Fragile Hearts Read online

  She always sounds cheerful. "Hi, honey. How was your big day?"

  "It was…long." I don't want to worry her, so I say, "But I made it through and even met a girl in my psych class who might become a friend."

  I can hear the excitement in my mother's voice. "Oh, Morgan, that makes me so happy. What's her name?"

  I laugh and then tell her about Lucy Arnez. I don't mention Tyce Brandon because I'll probably never talk to him again.

  My mom wants to chat my ear off. She's only on the other side of town, maybe fifteen miles, but it seems like thousands. I hope I can adjust to being on my own. I know my parents are doing what's best, but I still hate it.

  Finally, I crash on my bed.

  3: Aquatics

  I survive my first week of college and even feel a tinge of pride. By the third week, I'm into the routine. Lucy makes me laugh more than I have in years. She's a natural born comedian. Sometimes, in psych class, she mimics the popular girls who are always whispering and I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing aloud.

  I've seen Tyce several times in the hallways. For the first few days, he was standing outside my classroom and I wondered if he was waiting for me. Of course, I know that's silly, but he was nice and joked with me and asked how things were going. Every time we talk, however, he's interrupted by girls saying hello. I don't like the looks they give me, so I stopped coming to class early. Once, Tyce stuck his head in the room and when he saw me, he waved. Tina and her friends started whispering again.

  I've never had a boyfriend and I just turned twenty-one. My mom and dad and brothers are always trying to build my self-confidence, but I guess I have a mental block in that department. They tell me I'm pretty, but I know they're just being nice. I'm average with a smattering of freckles. My eyes match my brunette hair, which is thick and wavy and reaches just below my shoulders. I guess my hair is exceptional, but everything else is plain. I don't have high cheekbones or a cute nose or full lips, and that's okay. I was never vain about my appearance, anyway. However, after the car accident that scarred one side of my face, I got to where I hated being around people because of their stares. Plastic surgery was performed a couple of years after the accident and it worked miracles, but old habits die hard, and I'm still covering that side of my face with my hand.

  When I was nineteen, my brother Nate tried to set me up on a double date with him and his girlfriend. The guy was a computer geek and nice, and seemed to genuinely like me, but I got so nervous I threw up in the restaurant's bathroom.

  If someone were to ask me if I'm happy with my life, I'd tell them I'm as happy as I can be given I've lost a loved one and I'll never walk again. On the plus side, I'm very thankful that I can dress myself and go to the bathroom without assistance. My legs are skinny and I used to have a physical therapist come to my house to exercise them. Now, I have a machine that I use at least every other day to keep some tone in my muscles. There are lots of people in wheelchairs who lead normal lives, marry, and have families, but I guess I won't be one of them. My mom and dad tell me I'm too negative, but I can't seem to help it. I've seen many counselors over the years that want to pry into my head. I only allow them to go so far. They think I have amnesia from the night my sister died. I let them believe that. But I really remember what happened. It's not something I can talk about.

  Surprisingly, I enjoy most of my classes; except speech. No way am I getting up in front of everyone. I'll just refuse and get expelled from that class.

  My favorite class is aquatics. I'm in a program specially designed for physically challenged students. There are two teachers and several aides. Most of the aides are students majoring in physical therapy. For some reason, I'm not afraid of the water, probably because I used to swim so much as a kid. I feel unshackled when I float. We get different aides every day and so far I've had both guys and gals helping me. I'm not even upset when an aide touches me. Something about the water makes me forget everything. I'm in line in my wheelchair waiting for the lift with a couple of students in front of me. I can't wait to feel free again in the water. Finally, I'm helped into the lift.

  I feel that strange charging of the atmosphere and glance toward the pool entrance. Tyce just entered. He's wearing gray swim trunks that almost reach his knees. My eyes widen. I don't want him to see me in a bathing suit. It's a pretty blue, one-piece, but no matter how pretty the suit, it doesn't change how I look. I shrink downward, hoping he won't see me.

  His eyes meet mine.

