The next morning, Anna did her best to be quiet as she got ready to go to work. She didn't want to awaken John, even though a part of her wanted to see him and talk with him before heading for the hospital. He needed his rest, not the third degree.
She was just about to leave when the doorbell rang and she answered the door to see that Millicent Carter was there. With her was a man that Anna recognized from the night she had accompanied Carol to the Carter Mansion. He was the butler. Millicent introduced him as Dawes and explained that he was there to help John with the more personal things, such as bathing and going to the bathroom.
Anna let them know that John was still asleep, then she left for work. At least she wasn't leaving him there to spend time with his father. No one deserved a fate like that.
Anna found herself watching the clock all day, and as soon as her shift was over, she headed straight for the apartment. Much to her surprise, Millicent Carter was still there. Dawes was there as well, but Anna had expected to see him there. After all, that was a part of the arrangement.
"You just missed Laura and Barbara," Millicent told her. "They arrived around noon, but Laura had to get back home." Millicent handed her a cup of hot tea.
"How was John's day?" Anna asked as she settled into the chair. John had not been in the living room when she arrived, so she assumed he was sleeping.
"Not bad. He went for his physical therapy session, then came home and had lunch and a nap. When he awoke from that, Dawes was able to help him get washed up. He still can't have a full bath, but they managed to get him clean and that's what's important. He just went back to sleep about twenty minutes ago."
"Good. The rest will help him heal faster. I take it that therapy went well?"
Millicent smiled. "Very well, although the therapist did remark that John was pushing himself too much. John is very eager to be out of the wheelchair and on crutches."
"I don't blame him for that. He should be on his feet soon. Once he gets his cast off, he'll have to use a cane, and he should be able to return to work at that time."
"That will do him even more good. Would you like to take a bath or shower before we leave?"
"Yes. That would be nice. Thank you."
Anna went to take a quick shower, then changed into comfortable clothes. The apartment was quiet once Millicent and Dawes left. Keeping as quiet as possible, Anna prepared a small supper, then sat down in front of the television to eat.
She was watching "Buffy: The Vampire Slayer" when she heard a noise from the hallway. Looking up, she saw John trying to get the wheelchair out of his bedroom. He wasn't having too much success. She put her plate aside and got up to help him.
"Why didn't you call me?" she asked as she got the wheelchair through the doorway.
"I wasn't sure who was here. I'm sorry if I bothered you."
"You didn't bother me. I was just watching t.v. It's nothing important. Where to? Living room or bathroom?"
"Bathroom first, please."
"No problem."
As she had done before, she helped him get situated, then waited in the hallway until he called for her. For his sake, she would be glad when he was able to progress to crutches.
Once in the living room, she parked the wheelchair by the chair where she had been sitting. "Hungry?" she asked.
"A little."
"Any special requests?"
"Anna, you don't have to wait on me."
"John, do you really think that you're physically capable of going into that kitchen and fixing yourself something to eat?"
He shook his head. "No. But, that doesn't mean that you have to treat me special, Anna. I'll eat anything that you feel like making."
"John, just tell me what you want."
"A sandwich will be okay."
"Ham or roast beef? Your grandmother saw to it that we were left with plenty of food."
"Roast beef with cheese. Whole wheat bread and a beer."
Anna smiled as she went into the kitchen. It felt nice to do something for John, even if he was only letting her do it because he couldn't.
"Mayo or mustard?" she called out.
"Mustard please."
She quickly put together the sandwich, then poured him a glass of milk. Putting it all on a lap tray, she returned to the living room.
"No beer. You'll have to settle for milk."
"I know there's beer. I left beer in the refrigerator," he pouted.
"And with the pain medication that you're on, you aren't drinking any of it. Enjoy your milk. It will help your bones mend."
"If I thought that would really work, I would have you bring me the entire jug of milk." He joked.
Anna laughed as she sat back down to finish her meal. By the time she was done, so was he. She cleaned up, then sat back down beside him. Now was as good a time as any to talk to him about his father.
"John, the other day I was coming to see you in the hospital, but I didn't come into your room because your father was there. I couldn't help but overhear what he was saying to you."
John looked away from her then. "Dad was upset. He didn't mean what he was saying, Anna."
"It sounded to me like he meant it, John. Has he always been like that?"
"I told you he was just upset. I think it would be best if we talked about something else." He looked back over at her, his gaze firm.
"John, emotional abuse is just as destructive and painful as physical abuse. You can't just sweep his words under the rug. What he said hurt you, I could see that when I went in to see you after he left. He had no right to speak to you the way he did."
"Drop it, Anna. Please?"
Anna looked into his eyes, trying to see how he was feeling. She could always tell so much about him by his eyes. But, tonight they were guarded against her. Probably guarded against everyone. She finally nodded.
"Okay. I'll drop it. For now."
"Thank you. So, what else is on t.v. tonight?" As Anna flipped through the channels, he noticed that he was clenching and unclenching his right hand. He looked down at it, thinking that it was remarkable that he had once broken almost every bone in that hand, but there was no outward sign of that now. Just the memory of when it happened. He gazed out in the general direction of the television, but his mind was years away.
*************************
The first day after their Mom had taken Bobby to New York had been a good enough day. John could tell that his father was preoccupied, worried about Bobby. Roland kept talking about how he should have been the one to go, that a sick child and his mother alone in New York were easy prey. Barbara had done her best to cheer Roland; she always seemed to have the ability to make him smile. John missed Bobby even more then he missed his mother. He and Bobby were close, despite the usual fights that often happen between brothers, especially brothers who were only two years apart in age.
