“DJ, what is it?”
“What’s wrong?”
Her mother and father burst into her room in the same heartbeat.
“H-how’d you know?” DJ sucked in a deep breath, which brought on only a minor coughing spasm. She sat up straighter to ease the congestion.
“The baby monitor, remember?” Lindy glanced up at Robert, who stood beside her. “Why don’t you get a warm washcloth?” She sat down on the bed and stroked DJ’s leg through the cover. “What happened?”
“A nightmare, that’s all.” DJ could feel sweat trickle down her back and sides. Her insides were still shaking and her heart was thumping like it might jump out of her chest. “I get them a lot.”
“Do you remember them when you wake up?” Lindy took the cloth Robert offered and wiped DJ’s face and neck.
“Thanks, that feels good.”
Robert sat beside her and began kneading her neck and shoulders.
“It’s always horses, people screaming. And like I’m stuck in mud and can’t get there to help them. I try and then I’m screaming, and then I wake up.”
“Is there fire?”
“Uh-huh. But not always. It’s just that I can’t get there.”
“What would you do if you could get there?”
“Beats me. I’m just stuck. Sometimes something is coming after me, and while I can’t see it, I know it’s there.” She rotated her head from side to side and forward. “That feels so good.”
“I’m sure the stuck feeling comes from where you are right now— stuck in bed, in therapy. Dreams are often reflections of where we are or something that is happening.” Lindy wiped DJ’s face and neck, then dried them with the towel Robert had brought with the washcloth. “How about a drink, too? The doctor said we have to push fluids since you aren’t on the IV any longer.”
DJ leaned into Robert’s ministering fingers as she sucked on the straw. She glanced over at her lighted radio clock. “What happened to the picnic?”
“Sorry, but you were sleeping so soundly I couldn’t bear to wake you up, so we ate outside. Think you can go back to sleep now?”
“Yes, thanks.” DJ flopped back on her pillows and scooted down some in the bed. “Sorry I woke you.”
“We’re here for you, DJ. Just call and we’ll come runnin’—waddling, in your mother’s case.”
“All right, Robert dear, you get to have the next one and see how well you do.” Lindy took his hand to pull her to her feet. “Sometimes I think I must be carrying triplets.”
“Really?” DJ could feel her mouth drop open.
“No. As far as we can tell, there is just one. He or she just plans on being toddler-size and ready to join a soccer team the minute it’s born.” Lindy held out the glass again. “You want another night-light in here or the hall light left on?”
“No, thanks. The dark feels good after all the lights and noise at the hospital.”
“Amy called,” Lindy said when DJ wandered slowly into the kitchen for breakfast. “She’s coming over after school on her way to Briones.”
“Here, you sit.” Maria set a tall glass of fresh-from-the-squeezer orange juice with a straw in it on the table. “Got to get some meat on your bones again.” With her dark hair, dark eyes, and flashing smile, Maria patted DJ’s shoulder as she went by. “So good to have you home. Get good care, now.”
DJ sat and inhaled the orange juice. At least she could drink without help if a straw was available. She leaned back in the chair and watched the hummingbirds at the feeders out on the deck while Maria cut up sausages and buttered toast. “Will we be home by the time Amy comes by?”
“Should be.” Lindy fed DJ and ate her own breakfast at the same time. “How’d you sleep?”
“Good.” DJ tried to stop a yawn, but it got by her. “Sorry.”
Lindy caught it and almost missed DJ’s mouth with the fork, her own yawn so wide it shut her eyes. “Stop that.”
Oh man, I’m so glad to be home. Thank you, God. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
After breakfast, DJ went back upstairs and, with Lindy’s help, struggled into real clothes for her trip to the new doctor.
At the John Muir Medical Center, they met Dr. Armistadt, DJ’s new therapists, both physical and occupational, the scrub team—or as DJ called them to her mother, the “killer team”—and several others whose names DJ forgot as soon as they said them. But the routine remained the same, and DJ still hadn’t gotten used to the pain—never did, never would, and couldn’t wait until it wouldn’t happen anymore. Dr. Armistadt said the scrub treatments would taper off now.
She knew she’d like the man.
DJ was sound asleep when Amy arrived that afternoon, but she had made her mother promise to wake her up.
“Hey, sleepyhead, you want to go riding?”
“Hi, Amy.” DJ blinked several times, as usual wishing she could rub her eyes.
