Eye of the Storm (Hudson 3)

"I have a stepbrother and a half sister."

He nodded like someone waiting for the punch line of a joke.

"And I don't live with my mother. I live in this big house all by myself. With Mrs. Bogart, too. now. She was just hired. Not that she's much company," I added.

"Really?" He turned to look at the lake.

"I thought you would have had to know all about me before starting to work with me," I said.

"Well. I do know how you got injured. Sorry about that. You know," he said looking at me again. "I've done some interesting therapy work with children using horseback riding. Maybe someday you'll get back in the saddle."

"I doubt that."

"Don't underestimate yourself. Rain." he said, his eyes small. intense. "Don't live in a world of fantasy either, but before you come to any ironclad conclusions about your future, about what you will and will not do, give your recuperation and

rehabilitation a chance. End of lecture," he quickly added and pretended to zip his mouth shut.

I gazed up at him. With the midday sun beaming down, its rays slipping between two puffy, lazy clouds over us, it looked like we were both in spotlights. My nose was filled with the fresh fragrances of wild flowers mixing with all the scents that rose from the water: the dampness of the wooden dock, the redolent smell of wet earth.

Austin's face was radiant even without the glow of sunshine on it. In broad daylight, his turquoise eyes showed some specks of green. He looked healthy and strong, young and vibrant. everything I was and dreamed I'd be again. Whenever he looked at me, he had lau

ghter on his lips, a kind, happy laughter that followed interesting discoveries.

How could anyone look at me and think of anything else but pity and sorrow? I wondered. What secret did he possess? What magic potion did he drink every day that gave him the power to see beauty and goodness, hope and promise in a world that I saw only as dark and foreboding now? Was it just his good fortune with health and fitness?

"Are you married or engaged or anything?" I asked him, assuming this radiance in his eyes, this glow in his face had something to do with being in love. Someone out there filled his heart with neat joy.

Days and days of memorizing Romeo avid Juliet for class in London had kept it in my bank account of sweet thoughts and some of the lines came quickly to my mind: 'Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs, Being purged, a fire sparking lovers' eyes...

"I'm not anything at the moment. Not too long ago. I thought I was in love and someone was in love with me, but while my back was turned, because I was busy with patients, one of my buddies stepped into the available moment. should I say, and the love I thought was so strong, turned to mush."

He stepped up on the small dock, raised his hands and cried. "She's gone. I am abased, and my relief must be to loathe her."

Then he laughed. My mouth dropped open.

"That's from Othello," I declared. He nodded.

"Seemed to fit at the time, so I borrowed it. It's a passion of mine. I have all these tapes of plays, dramatic readings. and I listen to them while I make myself dinner or when I'm just relaxing, lying on my sofa, my eyes closed." He stepped down again and in a loud whisper said. "I'm a frustrated actor."

I narrowed my eyes. suspiciously. "Did my aunt tell you about me?"

"I never met your aunt. remember? My uncle gave me the assignment. I've read all your medical records. I told you I know how you were injured, but I wasn't given your autobiography. no. Why?"

"I spent most of the year in London at a school for performing arts, training to become an actress." I said.

"You're kidding! Well, we'll just have to get you up to speed so you can start auditioning for all the female wheelchair parts."

I stared at him and then, seeing the impish gleam in his eye. I laughed. It was as if a weight was being lifted from my shoulders. Who would have thought that I would be laughing at myself in this condition? Who would have thought I could find the slightest thing funny about myself?

He smiled.

"That's it." he said. "'That's the secret. You've got to laugh at everything eventually. Only those who take themselves too seriously suffer, really suffer. You're going to get better in a thousand different ways. Rain. I just know it," he insisted. He put his hand over mine on the side of the wheelchair and looked into my eyes, forcing me to look deeply into his eyes so I could see his sincerity.

Was it my imagination or did I see something else there. something I wanted to see? Could a man ever look at me again and think of me as beautiful? If you saw yourself as being only half a person, surely everyone else would see you the same way.

He closed his eyes and pulled back quickly like someone who knew he had stepped over some boundary.

"I guess we should head back to the house. Mrs. Bogart gave strict instructions as to when lunch would be served. That's a woman I don't want to cross."