She had the odd feeling she was about to enter a boxing ring. Well, time would tell.
* * *
Zane wondered what had possessed him. Asking her to bring dinner over? The next thing he knew, she’d probably be delivering food to him and trying to help him in ways he didn’t want to be helped.
Independence mattered to him. Yeah, he needed some assistance, like the bar over the bed that helped him transfer to and from his wheelchair. The shower seat and security bars. The dog, his wonderful Nell.
But most of that meant he could still look after himself in ways that mattered. He could cook on a counter that was at chest height, although it wasn’t the easiest thing. He could do most everything one way or another with a little adaptation.
But he really did have a problem with PTSD. Why it had all blown up on him after he lost the use of his legs, he didn’t know. He’d survived a lot of years going in and out of danger and war with few apparent problems. Then, wham! It was almost like once the focus was broken he became broken.
Unfortunately, when the shift had occurred in him, he’d found triggers everywhere, things that could throw him back in time. Sounds, smells, even some voices. And sometimes he couldn’t figure out any reason for it to hit him. Those instances were the worst of all, because he had no idea what to avoid. Sometimes he didn’t even have a flashback, just a surging, almost uncontrollable rage.
So he’d come here to wrestle with it by himself. He knew there was a group here he could join, but he wasn’t yet ready to do that again. It would be good for him, but the move had disturbed him in strange ways and he felt a need to settle in first.
Wondering at himself, he wheeled to the kitchen and began the complicated process of making coffee. He had to lock his chair in place and pull himself up on his elbows to fill the pot and put the grounds in the basket. Practice had made it easier, but it was a crazy dance all the same. Still, he’d have had to live without coffee and a lot of other things if he hadn’t learned to pull himself up.
Once the pot was turned on, he settled back into his chair. Then came the knock at the door. He unlocked his chair and rolled out to greet Ashley, thinking that he needed to get new knobs for the door. Nell could operate the lever kind, but the round knobs just picked up a lot of tooth marks.
But for now, he turned the knob himself and allowed Nell to do the rest of the work as he backed away to make space for Ashley to enter. She had her arms full.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Dinner,” she said cheerfully. “I’m cooking it here, because I am not running back and forth with plates of food. I mean, really.”
Nell closed the door, then the two of them followed Ashley into the kitchen.
“Oh, good, coffee,” Ashley said. “I’ve been jonesing for a cup all day. Can I pour you one when it’s ready?”
He could do it for himself, but for once he bit the irritable retort back. “Sure. Thanks. I didn’t mean for you to go to all this trouble, Ashley.”
“Maybe not,” she answered as she unpacked her bag and the rice maker. “I seem to remember asking you. My idea. Not a problem.”
She hunted around to find what was available. Kitchen utensils had been left there since his parents’ time, and he was reasonably certain that Carol had included them in her cleaning.
Out came a wood cutting board, a chef’s knife, some small bowls, a measuring cup and a microwave dish.
“I am so grateful for microwaves,” she said as she bustled about. “I’d starve to death if I couldn’t thaw and cook in one. That’ll do for the broccoli. But first the yellow rice.” She lifted a yellow bag. “Personal recipe.”
He had to chuckle a little in spite of himself. “I think I’ve had that recipe before.”
“Probably. Someone stole it from me and put it on supermarket shelves everywhere.”
She dumped the contents into the round rice cooker, then began to dice a thick slab of ham. “Meals in minutes, that’s me,” she remarked.
Soon she swept the ham into the cooker with the edge of the knife, added the water, plugged it in and pushed a button. “Maybe twenty minutes on that,” she announced.
Then she headed for his refrigerator. “I hope you have butter.”
“I do.”
“Good, I like it on my broccoli.”
After putting the frozen broccoli in the microwave dish and dotting it with butter, she pulled a spice container out of her brown bag and sprinkled it on the veggies.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Mustard powder. It makes the taste milder, and anyway, it’s good.”
He backed away until he was beside the table, watching her whirl around his kitchen with practiced ease. It had been a long while since he’d enjoyed the sight of a woman cooking, and she seemed to like it. She shortly proved him right.
“It’s always better to cook for someone else,” she said. “Cooking for one is so boring. I make a lasagna, put most of it in my freezer in meal-size containers and then eat it forever. I also do that with other foods that freeze as well to try to give myself some variety. But... I slipped up the last few weeks, so tonight I cook. Nothing fancy, but if I’m going to do it, it’s nicer to share.”
He was sitting there like a lump, he realized. At least he could try to make conversation. “So you don’t like to cook?”
“Not for just me. Sometimes I cook for my friends, which is fun. A bunch of us gals get together regularly and take turns. Not doing that this weekend, though. I guess we’re meeting for coffee.”
It almost sounded like an alien world to him. Meeting friends for coffee. How many times had making coffee meant freeze-dried crystals and water warmed over canned heat? When he had the crystals and dared to make even a small flame.
Finally she brought two mugs of coffee to the table. “Black?” she asked.
“Nothing else.” After all these years, he wouldn’t know what to make of any other kind.
She handed him a mug then took the seat across from him. “I’ll clean up after.”
“I can do that,” he said quickly.
“Sure, if you want. It means I get to hang around longer waiting for my rice cooker.”
His eyes popped to her face, and he realized she was teasing him. Teasing him. The fact that he hadn’t recognized it immediately, the fact that it had been so long since anyone had teased him when it had been a routine part of his life in uniform...well, he really had put himself in a long, dark tunnel. And maybe not all of it was necessary.
But until he could trust his reactions, be sure some little thing wouldn’t just cause him to blow, he felt it was safest to protect others.
But who was he protecting, really?
Shaking his head a little, he remained silent while Ashley served dinner, giving him a plate heaped with yellow rice and a good-size portion of broccoli.
“Thank you,” he managed to say. Did one ever get tired of always having to thank others? He sure did. He was used to taking care of everything himself, and his new status in life often irritated him.
Yet, he reminded himself, this woman was guilty of nothing except kindness. He could have turned down her offer of dinner. He could have kept his fortress walls in place. But he hadn’t, so the least he owed her this evening was courtesy.
The problem was finding something to talk about. God, he’d been so self-absorbed for so long he had only one subject—his own problems. Disgraceful.
“How