The second day started off well enough. John and Barbara went to school and were all bubbly when they returned home in the afternoon. They had the next two days off, then the weekend. After that, Bobby and their Mom would be home. Barbara had been invited to spend the night with one of her girlfriends, so she hurried and packed. After her friend's parents picked her up, John was left there alone with Marita, the maid. She was a kind woman, who didn't mind if John hung around the kitchen while she cooked or cleaned. He would often try to help her, but she would shoo him away, telling him that he might hurt himself with one of the knives or other implements. So, he had to content himself with watching. When Roland arrived home from the law office, he was in a foul mood. He went into his office and slammed the door, a clear sign he didn't want to be disturbed. John lingered outside the door, feeling lonely, but not sure if he should even knock. He needed to hear his father's voice, get his reassurance that everything would be all right with Bobby. Just as he was about to knock, the door swung inward and Roland was there.
"Haven't I told you that I'm not to be disturbed when I'm in here with the door closed?" he angrily asked.
"Yes, sir," John meekly replied.
"Speak up when talking to me, boy. You act as if you're afraid of me. Do I scare you?"
"No, sir." This time, John made sure that his voice was firm as he looked up into his father's eyes. "I'm not afraid of you, Daddy."
The blonde man frowned. "You should be." Then Roland pushed his way past him and disappeared upstairs.
John felt like crying. Everything in his world changed the minute Bobby was diagnosed with leukemia. His parents barely spoke to one another. Instead they growled or yelled. His Mom's attention was totally on Bobby and what it would take to cure him of his disease. She didn't want to hear about how school went, or how his day had been. None of that mattered to her anymore. Barbara saved all of her energy for cheering up their father, while John did his best to help Bobby cope. Even at the age of nine, John knew that was the only thing he could do. Bobby had whispered the truth to him one night, telling him that people died from leukemia and that he would die, too. John had cried then and Bobby held him until he was all cried out. Then he told him that he couldn't cry like that again. That they both had to be strong for their parents, because neither one of them would accept the fact that Bobby was going to die. John had promised Bobby that he wouldn't cry anymore and so far he had kept that promise.
John went on inside his father's office. It wasn't that much different from the office his father had at the law firm. Huge leather wing chairs sat in front of a large desk. The desk was a beauty, made from mahogany. John loved waxing that desk and then polishing it until the wood glowed, reflecting everything else in the room. Roland's briefcase sat upon the desk, open. John knew that his father never left his briefcase open like that, so he went to close it for him. As his hand touched it, Roland came back into the room.
John looked up in just enough time to identify the look in his father's eyes as being one of rage as the man bore down on him.
"I've told you to never touch my briefcase. I don't need this kind of shit from you right now."
Roland slammed the lid closed, either not caring or not knowing that John's hand was still in the way. John stared down, shocked at first, then he cried out as waves of pain emanated up his arm. Roland put his hand on the lid and pressed down. "You should fear me. You should fear me very much, son. Don't ever disobey me again."
John could barely hear his father's words through the pain, but he nodded. "Yes, sir," he managed to say through his tears.
Roland lifted the lid, then grabbed John by the other arm and led him into the kitchen. "Marita, John has hurt himself. He was playing around with my briefcase and the lid closed on his hand. See if you can do something about the bleeding."
"Yes, sir." Marita sat down and gathered John into her lap so she could inspect the injury. "Let's get this washed off, okay, little man?"
John nodded, ashamed of himself for breaking his promise to Bobby. Marita would help to make everything all right. She always did.
Marita led him over to the sink and held his hand out under the water. When she touched his hand to wash away the blood, he cried out, jerking his hand out of her grasp.
"John, let her wash your hand," his father snapped.
"It's okay, sir." Marita gently took his hand back into her own, softly palpitating it. "Mr. Carter, I think that his hand is broken."
"Nonsense. The lid didn't close on it that hard." Roland walked over to them.
"I'm pretty sure it is broken, sir. You should take him to the hospital."
Roland frowned, then nodded. "Come on then. Let's get this over with."
The ride to the hospital had been a silent one, with Roland sending angry glances in John's direction every time he had to stop for a light. At the hospital, he told the nurse the same story he had told Marita, and she had believed him, as had the doctors who set the bones after the x-rays revealed that there were numerous fractures in his hand. They had given him something for the pain and sent him home. As before, the ride was spent in silence. Roland didn't speak to him until they were about to go into the house.
"You had better remember what happened, John. It's your own fault that you were hurt."
But, it hadn't been his fault, had it? Yes, he knew he wasn't supposed to be in his father's office, but he had only gone in there to close the briefcase -- to do something nice for his father. And the lid hadn't fallen on his hand. His father had closed it on his hand.
As if Roland could read his thoughts, Roland grabbed him by the shoulders and gripped him tightly.
"You knew better than to be in my office. That fact that something bad happened to you should just go to show you that you should never disobey me, John. Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. So you will remember what I told you. This is your own fault."
"Yes, sir." But, he still didn't understand why it had happened, or what he had done that had been so bad.
******************************************
Anna watched John and knew he was a million miles away from that apartment. If she turned off the t.v., she knew he would never notice. Her concern that she had dredged up painful memories for him grew as she watched a tear slip down his cheek.
"John?"
He jumped slightly, then looked at her, a deep sadness in his eyes. "Yeah?"
"I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"For whatever it is that you're remembering. I know you don't want to talk about it, but when you feel ready, I am here to listen."
He wiped away the tear, then looked away from her again. "There's nothing to talk about. I'm just tired."
"Well, I don't have objections to turning in early."
"Good. Would you please help me get back in bed?"
"Of course." Anna cut off the television, then got him settled into bed. The entire time, her heart was breaking for him. She had known for a long time that there was more to John Carter than what met the eye, but she had never imagined that he had so much pain in his life. As she got ready for bed, she vowed to do all in her power to make sure that the rest of his life was happy. It was the least she could do.