Harrington was released from the hospital today. Brid and I were there with him and his family, of course. She was watching as he was wheeled out to his car, dampening his pain, strengthening his spirit. I was less active, for this was the best opportunity I have had yet to see the dynamic between him and his family. His wife, Isabella, and his son, Arthur, have visited him before, of course, but this is different. This is their attempt to return to normal life, and this is where things will get difficult.
Isabella drove, while Harrington sat in the back with Arthur. There wasn’t much conversation. Isabella prattled about how many people had asked about Harrington at church and how many bouquets of flowers were waiting for him at home, but neither her husband or her son contributed much to the conversation.
When they arrived back in the humble suburban neighborhood where they live, there was someone waiting for them outside the house. Harrington looked up and began to smile. “And where in the hell have you been?” he asked the man who opened the car door.
“Enjoying the peace and quiet while I could,” his younger brother said. “I knew that once you got home there’d be no rest for the wicked.” Cameron Price leaned into the car to put an arm around his brother. He extended a hand to Arthur. “Hey, Arty, want to show me how to put the unspeakable contraption together? Then we’ll haul your dad inside where Aunt Courtney is just carving up the fatted calf.”
Though Cameron’s reference to Harrington’s wheelchair was intentionally oblique, it took the smile from Harrington’s face. He stared at the steps in front of his door, at the garage where he had frequently brought home small projects to work on—he is an automobile mechanic, or was—and at the house itself, which is not yet paid off and won’t be if Harrington can’t work. With the worries came the guilt and the depression.
“But just see how many people are here for you,” I reminded him. “They are not afraid to make the changes that will need to be made. They love you and consider it worth the trouble.”
The words did not make much of a difference, but then Harrington hardly knows me. Perhaps he will listen more closely as he grows accustomed to my presence.
Together, Cameron, Arthur, and Isabella got Harrington into the house, where indeed it did smell wonderful. Cameron’s wife Courtney had been hard at work, and perfect round hamburgers were just coming off the grill as the family made their way into the kitchen. “Hey, guys!” Courtney said, half-hidden by two rows of floral bouquets on the kitchen counter. “Come grab some plates and we’ll set up shop around the table.”
It was a good try. They had removed one of the chairs to leave room for Harrington, and Cameron had even managed to lower the table a bit to make it easier for Harrington to eat there. The flowers were bright and cheerful, and Cameron made extra effort to be talkative. But all of it was a reminder to Harrington of everything that had changed, and so as soon as he had the chance, he excused himself and wheeled away to his bedroom—or rather, the downstairs room that had been turned into a bedroom in his absence. Arthur went silently behind him to help him out of the chair, then escaped himself up the stairs.
With Harrington gone, the other adults stopped trying to smile. Isabella put her face in her hands.
“We knew it was going to be hard, Bella,” Courtney said quietly.
“I know, I just—” She sighed. “I’m already so tired.”
Cameron took her hand, and she looked at him through watery eyes. “Court and I want to stay a while, Bella,” he said. “Just a few weeks, until you all get your rhythm back. I can be the muscle you need to take care of Harry, and Court can drive him to therapy while you’re at work.”
“Harry won’t like to put you out,” Isabella began.
“You’re family,” Cameron said firmly. “We aren’t put out.”
“We want to be here,” Courtney agreed.
Isabella wiped her eyes and covered Cameron’s hands with her own. “Then yes. Thank you.”
Nodding, Cameron leaned back in his chair, glancing up the stairs. “How’s Arty doing with all this?”
Isabella shook her head. “I’m not sure. Oh, no, let him be,” she said as Cameron made to get up. “He’ll come talk to one of us when he’s ready, he always does. I don’t want to push him, not now.”
“You’re the expert.” He sighed and grimaced. “Now, I know you won’t like this, but we need to talk money. How steep were the hospital bills?”
Isabella gave a little burble of laughter that seemed nearly hysterical. “Come on,” she said, getting up. “This could take a while.”
I left them to their figuring—Cameron is an accountant, so he is an excellent resource for Isabella—and went to see how Harrington was doing. Brid was already sitting on the side of his bed, murmuring gently to him while he stared at the ceiling.
I looked down at his aura, filled with deep shadows, and sighed. “I do not even know where to begin,” I admitted to Brid.
“Don’t, then,” she said easily. “Not yet. Leave him to me for now, Asa’el. What he needs at this moment is healing and love. He has that, but you will be needed to feed the family’s patience and kindness in the days to come. Focus on them, for now, and leave Harrington to me.”
It is a good plan, I think, and both Danit and Zaman agree. So Brid will spend her time with Harrington, doing what she can to mend his body and his spirit, while I get to know his family. I hope that I can help them in this time of transition and bring them out of it as strong a unit they were to begin with, if not stronger. We shall see.