The Sign at the Other End

Thursday's appointment began badly.

Charles disliked the room, the cheerful poster beside the door, and the physical therapist's instruction to leave his jacket on a hook.

"I'll take it," Daniel said.

"I can hang up a jacket."

"Then I'll wait until you do."

Elena coughed into her hand.

Charles handed over the jacket.

The therapist, Nina, introduced herself without commenting on his name or the two people behind him. After the assessments already completed that week, she and Dr. Feld had agreed on an initial plan.

"We're going to work on transfers, strength, and supported standing," she said. "We'll adjust as we learn what you tolerate. You tell me if something hurts or changes."

"Everything changes. I'm forty-three."

"Then you'll have plenty to report."

He almost liked her.

That lasted until she corrected the position of his hands for the third time.

The work required more concentration than he expected. Movements he wanted to force into obedience became less reliable when he hurried. His arms tired. His shirt stuck between his shoulder blades.

After a short supported attempt, he had to sit.

He looked at the distance between the bars.

He had crossed larger rooms to fire men without raising his voice. Now he couldn't reach the other end of this one.

"Again," he said.

"After a rest," Nina answered.

"I'm resting now."

"For more than six seconds."

Daniel offered water. Charles took it too sharply and spilled some onto his trousers.

Nobody remarked on it. Somehow that was worse.

On the drive home, he let his assistant talk through three scheduling problems before realizing he hadn't heard a word.

"Move them," he said.

"Which ones?"

"All three."

He ended the call and looked at Elena.

"You do this for a living?"

"I work with people through versions of it."

"They must hate you."

"Occasionally. One man sends me a Christmas card every year explaining that he still does."

Charles looked out the window. "I understand him."

She didn't try to make him laugh after that.

On Saturday, Margaret called during lunch. She and Elena had been speaking every evening, though neither had settled on a date to meet. Charles watched his sister talk about visiting, then retreat into a discussion of the weather.

He took the phone when she offered it.

"You can ask her to come," he told his mother.

"I don't want to frighten her away."

Charles looked across the table at Elena.

"She's still here," he said. "And I'll remind her she's welcome to stay."

Charles returned to the clinic the following week.

Then he returned again.

Some sessions went better. At others, a movement that had seemed possible on Tuesday felt out of reach on Thursday. Nina refused to compare his worst hour to his best one. He did it anyway.

On the fifth visit, he found Lyla waiting with Elena outside the treatment room.

She held a folded piece of yellow construction paper.

"I made something."

Charles looked at his sister.

"She asked," Elena said. "I told her we had to ask you too."

Lyla bounced once, then stood very still in an exaggerated attempt at patience.

He could say no. Everyone was waiting for him to choose.

"She can come in," he said.

Lyla unfolded the paper.

GO UNCLE CHARLS.

The letters leaned in several directions. A purple figure beside them had extraordinarily long arms.

"Is that me?"

"That's Mr. Daniel. He's catching you."

Daniel inspected the drawing. "A reasonable likeness."

Lyla pointed to a smaller figure in a black rectangle.

"That's you. I didn't know how to draw wheels sideways."

Charles studied the picture. She had given him an enormous smile.

"You forgot the E in Charles."

"Mommy said there was one. I ran out of room."

"We'll amend it later."

"Can we put glitter on it?"

"Absolutely not."

She looked at Daniel. "Can we?"

"You'll have to negotiate directly with your uncle."

The session began well enough. Charles completed a transfer with less help, and Nina adjusted the next exercise. Lyla sat beside Elena with a coloring book, occasionally lifting her head to check that everybody remained where she had left them.

Then Charles's legs wouldn't cooperate.

He tried again, harder. His knee buckled, and Nina helped him lower himself safely.

"That's enough of that for today," she said.

"I did it last week."

"I know."

"Then let me do it."

His voice cracked through the room. Lyla's crayon stopped moving.

Charles saw her looking at him and immediately wished he could swallow the words.

Nina waited until he met her eyes.

"We can switch tasks or finish the session. We won't repeat this while you're exhausted."

He chose to finish.

In the hall, Lyla lagged behind her mother. Charles slowed his chair to match her steps.

"Are you mad at me?" she asked.

He stopped.

"No. Why would you think that?"

She folded the corner of her sign.

"I said you could walk."

Charles looked at her small hands. She had carried the paper all morning, and he had allowed her to watch him turn disappointment into anger.

"Lyla, look at me."

She did.

"You didn't make a mistake. I got frustrated, and I shouted. That was mine."

"But I said—"

"I know what you said. You're four. You don't have to fix my legs."

Her mouth trembled.

He held out his hand. She came closer and put her fingers across his palm.

"I like having you here," he said. "Even when nothing goes the way I want."

She thought about that, then turned toward Elena.

"Can we still get lunch?"

Charles let out a breath that almost hurt.

"Yes. We can still get lunch."

At the diner, Lyla ordered pancakes although it was one in the afternoon. Charles ordered the same.

Daniel looked at him over the menu.

"Not a word," Charles warned.

"I was going to recommend the blueberries."

That evening, Charles found the yellow sign propped against a lamp in his apartment. Daniel had brought it upstairs with his coat.

The missing E had been added above his name.

It glittered.

Charles picked up his phone and called Nina's office to confirm Tuesday.

Then he left the sign exactly where it was.