“Kids are asking about you at school.” Amy sat cross-legged on the end of DJ’s bed.
DJ sat up and copied the action. “I’ll be getting a tutor soon.” She made a face. “Did you get into that photography class?”
“Did I ever. But I already know most of the camera stuff. We start in the darkroom next week. That’ll be way cool.” Amy cocked her head. Her dark hair had been brushed to the side and tied into a low ponytail that fell over her right shoulder. “Your hair is getting longer. Looks cute.”
“Thanks. Short like this is easy to wash, that’s for sure.”
“When are you coming over to the barns?”
DJ shrugged. “Soon, I guess.” She propped her elbows on her knees. “So tell me what’s going on over there.”
“Western show on Saturday, so we’re getting ready for that. Joe says he’s not taking Ranger until the trainer works more with them together.” Ranger was Joe’s young cutting horse. “The last show, Joe almost went one way and Ranger the other.”
“So?”
The two girls giggled at that one.
“I better head over there. I need to work on Josh’s tail, and the farrier is supposed to be there at 4:30. See ya.”
When Amy left, DJ settled back against her pillows. Did she really want to go to the barns? Ignoring the answer, she fell back asleep.
The next few days slipped into a rhythm. DJ was feeling better in the mornings, even up to doing homework. They’d drive to Walnut Creek for treatments at the John Muir Medical Center in the afternoon. She was doped up pretty well for the treatments and, once home, slept on into the evening.
On Friday they showed DJ how well the skin grafts were growing. She nearly gagged, but pure fascination made her study what her therapist, Jody, was telling her.
“See, here we have your own skin from between your fingers where the damage wasn’t as great. Here are the grafts, and this part over here is where we used the artificial skin grown in a lab. It works like a net for your own skin cells to grow over more quickly. Since we were able to keep infection from setting in, the tissue is responding more quickly. But we have to keep the tendons from tightening your fingers into claws, and keep the skin from growing into a web between your fingers. All that means working the hands, no matter how much it hurts.”
DJ shuddered. “Nothing can be worse than the scrubbing.”
“So they say. I know this doesn’t look real good to you right now, but trust me, you’re coming along famously.”
DJ could feel her face grow hot.
“Are you eating all right?”
“When I’m awake. After the treatments I sleep right through dinner, but Mom brings me a tray.”
“Get lots of fruit and vegetables. They’ll help you feel better all around. And get up and walk.” Jody checked her chart. “You still get dizzy?”
“Some.”
“Okay, then have someone walk with you. The more you can get out in the sunshine, the better. Just keep the hands clean. That’s one reason we still bandage them. Keeping them clean and dry is imperative.”
“Am I ever going to be able to take a shower again?”
“Sure. Just bag your hands in plastic, tape them shut, and hold them up out of the water. One good thing is you don’t have to wash your hair every day.” Jody stepped back. “Not many people can go with their hair so short, but on you it looks good. Would you rather use a wig?”
“No, hats are fine. My grandma found me a couple that work okay. Maybe when it’s a bit longer I won’t feel like I need a bag for my head.”
“Trust me, kid. If I looked as good as you, I’d wear my hair that short all the time. So easy to care for.”
As they always did after the treatments, DJ and her mom stopped by the ice-cream parlor to get her a jamoca almond malt—large size to go.
“Mmm. This is so good. What if I become a malt addict?” DJ opened her eyes again after closing them in delight.
“Beats drugs, that’s for sure.” Lindy watched the light, waiting for the green.
“Mom?”
“What, dear?”
“I won’t be a drug addict when this is over, will I?”
“The doctors don’t think so. Dr. Niguri said that they’ll wean you off the morphine now as this other pain-killer takes effect. It’s one of those that takes time to build up to an effective level in the bloodstream. He said you will feel more alert, but that rest is still really important.”
“I can’t keep it all straight.”
“That’s okay. It gives the rest of us something to do.”
“Jody said I can take a shower if we bag my hands.”
“Good. That alone should make you feel better.”
DJ watched the scenery go by, but before they reached Pleasant Hill, her eyes had drifted closed. She had a hard time waking up enough to get out of the car and up the stairs to her room, where she sat down on the bed and fell over asleep. She vaguely heard Maria tsk-ing as she lifted DJ’s legs and swung them up on the bed. Thank you. But the words never made it to audible level.
