Chapter 6

 

Keen disappointment speared his heart when Dan saw a strange woman, scarcely more than a teenager, standing at the door. The bright hall lights glinted off her wire-frame glasses. In her outstretched hand she held a paperback novel.

“Mr. Smith?”

“Yes?”

“Lori asked me to give you this. She said you’d left it behind in the restaurant.”

Dan accepted the book. “I’ll ring down and thank her.”

“Oh, she’s not down there anymore,” the young woman said. “She’s off duty. I’ll pass along your thanks the next time I see her.” She smiled, wished him a goodnight, then strode briskly back down the hall.

Dan closed the door and surveyed the tidy room. With a self-deprecating chuckle he tossed the book beside the key and headed towards the bathroom. What he needed right now was a shower. Preferably a long, cold one.

He dropped his clothes in a pile, surveyed his nude, aroused body in the full-length mirror and shook his head.

“Ah, Lori,” he growled as he stepped into the shower and turned the water on full blast. “Look what you’ve done to me.” He ducked his head under the pelting spray and thought with determination of old ladies and cold winter nights.

Unbidden the memory of his dead nephew, gone this past year, popped into his mind. The child, the only being who had loved him unconditionally and without any great expectations of him, had died on a cold winter’s night. Dan’s desire fled while he furiously scrubbed at his face. Soap must have gotten into his eyes. He never, ever wanted to love and lose like that ever again.

 

Her entire body ached with fatigue, but Elora was much too keyed up to go to bed. Her left knee throbbed, but for once the pain was negligible and of no real significance. Upon entering the room she shared with Caitlin, and handing Sally a paperback novel with instructions to deliver it to Mr. Smith, Elora had closed the door behind the young woman., then leaned against the doorframe with a sigh, and brushed the tangle of hair from her face.

It had taken all her willpower not to return the book herself. Had she done so, it would have been a flimsy excuse. She recalled the heated look in Danny’s eyes and knew that she would have needed no such excuse to go to him. She lifted her hands to her over-warm cheeks. She knew without benefit of a mirror that she must be sharing that same heated look.

She sighed again, a heartfelt, deep, satisfied sigh. For the first time in what seemed like forever, she felt the absolute peace of well-being fill her spirit. She hugged herself. Tonight had been perfect. Tonight she had felt beautiful and desired. For the first time in too long she had felt like a whole woman again. In fact, now that she took the time to consider it, she found it truly amazing that through Danny’s uncomplicated company she had actually managed to completely forget all her troubles. For a little while she had been just Lori.

She limped her way over to Caitlin’s cot and smiled down at the child. A measure of pure, unconditional love washed over her at the sight. Caitlin slept on her tummy, clutching a stuffed monkey to her chest. One bare leg dangled over the edge of the mattress, the covers askew. Elora gently put things right, smoothed the hair from Caitlin’s brow, and kissed her silken cheek.

She limped across the room and tugged off her long skirt and blouse. She resisted the urge to fall into the comfortable dark blue recliner Patrick and Perry had somehow wrestled into the suite three months earlier from her own house, and instead lowered herself carefully onto its padded seat, once again mindful of her artificial limb.

For a moment, she thought she felt her left foot. For an instant her left ankle actually itched, but that was only an illusion. The doctor had told her to expect this bizarre sensation; he even had a name for it – phantom pain. He’d warned her that she could expect to feel these ghost sensations for months, maybe even years, and quite possibly for the rest of her life.

With a distinct, yet indefinable loathing, Elora yanked off her perfectly formed and shiny, flesh-coloured fibreglass prosthesis. Next she removed a thick white sock that covered a leather liner, which had been moulded to snugly fit the residual limb and what remained of her lower left leg. Lastly, she took off a nylon sheath that covered the stump itself. Several inches below her still perfectly formed and very usable knee her leg ended in a thin tapering of loosely hanging flesh, which had healed smoothly without a mark.

She stared at what remained of her left leg. All her well-earned feelings of peace and happiness fled at the sight.

Elora then folded her clothes neatly onto the chair, balanced herself on her one good leg, and hopped into the bathroom to take a shower. She knelt with her left knee on the lip of the tub, then stepped into the bath with her good leg. She balanced herself on her right leg as the hot water soothed her tired body.

The words to the song I’ll Always Be There insinuated their way into her mind and mingled with the water to lull her into a euphoric state.

Fantasies involving Danny filled her mind. Elora reached for a bar of scented soap. It slipped from her grasp. Without thinking she bent to pick it up. The abrupt motion unsettled her precarious balance and she fell to the bottom of the tub. Tears mingled with shower water as Elora stared helplessly at the ugly stump.

How could she have forgotten for one moment that she no longer had a left foot? And what would a handsome man like Danny want with an incomplete woman when he could have whomever he wanted? 

Roughly, Elora towelled herself dry. As she wallowed in self-pity, she performed her nightly ritual and applied lotion to the hanging flesh at the end of her limb. Unsuccessfully she attempted to quell her growing anger as she tugged on a loose nightshirt and hopped out of the bathroom. She was never really sure who or what her anger was directed at, herself, the world, or maybe even God for letting this happen to her. She only knew that the distant feeling of anger was never far from her thoughts, except when she was with Danny. Something about being with him diffused these churning feelings.

She shook her bushy head, and with grim determination she hopped over to her bed. She refused to use the crutches, which she kept hidden at the back of her closet. She would be independent, even if it killed her. She didn’t need anyone’s help. She thought again of Danny and gave her head another brutal shake. She definitely didn’t need a man to complete her life.