  He stops to talk with one of the coaches and then glances in my direction again. I beg God to make him leave. He walks to stand beside me.

  "Hello, Morgan. Nice to see you."

  I don't say anything. My throat has closed up. All I can do is stare at my skinny legs.

  Tyce sits on the side of the pool and slips into the water. The aide who was going to assist me swims away when Tyce says something to him.

  To me, he says, "Are you ready to be lowered?"

  My heart is thumping so hard I can see my wrist pulsing. Somehow I manage to nod.

  Tyce motions to the assistant operating the lift. Slowly the machine sinks into the water and I feel buoyant, especially with the floatie thing around my waist that they always make us wear. Tyce says, "Ready to leave the lift?"

  I nod again and he slips his hands around my waist, gently pulling me forward. I don't want to know the feeling of being so close to Tyce because I'll never forget it. He says, "Put your hands on my shoulders."

  I refuse to touch him and instead wrap my arms around my stomach. I can't look him in the eyes, so I study the snake on his left bicep. He also has a tat on his right pec, an eagle.

  He's pulling me into deeper water. The lift is raised back up for another student. I focus over Tyce's shoulder and watch my fellow students spread out across the pool, but my gaze keeps wandering back to the eagle tattoo.

  Tyce says, "I got that tat when I was twenty. It's my favorite. The others…" he gives a little shrug, "I was going through a bad time and they seemed appropriate."

  I jerk my eyes away from the eagle and finally look him in the eyes. "What are you doing here?" I sound rude, but I don't care. I don't want this man messing up my time in the water. He makes me jittery. He makes me feel things I don't want to feel.

  He studies my face. My heart starts racing even faster. He says, "The gym teachers are often short-handed and I like to help out. My major is physical therapy."

  Before I think, I reply, "Are you some kind of do-gooder? Helping gym teachers; helping crippled girls."

  He narrows his eyes. "You've got a big chip on your shoulder."

  Now it's my turn to frown. "I don't like pity."

  He laughs softly. "Do you think I pity you?"

  I look away. "Yes."

  We reach the middle of the pool with the other students and the teacher calls instructions, interrupting our conversation.

  Tyce steps away from me and I lay on my back, floating like Mrs. Metcalf wants. She calls out that she wants us to quiet our minds. Yeah. Right. Like I can quiet my mind with Tyce watching my every move.

  After floating, the teacher instructs us in exercises. The aides stand near their assigned students waiting to offer assistance if needed. My hair is sopping and some strands escape the big clip on top of my head and stream down my shoulders and back.

  Tyce says, "Wait a minute." He unhooks the clip and all my hair falls down. I want to yell at him not to touch me. He pulls my hair on top of my head again and fastens the clip. I wonder if he's doing this just to see my reaction. I start to shiver. He steps away and says, "Relax, Morgan. Now you can swim without having to wipe hair out of your eyes."

  Does he expect me to be grateful?

  By the end of class, I'm getting tired and Tyce steps next to me. I just want this lesson to be over. The teacher dismisses class and the aides help their respective students back to the lift. Again, Tyce places his hands around my waist. While we're waiting in line, he says, "Shall we finish our
conversation?"

  I don't answer him because I don't want to finish anything.

  He says, "I don't pity you, but I think you pity yourself."

  I jerk my eyes to his and then revert to saying the word my parents hate. "Whatever."

  He laughs and I notice that everyone, students and aides, are watching us.

  It's my turn to get in the chair and I wish I was invisible. Right now, I hate my skinny legs and my facial scar. Tyce fastens me in and gives the signal for the assistant to bring the lift up. The machine whirs and I place my hands on my legs, trying to cover them. As soon as I'm out of the water an aide hands me a towel and I quickly cover myself. Tyce pulls himself out of the water and I watch him from lowered lashes.

  He's beautiful.

  4: Coerced Coffee

  On Monday, I'm relieved when Tyce doesn't show up at my aquatics class.

  In speech class, Professor Wilkes gives an assignment to write something funny from childhood. He says he's going to call on students randomly throughout the semester to share their funny happening. I'll probably throw up if he calls my name.