“Hey, darlin’, how you doin’?” Gran breezed into DJ’s room Monday morning with her normal collection of baggage.
DJ shrugged and tried to blink to clear her eyes, which had been closed instead of focused on her schoolwork. “Just can’t keep awake.”
“This, too, shall pass. The Bible promises.” While Gran spoke, she pulled two garments from her bag and held them up. “What do you think?”
DJ shrugged again.
“I designed them myself. See … wide, loose sleeves to go over your bandages, elastic around the neck, so no buttons. We can just pull them over your head and voila, you are dressed. Pure comfort. No shorts to pull up and down, and no more living in nightgowns or those ugly hospital gowns.” Gran leaned over and whispered, “And you don’t even have to wear a bra.”
Like I really need one. “Thanks.” How do I tell her these are like old lady dresses?
“Now, I know these aren’t the fashion statement of the day, but jeans are hard to get on and off, and those tiny T-shirts won’t go over—”
“My boxing gloves, I know.”
“Well, you give them a try, and we’ll modify the pattern if we think of something else that will work. Here, I’ll help you put one on now.”
DJ kept her expression noncommittal only with great effort. Gran, you know I don’t wear dresses. But she held up her arms to make it easier for Gran to slip the garment over her head.
“I can put elastic around the waist if you like, or we can do a belt.” Gran pulled a belt made of braided strips of fabric from her bag and held it around DJ’s waist. “Oh my, darlin’, you’ve lost a lot of weight. I measured this off your jeans.”
“She not lose more. I make sure of that.” Maria stood in the doorway, hands on hips and nodding. “That looks good, and comfortable, too. Did it hurt your hands?”
DJ shook her head, surprised at herself. She’d been concentrating so hard on the fit that she’d forgotten about her boxing gloves. She stared at the person in the mirror. The turquoise material made her eyes look greener than ever and her fuzzy hair blonder. Looking taller than she remembered being, DJ was skinny now, not just straight.
“Sheesh, maybe I should be a model. My neck is long enough for a goose. I bet my jeans are gonna just fall off. What do you think, Queenie?”
The black-and-white dog raised her head from where she lay snoozing on the bed. She cocked her head to one side, gave a little woof, and laid her head back on her paws.
“Was that a yes?” One eyebrow went up. “Guess so.”
“No. I fix, you eat. I feed you up good.” Maria walked around her. “I think you look good in that. Nice legs. You wear skirts and dresses more often.” Her dark eyes flashed. “Boys come all time then.”
“She’s too young for boys.” Gran evened out the gathers on the dress and stood back. “Looks nice, Darla Jean. You want any changes?”
“Jeans?”
Gran rolled her eyes. “I’m thinking of making a short-sleeved top and elastic-waist shorts for when you leave the house.”
“That would be cool. Thank you for sewing them for me.” DJ dropped a kiss on her grandmother’s head. “Not like you had tons of time, I know.”
“You come down now for lunch?” Maria paused in the doorway.
“I just had breakfast.”
“You eat before leave for hospital. Made chocolate chip mint cookies just for you.”
“That was what smelled so good. You think maybe you could fix up a plate for me to take to Jody? Maybe if I bribe her she’ll go easier on me today.”
“Fat chance.” Gran hung the other dress up in DJ’s closet and pulled shorts and a tank top from a drawer.
“Sure, I do that. You hurry down now.”
“Okay, thanks. Just let me get my clothes on.” DJ looked around for her sandals. “At least I don’t have to brush my hair.”
“That’s my girl.” Gran gave her an around-the-waist hug. “Let’s get you ready.”
After a lunch of grilled tuna sandwiches and chips, with a banana smoothie to drink, Gran and DJ got ready to leave.
“You think something is wrong that Mom’s taking so long?” DJ asked. Lindy had a doctor’s appointment in the morning and had said she should be back in time but, just in case, Gran would fill in.
“No, she had some errands to run, too. We can call her on the cell phone if you want.”
“No, that’s okay. Got the cookies?”
Gran nodded. “And a water bottle. Anything else?”
“Nope. See ya, Maria.”
On Friday DJ was making her way down the stairs when the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” she yelled without thinking. Not looking down, she picked up her pace. Her foot landed wrong, and the stairs came up to meet her.
“My hands!” Her scream broke halfway down.