American Outlaw - Jesse James [101]
“How long will the rehab be?” I asked.
“You’ll be in a sling for six to eight weeks. Then you can start physical therapy,” he said, smiling. “By my estimation, you should have a pain-free shoulder in under a year’s time.”
I sighed. “Well, that sucks. Timing’s not good. We’re going to start filming the next season of my show soon.”
“Timing’s never good for going under the knife, is it?” he said. “I strongly advise this surgery.”
Bill Dodge drove me to the hospital.
“Are you nervous?”
“I hate hospitals.”
“You’ll be just fine, man. I’ll pick you up when you’re done.”
The doctors put me out and began the long process of removing old scar tissue that had collected around the head of my humerus. When I awoke, I was alone.
Bill took me home. I slept for what seemed like days. It wasn’t quite like coming back from my knee surgery when I was twenty; this time I felt almost unnaturally tired, older, and weary in my bones.
Finally, after about a week of lying around, sluglike and depressed, I pushed myself back into gear. The kids were staying with me for the weekend, and it was up to me to step it up and act like a parent.
“Daddy, what happened to you?” Jesse Jr. asked me. He was five years old, and at the stage where every word out of his mouth seemed to be a question. His hands played against the blue sling that covered my left arm and shoulder.
“I hurt myself playing around too much,” I said, hugging him to me with my good arm.
“But is it ever going to get better?” he asked, looking concerned.
“Of course it is,” I said, laughing. “Very soon. Right now, Daddy just has to be patient and let it heal, okay?”
Being on my feet energized my spirit. I looked at the house around me: it had been several weeks since Janine had disappeared. She’d never bothered to call, so I just figured she had no intention of coming back.
I called Bill Dodge.
“Bill,” I said. “Look, can you help me out with something?”
“No problem, man. What is it?”
“I need you to rent a moving van for me, and then come on over here. Get a couple of guys from the shop to help. We’re going to get rid of Janine’s stuff.”
It was time. I needed to clear my home of her.
Bill showed up soon thereafter with the van and the extra sets of hands, and we got down to work. My kids watched us curiously as we carefully loaded all of Janine’s possessions up into the van.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” asked Bill, grinning.
“It’s just time,” I said.
We were about three-quarters of the way done with the job when Janine showed up.
“What the hell are you doing?” she cried.
“I didn’t think you were coming back,” I said calmly. “So we’re moving you out.”
“How could you do this to me? We’re in a partnership!” Janine cried. “We are there for each other, can’t you understand that . . .”
“You haven’t exactly been THERE for me this whole time,” I said. “Fuck, Janine, living with you is like living with a crazy person. I never know who’s going to be there for me: the wife who’s normal, or some psycho bitch who’s ready to throw her keys in my face . . .”
“Daddy?” Jesse Jr. said, appearing at the door. He looked ready to cry. “What are you yelling for?”
“Go back inside,” I said to him. “Go on, Jesse. Back inside, this very instant.”
Jesse looked at me, confused and scared, then turned around and padded back to his room.
“You see,” I whispered angrily to Janine. “See what you made me do?”
“That’s fucking nonsense,” she said. “I didn’t make you yell at me—you yelled at me! You have an anger issue, and a control issue, Jesse, and I think it’s time to face it!”
“I am so tired of this endless mind-fuck,” I said. “So over it. So over you.”
“You gutless man,” Janine said, spitefully, pushing past me into the house. “There’s nothing good about you when you’re like this, do you