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"But believe me, the rehabilitation program will help you become independent. Just don't fight it. Learn, listen, be willing to try and you'll regain your self-confidence and become a productive member of society again. Rain. I know dozens and dozens of paraplegics who are."

"Jeez, I'm so lucky. I just don't realize it yet, huh?" She smiled.

"No. you don't. Remember my father's If." she reminded me and turned around in her chair.

I watched her roll herself out and away.

That's me. I thought. That's me from now on until the day I die.

I turned my face into the pillow. wishing I could hold myself down and stop myself from breathing.

They moved me to rehabilitation that evening. Early the next morning, a team of therapists greeted me and explained their roles in my program. They kept me so busy. I almost didn't have time to feel sorry for myself. There were other patients with similar injuries around me, most as Doctor Synder had said, with far more severe damage. Seeing the quadriplegic patients brought that home clearly. I was amazed at how most of them continued and worked on their therapy activities.

When Doctor Synder returned, we talked about it and she seemed almost proud of them. It was as though we were a people unto ourselves now, and what each individual accomplished reflected on the whole group of us.

"Every time you feel like giving up," she said. "think about them. The truth. Rain, is that the vast majority of paraplegics do adjust well, as you will," she predicted with confidence, "You'll drive a car, you'll have a full social life and if you want, you'll have a family. too."

"A family?" I had to laugh at that. "Who'd want me for a wife?"

"Someone who falls in love with you," she said simply.

"Sure."

I had yet to write and tell my father in London or Roy what had happened to me. Deep down I think I was hoping I would pass away during the night and I wouldn't have to tell anyone, but as more and more time went by. I realized it would have to be done soon. What I didn't want was their pity. Doctor Synder and I talked about that and she said. "'Just make sure you tell them how well you're doing in therapy and you won't get their pity. Of course," she added. "you'd better make sure you do well."

"That sounds like blackmail," I told her and she laughed and said whatever works for you.

I grew to like her. Just the thought of leaving her made me afraid of leaving the rehabilitation center. When I expressed that, she said it was flattering, but she didn't want me to feel that way.

"Don't become dependent on anyone. Rain. Fight that and you'll always have your self-respect. I've got a van I drive. The side goes down and I can roll myself in and out. I don't even need anyone to open the door for me. Guess what happened to me last week," she said with a proud smile.

"What?"

"I got a speeding ticket. The officer pulled me over, told me I was acing fifty in a thirty-five. I told him I missed the sign, but he said I should be more alert and he was giving me a ticket more because of that than the actual speeding. He was writing it out and then he looked down and saw I was sitting in a wheelchair. He stopped and looked like he was going to rip it up out of pity. That just infuriated me.

If you're going to give me a ticket, do it," I said. "I have a lunch date.

"He turned beet red and quickly finished writing it. I thanked him and drove off with a smile on my face. Here," she said opening her purse and plucking it out. "look for yourself. I made a copy to hang on my wall in the office.'

I stared at her a moment and then I laughed harder than I had since the accident.

Eventually, I got to the point where I could move in and out of my wheelchair on my own. Take still visited often. He watched me in therapy. If I looked at him suddenly. I caught a sad, glum expression darkening his eves and deepening every wrinkle in his tired face. He was stooping more, not taking as good care of himself either. His hair was unruly and often he looked like he needed a shave. When he was close. I could see the tiny bloody veins in his eyes were more prominent than ever. The moment he saw me looking at him, he brightened as best he could. He would tell me about the house and how it was being well looked after. He brought me mail. too. I had a letter from Roy telling me he was out of the clink and counting the days. Another letter from my father included a flyer announcing the upcoming production at the Burbage School. Of course, he didn't know I was severely injured, but it was so painful to see that flyer and know I would never go back to that school.

One afternoon after I was back in bed. resting. Jake came to tell me I was getting a visitor.

"Victoria will be here tomorrow," he said. "If you want,I'll stick around while she's visiting."

"It's all right. Jake. She couldn't frighten me before all this. She certainly can't now."

He smiled, yet he still looked so tired.

"Jake, you're not taking care of yourself," I said. "Grandmother Hudson would be upset."

He nodded.

"I'm all right,"

"I'll be out of here soon and I'll need your help," I told him. That raised his head and revived his eyes.