt restless and afloat, and she had no clue why or what to do about it. Clearly, she’d been so focused on her original goals, she’d never visualized the what next? part. Now, here she was, smack in the middle of what next? and utterly clueless. Okay, so she’d increased her sessions with the rehabilitation therapist to four times a week—as her sore muscles reminded her—and she felt physically stronger. Emotionally, though, not so much.
She needed something new to strive for.
Like … a hobby? Lame.
A tentative knock on the open door startled Lexy from her contemplative brooding. She shot a glance toward the sound, then exhaled noisily. “Oh, you scared me.”
“Sorry.” Genean, one of the younger dispatchers, scrunched her nose. “I didn’t mean to sneak up.”
Lexy easily maneuvered her wheelchair to face her employee, then smiled up at her. “No problem. I was just daydreaming, which, admittedly, isn’t listed anywhere in my job description,” she added, in a just-between-us-girls tone.
Genean laughed. “Happens to the best of us.”
“True enough.” Lexy rested her hands in her lap. “What can I do for you, Genean?”
The trendy young woman aimed a thumb toward the central area of the secured room. “Can you sit the board for me for half an hour? I forgot my lunch on the kitchen counter this morning, and I’m sure it’s been devoured by my ill-behaved dog by this point.” She shrugged. “I’ve been trying to hold out until I got off shift, but my tummy’s protesting loudly.”
“Of course.” Lexy glanced at the large, wallmounted LED clock and saw it was already after eleven. Genean’s shift had started at six-thirty in the morning. “God, you must be famished. Why didn’t you call me down earlier?”
“I was okay until a few minutes ago.”
“If you say so. I’d be chewing on paper now if I were you.” Lexy winced as she opened her desk drawer and extracted a headset.
“You okay?”
“Just sore. My rehab therapist, Kimberly, has been increasing the intensity of my workouts in preparation for race season.” And possibly some experimental therapies, but she didn’t share that.
“Physical therapists, personal trainers, they’re all evil, if you ask me,” Genean said, with a grimace.
“True enough. Kim’s a brute.” Lexy slipped on her headset, adjusting the earpiece and clipping the cord to her V-neck top. “Give me a quick pass-down of what’s going on out there. Then feel free to take your time and have a nice meal. I need the distraction of working the phones today.” She gestured toward the door.
Genean preceded her out. “Thanks. As for pass-down, not much to say. Nothing’s going on,” she said, over her shoulder. “A couple minor medicals, one fender bender with no injuries. But those calls are handled, and the phones are quiet. It’s one of those excruciatingly slow days.”
Lexy followed her employee down the wide ramp from her office into the center. “G, you know we never utter the phrase ‘slow day’ out loud,” she chided, in a playful tone, as they entered the epicenter of dispatch. “It’s the quintessential jinx.”
“Oops.” Nonplussed, Genean shouldered her handbag and chuckled as she untangled the headset of her iPod from an outside pocket. “Sorry about that.”
“G always jinxes us,” said Dane, the other dispatcher on duty, currently working the radio side, head buried in the Rocky Mountain News. He was senior to Genean, but the two of them got along great and worked well as a team. “She’s a crap magnet. Trust me, I know, because I get stuck with her all the dang time,” he fake-groused.
“Ha-ha. So not true, Dane. You know you love working with me.” She made a face at his back.
“Keep telling yourself that, jinx.” He grinned at Lexy, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “Boss, I’ve been meaning to ask you about a schedule change.”
Lexy shook her head, smiling at their banter.
Genean spread her arms wide. “You people are too superstitious. What could possibly happen in the half hour or so that I’ll be gone?”
“Jinx number two, and the worst kind.” Lexy groaned, then pointed toward the exit door. “Go on, get out of here before you lay a hex on the entire town.”
“Fine, fine, I know when I’m not wanted.” Genean batted her eyes with innocence. “Can I bring either of you anything from the Pinecone?”
“I’ll pass,” Dane said, burying himself in the paper again. “You’ll probably jinx that, too.”
Lexy snickered as she plugged into the console and adjusted the height of the motorized ergo-nomic desktop to accommodate the armrests of her wheelchair. She always loved how dispatch seemed like a family, with “siblings” picking on each other good-naturedly. “Nothing for me, either. I brought lunch. But thanks.”
Dane glanced up at his span of five computer monitors, fingers poised over one of four keyboards he manned, as a medic unit called out en route to High Country Medical Center with one patient, nonemergent, followed by additional units going in service, in quarters, or other radio traffic.
Genean gave a little finger wave and left. While Dane was busy communicating with the units on calls, Lexy’s restlessness returned like a persistent rash. At odds, she reached into the side pocket of her chair for the sheath of paperwork her care team, led by Dr. Shannon Avolese, had urged her to read.
Experimental treatment.
The possibility of truly walking again, after all this time? Surely she’d never walk without the aid of crutches or, best-case scenario, a cane, but she didn’t mind that. For that matter, she didn’t mind her chair. It didn’t hold her back; she was independent.
Still … walking at all was such a long shot. As it was, the short distances she could walk with crutches exhausted her. But she’d been feeling stronger than ever, physically and mentally. This could occupy her mind for the time being. It wouldn’t hurt to try, since she had no emotional attachment to the outcome. It beat collecting stamps, she supposed.
Aside from the
