Free See You in Paradise by J. Robert Lennon

tracked her down, she snubbed them, apparently thinking they were collecting for the benevolent association. Eventually she would be given a two-hundred-dollar fine and a one-month suspension of her license. It was two months before Philip had even the strength to sit in the electric wheelchair Evangeline’s health insurance had almost, but not quite, covered, and another four before a settlement came through that, to Philip’s mind, could only be called modest.
    Philip was forty-one; Evangeline was forty-three. They had no children and wanted no children. He was an accountant. She was an accountant. They both went by their full names and corrected anyone who mistakenly called them Phil or Angie. But such an occurrence was infrequent, as they had few friends. They lived in a small house on a quiet street one neighborhood over from the posh part of town, and by the time Philip had grown adept at maneuvering his wheelchair around the house, Evangeline had had a ramp constructed for his ingress and egress. Even so, winter had begun, and it was April before Philip ventured out.
    When he did, Evangeline was at work, and his batteries ran out six blocks from home. The policeman he hailed was one of the two who had arrested the woman who ran him over, and on the way back to the house, with the wheelchair awkwardly wedged into the trunk of the cruiser, this man said to Philip, “You got a raw deal.”
    “I suppose I did,” Philip replied.
    “I’m sure you heard,” he went on, “but that lady’s nephew won the lotto and she moved to Florida.”
    “No,” Philip replied, “I hadn’t heard that.”
    The policeman carried him, fireman-style, into the house, laid him down on the sofa, and gamely saluted before leaving.

    It would be fair, if not entirely accurate, to say that Philip’s accident and special needs put a strain on the marriage. Certainly, they were anxious now. But they had not been married long enough to know what normal was for them. They slept in the same bed, but never made love—Philip’s doctors disagreed on his prospects for sexual potency, and there had so far been no sign of its intruding upon their lives. That said, they had had little sex before the accident, either. Both of them claimed to enjoy it while in its throes, but neither had ever relished the negotiations, preparations, and embarrassments necessary for its initiation. They had friends—Bob from Evangeline’s office and his wife, Candace; Roy from Philip’s office and his wife, June—but after a few awkward bouquet-clutching visits to the hospital, Bob, Candace, Roy, and June disappeared, and nobody had come to the house since Philip returned to it wheelchair-bound. Occasionally Evangeline called them and left messages. Philip didn’t have the heart to tell her to stop. They did both like eating out, but had not got around to doing it much before Philip was hurt. They had liked to read on the sofa after dinner in the evenings, and they still did, but Philip was more comfortable in his chair, and usually became extremely sleepy at about eight thirty, after which his head would slump onto his chest, and his book would fall from his hands onto the floor. He had been reading the same crime novel since he came home from the hospital.
    Evangeline was a tall, modestly attractive woman with prematurely gray hair, a full face, the figure of someone ten years younger, and the eyeglasses of someone twenty years older. Philip, before his accident, had stood at about five feet seven, but gave the impression of strength, owing to a broad upper body and narrow hips, and a strong, plain, blocky face. In fact, he had never been especially confident physically, and always believed he was about to develop back pain like his father’s, though he never did, until now, of course, when it was the least of his worries.
    They only went on seven dates before they married, in a civil ceremony at the county courthouse. They had first kissed on the second date,