Brid tells me that Harrington has reached a plateau in his recovery. He has begun physical therapy, and while it is difficult for him, his doctors are optimistic. Not that he will ever walk again without aid, but perhaps with a brace and a cane he could manage, in time.
He is not the same man who appears in the pictures around the house. That man is robust, ordered, content. Harrington now is reduced, his entire body shrunken, not just his unused legs. Brid says that he will be like this for some time, long enough that he will come to believe that he will never get better, even as he is. She says that this is the time to give strength to his spirit.
To that end I have been spending more time with him in the past few days. I have been trying to encourage him to talk to his wife and his son, to interact in their lives, but it is difficult to get past his concern for himself. I understand, of course, but I cannot let him become enclosed in himself.
My gentle persuasion was not doing much, but I was hesitant to act with more decision, remembering the warning Zaman gave me when I first began. I talked through my idea with Brid, however, and she thought it would have a positive result. So I provoked an argument between Harrington and Arthur.
Neither was in a good mood today. Arthur had received a low grade on a test, which does not bode well for his exams, coming soon. Harrington, of course, has no need for particular reason to be unhappy these days. When he heard Arthur come in, he called a greeting, but had no intention of doing anything more. I reminded him, however, of Arthur’s test, and he called out to his son, forcing Arthur to come reluctantly back down the stairs.
“How’d that chemistry test go today?” Harrington asked, wheeling himself to the foot of the stairs.
Arthur tried to keep the dismay from his face. “Fine,” he said and started to turn around again.
“Well, did you get it back? I thought you said you’d get the grade by the end of the day.”
“Yeah, I got it back.” He lingered on the bottom stair, feeling trapped there.
Harrington studied his son. He was beginning to guess what the grade had been. “May I see it?”
Arthur looked at his father, then dug the errant paper out of his bag and dropped it into Harrington’s lap. “Can I go now?” he asked.
Harrington looked at the number scrawled in red at the top of the page. “No, you cannot. You want to explain this to me?” He waved the page. “You’ve been doing better in chemistry, I thought.”
“I just had an off day,” Arthur said. “I’ll study harder.”
“You’re damn right you will,” Harrington said.
The force in his voice made Arthur angry. “What are you so mad about? I tried—”
“Did you study at all?” Harrington demanded. “Or have you just been goofing off, playing video games all night?”
“Oh, I get it,” Arthur said, his voice sharper than before. “You’re just mad that you can’t check in on me anymore.”
This was what I had been waiting for, and it required careful management. I distracted Harrington a bit as Arthur spoke, so that he did not understand what Arthur was saying right away. “What are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about,” Arthur said, spitting out the exact words that I wanted him to say. “You were always so fucking satisfied with yourself, weren’t you? Always in control, always in command. The church elder, the good neighbor, the goddamned paterfamilias. Everything was just right with your life. Did you ever even bother to ask Mom if she was happy just staying home and waiting for you to get here? Did you ever even consider that I might not like you bragging about my grades as if you were the one who did all the work?”
Harrington stared at Arthur, the paper forgotten in his hand. Looking at him, Arthur’s anger began to ebb away.
“Keep going,” I said to Arthur. “He needs to hear this.”
Arthur stepped down onto a level with his father and snatched the test back, staring down at it. “Mom used to say that every bad thing brings some good with it,” he said. “She never said that about your accident, but I hoped it would be true, anyway. I hoped… But it didn’t happen. You’re still too wrapped up in yourself, trying to control everything.” He swallowed against the lump in his throat. “Would it kill you to let me live my own life every once in a while?”
And unable to say anything more or look his father in the eye, he turned and took the stairs two at a time, slamming the door behind him.
Harrington stayed where he was, thinking about all of this. Arthur’s words had hurt him, of course, but more of the hurt came from guilt than from despair. He thought about his previous interactions with his son, with his wife, with others he knew. I watched his thoughts, keeping him from feeling defensive, trying to make him be honest with himself.
“But you have changed,” I told him, “and it does not have to be a bad thing. Your perspective is different now. Perhaps it could be an opportunity, not a weight.”
Harrington was still sitting at the foot of the stairs, still considering all of this, when the door opened and Isabella came in. “Oh, hi, honey,” she said, blinking. “What’s up?”
Harrington looked up at her. He saw that she was flushed, that her eyes were bright. “Something wrong?”
She was a bit surprised by the question, but she shook her head. “No, just a problem at work I’ve been trying to work out.” She bent down and kissed him on the cheek, then turned and leaned out the door to get the mail.