  Friday arrives and I congratulate myself on surviving another week of classes and not being called on by Professor Wilkes. I hope he's forgotten I exist. As for Tyce, I've only seen him a few times during the week. He's always polite and says hello.

  I'm feeling pretty good about my first weeks of college and looking forward to a marathon night of Nicholas Sparks' movies that I brought with me from home. Before I reach my dorm, I see a familiar figure leaning against the bricks at the entrance. I can barely breathe.

  I slowly roll my wheelchair forward.

  "Hi Morgan," Tyce calls cheerfully.

  I don't beat around the bush. "What are you doing here?"

  "I've come to take you out for coffee."

  "I don't like coffee," I lie.

  "Then you can order something else. Anyway, I need to ask a favor."

  Warily, I respond, "What kind of favor?"

  "You'll find out at the coffee shop. My truck is over there." He points toward the curb and a shiny black Silverado. "We can put your chair in the back and I'll lift you into the cab."

  "I'm not going anywhere with you."

  "I figured you'd say that, so I asked Lucy to come along. She'll be here any minute."

  My mouth drops and I hear, "Yoo-hoo, Morgan and Tyce. Sorry I'm late."

  I swivel my chair around to see Lucy rushing toward us. She's wearing a bright multicolored floral peasant skirt and purple drawstring blouse. The colors contrast with her red hair, making her the perfect reincarnation of a flower child from the seventies.

  I know she likes Tyce. Maybe I can get them to go without me. I look between the two of them. "Hey, you both go ahead. I already have plans."

  Tyce crosses his arms over his impressive chest. "Got a hot date?"

  He knows I don't. "None of your business."

  He laughs and looks to Lucy for support. Lucy says, "Come on, Morgan. We'll have fun. I know your evening consists of videos. You can always watch movies." She looks at Tyce and winks, then back at me. "How often does a girl get to go out with Tyce Brandon?"

  That does it. I don't like being the butt of jokes. I start my wheelchair forward and Lucy jumps in front of me. "Hey, I'm just kidding. Tyce told me what he wants to talk to you about. You really need to hear him out."

  Lucy almost sounds like she's pleading with me. I know I'm being unreasonable and I don't want to lose Lucy as a friend, so I reluctantly agree. "Okay, I guess. Give me a minute to drop my books in my dorm."

  "Great!" Lucy and Tyce say in unison.

  Fifteen minutes later, Tyce is placing one arm under my legs and another around my back, lifting me from my chair and into his truck. He smells like mint. Now I'll always envision him when I eat mints, my favorite candy. Rats.

  Lucy is already in the back of the king cab. She and Tyce keep up a running conversation while he drives to the coffee shop. I've passed by The Coffee Mug a few times, but never been inside. Tyce has to park down the street because the place is so busy. The university is about five miles away and I hope we don't run into fellow students. From what I hear, they mostly party in the frat houses or some rich kid's mansion over the weekends.

  Tyce removes my chair from the back of his pickup as if it weighs nothing. He's wearing another T-shirt, a black one. He doesn't wear tight ones like some guys showing off. Even so, his body is gorgeous. Lucy says he's "eye-candy," and she's right about that. I watch the snake on his forearm while he lifts me into my chair. He sees the direction of my gaze and grins. I quickly look away, embarrassed yet again.

  Inside The Coffee Mug, he points to a table in a corner. "Why don't we sit there?"

  Lucy says, "Looks good to me."

  I shrug that it's fine with me, too.

  Tyce moves some plastic chairs out of the way so I can roll my wheelchair to the table. An older couple, being overly conscientious, jump up and make a big deal about me rolling past them. I wish people wouldn't do that.

  Finally, we're seated at our table. Tyce hands me a plastic, one page, menu. "Order whatever you want."

  I really do love coffee, but now I can't order a java drink because I told a lie about not liking it. I'd look like an idiot if I did. "I'll have a strawberry/banana smoothie."

  Tyce grins. "Are you sure you don't want a Magic Mocha Java Frappe?"

  Lucy says, "Oh, I'll have one of those."

