Yuletide Redemption

“Claire mentioned the possibility of using a cane.” It had been a while since she engaged in conversation this long with a stranger. She clasped her hands in her lap.

“My doctor didn’t make any promises.”

“Doctors can’t really make promises,” she said quietly. Hers certainly hadn’t. “What did yours say?”

“With enough physical therapy, I might be able to get around with a cane eventually. I’ll need a wheelchair or crutches to give my leg a break when the pain gets bad.”

“I’m sorry. I take it you can’t walk at all?”

“For short periods. With crutches.”

“That’s good.” She nodded.

“I haven’t used them much since I fell.”

“Oh. Does the doctor want you off your leg so it can heal?”

He didn’t meet her eyes, but his right shoulder lifted in a shrug. “It’s less painful this way.”

Not exactly the answer to her question. “But how will you get better if you stay in the wheelchair?”

“There’s no getting better. I won’t be able to do the things I used to do. I’ll never run, ski or slam-dunk a basketball again.”

Heat climbed her neck. It wasn’t her business. She was here to help him in exchange for the cabin. Nothing more. But she really couldn’t follow his way of thinking. He refused to go to physical therapy, but without it he’d always be in a wheelchair. Hmm...

“I don’t know much about it,” she murmured.

“I don’t want to be confined to this chair, but I can’t risk permanent damage.”

“So let me take you to physical therapy.”

“No.”

“But you just said—”

“I’d give anything to walk again. Hobbling around with a cane isn’t walking. It’s a rotten consolation prize.”

“I’m really confused. You have a chance to improve your life.” She let the rest of her thought go unspoken. But you’re too proud to see a cane as an improvement.

He jerked his head to the side. “I don’t want this life.”

And there it was.

Now Celeste understood why Claire had offered an empty cabin in exchange for help with Sam. Until this moment Celeste had worried the offer was only made out of pity. But if pity played a part, Claire’s concern for her brother was clearly the bigger factor. This man had been through so much, and he hadn’t reconciled his past to move on to the future.

“What do you want?”

He didn’t answer right away, but he sighed. “I was the CEO of Sheffield Auto, our family business. Making decisions for five auto dealerships, including one of my own. Everything was going great. Then one day I go fishing with my friend, and nothing has been the same since.”

Celeste nodded in sympathy. He’d had big goals. Unlike her. Until last December, she’d been drifting along, working for an insurance agency and living in a dinky apartment. Her degree in history had been filed away in a box, unused. Lately she’d been thinking of dusting it off to become a teacher. Be the woman she could have been.

But not with these scars. She’d be the laughingstock of the school.

“My life isn’t the same, either. I don’t think it ever will be.” She focused on a chickadee perched on the deck railing outside. Another joined it and they flew off together. Escaping. Lake Endwell was her escape.

“I haven’t figured out how to move forward.” With his elbow propped on the table, his chin rested on his fist.

“Do you still want to run your dealership? And be CEO?”

“Not from a wheelchair.”

Her gut told her this man needed physical therapy as badly as she needed more surgery on her face. But how could she convince him?

“What about returning to work with a cane? You have options.” She tipped her head. “Try physical therapy again. Claire won’t let me live in her cabin unless you do.”

“My sister?” He scoffed. “She wouldn’t kick you out.”

“She would. She’s determined to get you back to PT.”

“I’ll find you another place to stay.”

“I don’t want another place.” She didn’t know why this man was touching such a nerve in her. She could live somewhere else. But the dark circles under his eyes shot compassion through her heart. She wanted him to smile. Wanted him to have hope. And her approach clearly wasn’t working. “Look, I need this.”

“Why?”

What was the saying about desperate times and desperate measures?

“I’ll show you.” She prayed this didn’t backfire as she walked out the door.

* * *

Sam rubbed his forehead as the door clicked behind Celeste. For a soft-spoken person, she sure knew how to say things that barbed right to his soul. He wasn’t angry. Wasn’t even upset. For months he’d carried a Dumpster full of excuses on why he should give up. Why physical therapy wasn’t for him.

And for what? He kicked the table leg with his good foot. This was no way to live.

If he didn’t return to work after Christmas, there would be no work to return to. His brothers had told him they couldn’t continue to help run his dealership. They each had two of their own, and they’d given up most of their free time to keep his profitable.

He would be forced to sell the dealership. They would name a new person to step in as CEO. Succeeding in this business took a hands-on approach and a special personality—one Sam used to have.

Maybe that was the real problem. He’d lost his courage. Lost his identity. Maybe it was time to try physical therapy again. His bones ached thinking about it. Getting around in the wheelchair wasn’t ideal, but it kept him from the relentless aching and stiffness PT brought on.

Besides, his weak knee could very well cause him to fall, putting him at risk of tearing open the healing sciatic nerve. He’d fought hard to regain feeling in his foot and lower leg. Portions of it were still numb. He might not be moving forward, but at least he wasn’t in danger of a permanent setback—paralysis.

The door opened with a creak. Sam sat up straighter, not believing what he was seeing.

Celeste held a dark-haired child in her arms. The baby rubbed his eyes and let his head fall back against her shoulder. He wore little navy pants and a lime-green shirt. A diaper stuck out from the top of the elastic, and his feet were strapped into tiny running shoes.

Sam’s heartbeat paused at the picture they presented.