Free The Color of the Season by Julianne MacLean

empty.

Chapter Twenty

    The following day, I spent an hour in the physiotherapy department where I exercised my muscles and was taught movements I could do on my own while lying in bed. Afterward, I returned to my room to find my partner, Scott, waiting there.
    “Hey, you look great,” he said optimistically, setting aside the magazine he was reading. He rose to his feet. “It’s good to see you.”
    “You, too,” I replied before limping back to the bed.
    The nurse lowered the side rail and helped me onto the mattress, while I silently braved the pain in my leg after that challenging hour of stretching and moving.
    She covered me with the sheet and chatted with Scott for a minute before leaving us alone.
    “How’s your arm?” I asked him.
    “Fine,” he replied, bending and flexing it. “All they did was bandage me up and send me on my way. You’re the one who took a beating that night. But we got the guy, thanks to you. He’ll be doing time, no doubt about that.”
    “That’s good news. Are you back at work yet?”
    Scott sat down in the chair and rolled up the magazine which he held on his lap. “No. They gave me a week off to recover. When I go back they’re saying they’ll want to keep me in the station for a few weeks. I suspect they’ll be sending me out for some therapy, just to make sure I’m not going to freeze up the next time I pull someone over on the turnpike. You should expect the same when you get back.”
    I nodded with understanding. “I’m already talking to someone. They ordered a psych consult about thirty seconds after I opened my eyes.”
    “No kidding? The stuff we have to put up with…” He shook his head. “Otherwise, are you doing okay? I heard from some of the guys…it was rough that night. They weren’t sure if you were going to make it.”
    “I almost didn’t.”
    He squeezed the rolled up magazine in his hands and tapped it on his palm. “You’re some lucky.”
    “Tell me about it.”
    Neither of us said anything for an awkward minute or two.
    “I was talking to Marie on the phone,” Scott said out of the blue. “She told me Carla came in to see you a bunch of times. She must have felt pretty guilty about the whole thing.”
    It seemed everyone wanted to talk about Carla. Everyone but me.
    “Yeah, she came by yesterday, but I told her not to worry about anything. We’re done now and I told her what happened wasn’t her fault.”
    “You’re really done?” Scott asked. “Did you tell her about the ring?”
    “God, no,” I practically barked. “And I’m glad she walked out on me before I made that mistake. Her timing was impeccable, actually. Now I just need to put it behind me and move on because she was right. It wasn’t meant to be. And if I could survive two bullets, I’m sure I’ll survive this, too. It’s not like I haven’t been dumped before.”
    Though it still stung. And I still wanted a family. I wanted kids. I just wished I hadn’t been so sure Carla was the one. It made me question my judgement.
    “That’s the spirit,” Scott said. “Now we just have to get you out of here and back into the old routine.”
    “Sure.”
    Besides all that, there had to have been a reason I was pushed back into this life. I was determined to find out what that reason was—and to do that, I had to get on with the business of living.

Cognition

Chapter Twenty-one

    I am constantly amazed by the resilience of the human body, and more importantly the human spirit. Three days after waking from a five-day coma as a result of two gunshot wounds and major surgery, I was walking steadily—albeit slowly—on a treadmill.
    At this rate, the doctors told me it wouldn’t be long before I would be discharged. Surprisingly, I had mixed feelings about that.
    “Every time you come to see me,” I said to Leah one evening after visiting hours were over, “you ask questions about my life and how I feel about this or that. I answer your questions and you scribble