As the lights across town began to twinkle outside my window, I was genuinely excited for dinner for the first time in months. Something wonderful was wafting from under the door, far from the array of hospital food and half,eaten meals that had become commonplace for me.
Alexis wheeled me towards the dining room and said, "I hope you don't mind, Mr. Anderson, but I took the liberty of preparing something special tonight."
The dining room had changed,no more uncomfortable silences or pitying glances. The lights were softly dimmed, a gentle background of classical music played. Alexis wheeled my chair into place at the head of the table and I saw the place settings,elegant yet destined for ease of use.
"You did all this?" I asked, unable to filter the surprise out of my voice.
Alexis smiled,liquid, real, and lighting up the room. "I believe meals should be experiences, not just ways to fill up the stomach. More so for someone who is recovering from trauma. The mind heals with the body, Mr. Anderson."
As she served the meal,a perfect salmon with some roasted vegetables and a quinoa Salad,I found myself studying her. There was an effortless grace to her movements, a quiet confidence that put me at ease. For the first time in what felt like forever, I didn't feel like a burden or an invalid. I felt cared for.
"This is incredible," I said after one bite. The flavors danced on my tongue, a symphony of taste I hadn't had in far too long.
"I'm glad you like it," Alexis replied as she sat down across from me. "I studied nutrition as part of my training. A proper diet can make a world of difference in recovery."
As we ate, Alexis deftly turned the conversation from my condition to trivial matters: we talked about art, books,even touched on some of the latest business news. Her knowledge was impressive, her insight intelligent. For the first time since the accident, I felt I was engaging, using my mind.
"You know," I said as we finished our meal, "I don't think I have had such a good dinner in ages. Thank you, Alexis."
She smiled warmly, but something else shimmered in her eyes, some flicker of emotion I couldn't quite place. "It's my pleasure, Mr. Anderson. This is just the beginning. We have a long road ahead, but I promise you, it will get better."
As she cleared the table, I found myself believing her. The anger and bitterness that had been my constant companions since the accident seemed to have retreated at least for the moment. In their place was a cautious optimism, a fragile hope I was almost afraid to acknowledge.
The days that followed were a blur of activity. Alexis fit into every nook of my life, it seemed, as if she knew what I needed before I ever did. She rearranged my home office, installing voice,activated systems and adaptive technologies that allowed me to be more productive. The physical therapy sessions that had been once dreaded, now became events to be overcome and conquered with her in charge, there to prod me.
And yet, it was not just in the practical aspects of my care that Alexis excelled. There seemed to be this almost intuitive flair of hers for reading the silent metamorphosis of my moods and knowing exactly when to prod and when to hold off. On those truly terrible days, when the pain and frustration just about overwhelmed me, she was there with a soft word of encouragement or even just some simple gesture of quiet support.
One dismal morning, after a night of pains and dark thoughts, I lashed out at her. "Just leave me alone!" I said, shrugging her off as she tried to help me with my exercises. "I'm tired of this. Tired of being helpless, tired of being a burden. What's the use of all this?"
Instead of pulling back or giving me some kind of feel,better speech, Alexis leaned forward, her eyes locked on mine. "The point, Mr. Anderson, is that you're still here. Still fighting. And as long as you're fighting, there's hope."
Her words, so confident and sure, cut through my anger like a hot knife. My fight began to seep out of me, leaving only that bone,deep weariness in its wake. "I'm so tired, Alexis," I whispered. "Tired of fighting, tired of hoping only to be disappointed."
Alexis collapsed to her knees beside my wheelchair, making her eyes level with mine. "Then let me hope for you," she whispered. "Let me fight with you. You don't have to do this alone, Mr. Anderson."
In that moment, something inside me shifted with a look into her warm brown eyes. The walls I'd built around myself, the armor of anger and bitterness I'd worn for such a long period, were crumbling. And for the first time since the accident, I allowed myself to be truly vulnerable.
"I'm scared, Alexis," I said in a barely audible whisper as the words were torn out of me from somewhere very deep inside. "Scared that this is all there is. That I'll never be the man I was."
Alexis leaned forward, her hand covering mine. Her touch was warm, comforting. "You're right," she whispered. "You'll never be the man you were. But that doesn't mean you can't be someone even better. