The Amendment (The Contract 2)

“It doesn’t matter,” I snapped.

She stared at me, her lip quivering. “Is you mad, Daddy?”

“It’s are you mad, Daddy,” I retorted, ignoring the voice inside telling me to stop being a dick. “Can’t anyone speak properly here?”

The quiver got worse. “Did I-did I do sumfing bad?”

Katy came into the kitchen, her hair still wet from her shower. “No, baby girl, you didn’t.” She stroked Gracie’s cheek and pulled the spoon from her hand. “You go play for a few minutes. We’re going out, and we’ll have a snack, okay?” She lifted Gracie from her highchair and set her on her feet, glaring at me the entire time. Gracie toddled away, her little feet thumping on the hardwood floor. She disappeared around the corner to the family room. Katy took Heather from my arms, settling her close and sliding the nipple into her mouth effortlessly.

“She’ll take it from you,” I grumped.

“Maybe because she can sense she isn’t bothering me. Unlike the way you were half-assedly trying to feed her while correcting the grammar of our toddler and making her feel as if she’d done something wrong.”

“She was getting milk everywhere and asking silly questions.”

Katy stared at me, bewildered.

“Questions you used to love. And she’s still a baby, Richard. Learning. Of course, she gets milk everywhere. Usually she’s sitting on your lap, spilling it on you and you never think twice about it.”

“Well, that isn’t happening anymore, is it? Not while I’m in this chair. I can’t cope with both of them while you’re flitting around, Katy.”

“You offered to help while I had a fast shower. Gracie was eating, and you said you would feed Heather. I was gone ten minutes. I thought—I thought maybe you were feeling a little better this morning.”

“I guess you thought wrong—again.”

The words, achingly familiar and hurtful, hung in the air between us. Memories of another time when I used to snap at her using the same phrase pushed on the edges of my brain.

Distress skittered across her face. However, she kept her voice steady. “What’s going on, Richard?”

I ran a hand through my hair, grimacing as I realized I had milk on my fingers.

“What’s going on?” I repeated, my voice getting louder. “What’s going on?” I leaned forward. “What’s going on is that I am trying to recover. I can’t help with the kids, I can’t clean up the messes, and I can’t handle the incessant noise. I need to concentrate on me, and you aren’t giving me what I need to do so!”

She reared back as if I had slapped her.

“I’m not giving you what you need? What is it that you want, Richard? Please tell me, because I’m confused.”

“I want to be left alone. I’m tired of all of this.” I waved my hand.

Her eyes were filled with hurt. Hurt I had caused, yet I couldn’t seem to stop myself.

“All of this?” she repeated. “You’re tired of our life? Our family?”

I scoffed, turning away, unable to look at her. “I’d hardly call this a life.”

Behind me, there was silence. I sucked in some calming breaths and realized how horrible I sounded. I spun the chair around, but Katy was gone.

The doorbell sounded, announcing the arrival of my physiotherapist.

I would have to apologize when we were done.“Try to relax, Richard. This isn’t going to work if you’re not relaxed,” Colin advised, his voice patient as his hands worked my uncooperative limbs.

His simple words were my undoing. Everything that had gone wrong that morning—my fight with Katy, my impatience with my girls, the feeling of despair that constantly threatened—hit me.

With a snarl, I pushed away his hands and tugged myself into a sitting position.

“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” I snapped. “It’s not working. My fucking legs are useless. I’m useless.”

He patted my shoulder, the gesture pissing me off even more.

“It’s going to take time, Richard. You know this. We need to be patient and keep working.” He indicated the table. “Lie down and let me try to help.”

“No.”

He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“I said no. I’m done.”

He held up his hands. “Okay. We’ll scratch today. You can relax, clear your head, and I’ll come back tomorrow.”

“Don’t bother.”

He shook his head. “You don’t mean that.”

I started to yell. “Yeah, I fucking do! Don’t tell me how I’m feeling. I’ve done everything you’ve told me to do. I push myself every day, and I’ve got nothing! I’m still stuck in that fucking chair!” With another curse, I leaned and pushed over the wheelchair. “I’m done with all of this!”

He was silent, then he bent over and righted the chair. He positioned it correctly and waited patiently as I transferred myself to the chair and lowered into the seat. He stood back, crossing his arms.

“I know it seems endless, Richard. I know you feel as if nothing has changed. But it has. Your muscles are getting stronger. Your upper body strength is great. You couldn’t self-transfer two weeks ago, and now you can do it with minimal effort. Your spine still needs time to heal.”