  I summon all of my willpower. "No. The smoothie is what I want."

  Tyce says, "Okay. I'll go order."

  He leaves the table and Lucy leans toward me. "My God, can you believe we're on a date with Mr. Hot Stuff."

  "I am not on a date with him. I was coerced into this."

  She rolls her eyes. "Think whatever you want, but this is really a new take on double-dates." She giggles and now I roll my eyes.

  Tyce returns and says they'll call his name when our drinks are ready. I tap my fingers on the table, wondering what favor he wants from me. He starts telling Lucy about his favorite I Love Lucy show and she disagrees with his choice, telling him about hers. They almost get into an argument over it. I can't believe how silly they are.

  The barista calls Tyce's name. He comes back carrying a tray with our drinks. While we sip our concoctions, he and Lucy keep playfully arguing while I'm still wondering about what he could possibly want from me.

  I'm almost finished with my smoothie when he says, "Morgan, I do a lot of tutoring, both on campus and off. The favor I need to ask is if you'll cover for me and tutor a ten year old girl in math next Tuesday at four. She's got a high IQ and already beginning algebra. The reason I'm asking is because I have a job interview that I don't want to miss. Of course, I'll pay you the same fee I make."

  Rather rudely, I ask, "Why don't you just reschedule with her?"

  "Because she has a test that Friday."

  I study my empty glass. "Surely, you have friends who can help you out."

  "Yeah. That's why I'm asking you. I'm hoping we can be friends."

  "Maybe I'm lousy at mathematics."

  "You're not. I already asked Lucy. She said you whiz through all your classes."

  Except speech.

  When I don't reply, Lucy says, "Morgan, you should do it. Staying in your dorm all the time has to be lonely. It'll do you good to get out."

  I want to tell her I don't appreciate the lecture; I get enough of those from my parents.

  Tyce says, "She's only three blocks from campus in the historic section, so it will be easy for you to get there."

  Lucy says, "I can drive you if you want."

  I ask her, "Why don't you do it?"

  "Because my math sucks. I barely got a D in basic arithmetic."

  I glance at Tyce and his disappointed look makes me feel guilty. A little voice in my head says, "It's only an hour. Why are you being such a shit?"

  Before I change my mind, I blurt, "Okay. You've both made me feel so bad I'll do it.
"

  Tyce smiles. His smiles always put butterflies in my stomach. "That's my girl," he says.

  5: Candid Camera

  I follow the map Tyce has drawn and locate the house where Kathleen Ventura lives. It's not a regular house—it's one of those expensive mansions not far from campus that's been restored. I want to turn around and forget tutoring, but because I've promised to do this, I push the intercom button at the gate. I may have issues, but keeping my word isn't one of them. I have to push the button three times before a young girl's voice says, "Are you the tutor?"

  "I am."

  "What's your name?"

  "Morgan Wheeler."

  The girl pauses and then says, "That's funny. Morgan Wheeler in a wheelchair."

  I frown wondering what Tyce told her about me. "How do you know I'm in a wheelchair?"

  "Candid camera. Look up."

  I do what she says and frown even more at the surveillance camera. Before I can respond, the gate clicks and the girl says, "Just push it open. The walkway leads to the front door. I'll be waiting for you."

  I want to ask the girl where her parents are. I decide to ask her later.

  I follow the flagstone walkway past beautiful landscaping of trees, vines, ground cover, and colorful flowerbeds. The house is set back from the street and hidden by all the foliage. I reach a portico and the front door is thrown open. The door is tall and elaborate, with carvings of birds and vines. The girl standing in the entrance looks miniscule compared to the size of the opening. Her hair is short, blond, and corkscrew curly, and her expressive green eyes seem like they should be in a much older person. Two descriptive words pop into my mind for this child, "sprite" and "pixie."

  She says curtly, "My name is Kathleen, but don't call me that; I hate it. Call me Kaylee. Follow me." She holds the door open while I roll inside. The foyer is probably as large as my parents' living and dining rooms combined. It's got all the elegance one associates with rich people.