The Choice - Nicholas Sparks [91]
“I think she’d like that,” Gretchen had said.
She walked him through the process, making sure he understood that every muscle and every joint needed attention. While Gretchen and the other nurses always started with Gabby’s fingers, Travis started with her toes. He lowered the sheet and reached for her foot, flexing her pinkie toe up and down, then again, before moving to the toe beside it.
Travis had come to love doing this for her. The feel of her skin against his own was enough to rekindle a dozen memories: the way he’d rubbed her feet while she’d been pregnant, the slow and intoxicating back rubs by candlelight during which she’d seemed to purr, massages on her arm after she’d strained it lifting a bag of dog food one-handed. As much as he missed talking to Gabby, sometimes he believed that the simple act of touch was what he missed most of all. It had taken him over a month before he’d asked Gretchen’s permission to help with the exercises, and during that time, whenever he’d stroked Gabby’s leg, he’d felt somehow as if he were taking advantage of her. It didn’t matter that they were married; what mattered was that it was a one-sided act on his part, somehow disrespectful to the woman he adored.
But this . . .
She needed this. She required this. Without it, her muscles would atrophy, and even if she woke—when she woke, he quickly corrected himself—she would find herself permanently bedridden. At least, that’s what he told himself. Deep down, he knew he needed it as well, if only to feel the heat from her skin or the gentle pulse of blood in her wrist. It was at such times he felt most certain that she would recover; that her body was simply repairing itself.
He finished with her toes and moved to her ankles; when that was done, he flexed her knees, bending them both to her chest and then straightening them. Sometimes, while lying on the couch and glancing through magazines, Gabby would absently stretch her leg in exactly the same way. It was something a dancer would do, and she made it look just as graceful.
“Does that feel good, sweetheart?”
That feels wonderful. Thanks. I was feeling a little stiff.
He knew he’d imagined her answer, that Gabby hadn’t stirred. But her voice seemed to arise from nowhere whenever he worked with her like this. Sometimes he wondered whether he was going crazy. “How are you doing?”
Bored out of my head, if you want to know the truth. Thanks for the flowers, by the way. They’re lovely. Did you get them from Frick’s?
“Where else?”
How are the girls? Tell me the truth this time.
Travis moved to the other knee. “They’re okay. They miss you, though, and it’s hard on them. Sometimes I don’t know what to do.”
You’re doing the best you can, right? Isn’t that what we always tell each other?
“You’re right.”
Then that’s all I expect. And they’ll be okay. They’re tougher than they look.
“I know. They take after you.”
Travis imagined her looking him over, her expression wary.
You look skinny. Too skinny.
“I haven’t been eating much.”
I’m worried about you. You’ve got to take care of yourself. For the girls. For me.
“I’ll always be here for you.”
I know. I’m afraid of that, too. Do you remember Kenneth and Eleanor Baker?
Travis stopped flexing. “Yes.”
Then you know what I’m talking about.
He sighed and started again. “Yes.”
In his mind, her tone softened. Do you remember when you made us all go camping in the mountains last year? How you promised that the girls and I would love it?
He began working on her fingers and arms. “What brought that up?”
I think about a lot of things here. What else can I do? Anyway, do you remember that when we first got there, we didn’t even bother to set up camp—just kind of unloaded the truck—even though we heard thunder in the distance, because you wanted to show us the lake? And how we had to walk half a mile to get there, and right when we reached the shore, the sky opened up and it just . . . poured? Water gushing out of the sky