Eye of the Storm (Hudson 3)

"Fine," she said. "It will make it easier. I'll give her two weeks salary and send her on her way. For a while," she added. "it will just be the two of us."

No, it won't. I thought. because I'll be out of here myself today.

"Before you go to your office, please leave the van keys on the kitchen table," I asked as she started away.

She paused, nodded slightly with that same waxen smile, then left. I got myself out of bed and into the bathroom. I wasn't sure where I would go or what I would do, but it was exciting just

contemplating leaving. I'd call Austin as soon as I could, of course, and let him know where I was. Then. I would drive to Mr. Sanger's office, and have him do whatever was necessary to set up funding for myself and Austin. He'd be upset I had signed the power of attorney paper. but I didn't care anymore about the house or the business anyway. Let her wallow in her victory and live in her dark loneliness, if she liked.

Maybe I could convince Austin to move to England with me. He could do whatever he had to do to become a licensed therapist there. We could set up a small flat together and start a whole new life away from all this trouble and unhappiness. We would see my father and his family often, go to the theater and spend nice weekend afternoons in the parks.

As I soaked in the tub. I dreamed of Austin and me along the Thames, going to a nice cafe, doing all the things I had done before my accident.

Practically all public places made

accommodations for handicapped people now. We could go to museums, travel in the countryside, do anything we wanted. I envisioned all of us at Sunday high tea, my father and his family and Austin and me, talking, listening to music and simply enjoying each other's company. I could still have a lift. I thought.

My aunt believed she had won. She considered all this a victory. Little did she understand that she was really freeing me from bondage. Actually. I should be the one thanking her, All I had really done. I concluded, was sin over my rights to a sinking ship, a depressingly dark and unhappy ship floating in a sea of tears.

Go celebrate your false victory. Aunt Victoria. Cherish your precious legal papers, brag to your friends and spend the rest of your life with a heart aching for a man you will never have. One day you'll wake up in this house or wherever you are and realize you've amounted to nothing. You'll have only your own shadow to keep you company and you'll hear only your own voice. You'll be more of a prisoner than I have ever been. Maybe you won't be in a wheelchair, but you'll be handicapped. Of that. I'm sure, I thought.

My musings were interrupted by the sounds of banging, a series of thumps echoing from outside. I even heard what sounded like a saw. I imagined it was the grounds people who came weekly to tend to the property and thought no more about it.

After I got myself out of the tub and dry. I dressed myself and then found a couple of suitcases in the back of my closet. I was too excited about leaving to think about getting myself some breakfast first. Instead. I spent most of the remainder of the morning choosing what I wanted to take with me and packing. Once that was all accomplished. I sat back contented and then finally decided I was hungry.

I wheeled myself out. realizing I hadn't heard anyone making any noise in the hous

e all this time. I guessed Aunt Victoria really had given Mrs. Churchwell her walking papers, and she had already left without saying good-bye. That was good. I didn't cherish the idea of having to face her, even for one final time.

My first disappointment came when I saw that Aunt Victoria had not left the van keys on the kitchen table as I had requested. I looked everywhere, even on the floor thinking they might have fallen somehow. I checked the counters, the chairs, everything, but saw no keys.

Damn her. I thought. She deliberately didn't do it... or in her glorious haste forgot. I went to call her office and remembered the phone in the kitchen didn't work. A hive of frustration began to build rapidly in my chest, my anger buzzing and stinging until I felt hot rage.

I spun in my chair and wheeled myself rapidly down the hallway to her office. Of course. it was locked. I rattled the door and slammed it with my fist, crying and screaming my aunt's name. Then I sat back and tried to think calmly. I'll just wheel myself out and down the ramp and down the driveway to the road. I'll stop a passing motorist and ask him or her to help me get to a phone.

I turned my chair around and with renewed determination headed for the front door. It was a beautiful day, just a few clouds visible from the doorway. A warm breeze washed over my face, filling me with strength. I took a deep breath and wheeled myself out on the portico. This won't be difficult. I told myself. The first driver who sees me will surely pull over. It will be quite a sight to see a girl in a wheelchair hitchhiking. I laughed to myself and started for the ramp.

Then my heart fell as if it had been turned to stone. I stared in disbelief.

The ramp was gone!

That was the banging and sawing I had heard when I was in the tub. Why had she done this? Was it merely in anticipation of my leaving? Why didn't she wait until I had actually left?

Without the ramp, the steps looked foreboding. How would I get myself and my chair down? My frustration turned quickly to rage. I would not be defeated. As carefully as I could. I lowered myself from the chair to the floor of the portico. I decided I would push the chair down the steps as slowly as I could and then I would crawl, slide, do anything I had to do to get myself down and then climb back into the chair. It seemed like a good plan. so I began to carefully push the chair ahead.

It bounced down the first step and then the second and I held it as tightly as I could, but now I was at a very awkward angle. It was hard to inch myself forward and down and hold the chair at the same time. Finally. I decided to let it bounce down the steps on its own and then follow as quickly as possible.

As soon as I uncurled my fingers, the chair, carried forward by its weight, rolled down the remaining steps, only it didn't stop as close to the bottom as I had hoped. The momentum of bouncing forward kept it going and it rolled and rolled until it reached the driveway.

"Stop!" I screamed at the chair as if it was a living thing and could hear and obey.

It slowed down, but didn't stop. It rolled on until it reached the descending incline and then picked up speed again and rolled faster and faster down the driveway until I could see it no more. I stared after it in disbelief. I wasn't going to have to drag myself just down these steps now. I was going to have to drag myself quite a distance down the driveway as well.

I glanced back at the house. Even getting back inside and to my room would be a major endeavor.

What had I done?

Damn her. I thought, damn her for putting me in this horrible predicament.