“I’ll take that,” Harrington said. “Tell me about this problem.”
Again surprised, Isabella shook her head. “It’s not important. How was your day?”
Harrington stopped her from going past him. He took the mail from her hand. “Is it important to you?” he asked. “Then it’s important. Tell me about it.”
Isabella blinked at him. She was confused, but also pleased. Since she took on a part-time job at a local shop, she has assumed that Harrington resented her absence every day, and so she has tried not to speak about it much at home. “Well, around the same time I started, the manager also hired the sister of a girl who worked there for a while. They’re both young, and they do not get along at work—”
Setting the mail in his lap, Harrington wheeled himself into the kitchen, listening to Isabella talk. He made her sit down at the table and poured her a glass of wine, though he had to use a plain glass instead of a wineglass, which the family keeps in a high cabinet. He watched Isabella’s face and listened to her talk about the dynamics between her coworkers. It became more and more clear to him that this problem, this job, is important to her.
Isabella, not completely distracted from her husband’s odd behavior, soon set aside her glass. “Harrington, what is it?” she asked. “Why this sudden interest?”
He did not like the word ‘sudden.’ “Have I never shown interest in your job before?”
She gave him a wry look, which made his heart sink. He rested his hands on the wheels of his chair. “Isabella,” he said, enunciating the syllables of her name—neither of them like to have their names shortened. It was what first drew them to one another, I have learned. “Have I—have I made you feel like…like you couldn’t go out and get a job if you wanted it?”
“What?” Isabella was astonished. “No, of course not! What makes you think that?”
Harrington didn’t answer. He knew that his wife would be angry at Arthur for saying what he had, but he had realized that he did not want to punish Arthur for saying what he felt. “Do you think I’m selfish?” he asked, looking up.
Isabella saw the pain in his eyes, a different pain than what he has been coping with in the past weeks. She got out of her chair and knelt in front of him, taking his hands. “A terrible thing has happened to you,” she said. “You are allowed to think of yourself for a while.”
He shook his head impatiently. “I’m not talking about my damn back,” he said. “I mean before that. Was I—was I always too worried about what I wanted to pay attention to you and Arthur?”
Isabella squeezed his hands. “You are a good man. A good father—”
“Am I?” he asked, tears in his eyes. “I don’t know what my son wants from his life. I don’t know what you want, even though I thought I did. Have I—God, have I really failed you so badly?” He covered his eyes with one hand.
Isabella looked at him, seeing the lines in his face, the lines she has watched form, little by little over the years. She got up and sat down in his lap, surprising him into putting his arms around her. Leaning in, she kissed him softly.
“Do you remember our first date?” she asked him.
This surprised him, but he laughed. “Yes. I didn’t have a clue what I was doing.”
Smiling, Isabella rested her head on his shoulder. “You tried taking me to the museum first, but it was closed. Then we wanted Italian, but we couldn’t find a good place.”
“You took charge,” Harrington said. “You made all the decisions.” He shook his head, his smile rueful now. “I was such a dumb kid.”
Isabella caught his chin and made him look at her. “Yes, you were. But you’ve learned. You have become a strong, decisive man, and I have watched the whole time and I have been so very proud of you.” She kissed his forehead. “I was happy to stand back and watch you shine. There hasn’t been a day in my life, in our marriage, that I haven’t been glad to let you take charge.” For a moment she thought about that, then amended, “Or at least, that I haven’t told you about. And that is a promise, Harrington Price.”
He could see no lie in her face, and I could see no lie in her aura. I washed him with the truth of her words, and they warmed him right down to his core, down to the cold place that has been closed off for so long.
Choked with emotion, he took her hand and pressed it to his chest. “Well,” he said gruffly, “I suppose now it’s my turn to step back and watch you shine for a while.”
“Sure?” Isabella asked gently, smiling.
He nodded. “Least I could do.”
“Oh, no,” Isabella said, cupping his face in her hands. “Not the least. Not at all.” And she kissed him again.
What a beautiful love they share. The accident made them forget it for a while, but they have been partners and lovers for a very long time now. They simply needed to be reminded of it, and what a joy it was to see! A joy, too, to give Harrington a new perspective on this gift he has. It has made him humble and grateful, and I hope turned his attention away from his own pain. In time, I hope that will help him to strengthen his relationship with his son, as well.
I am very hopeful. We shall see if those hopes come true.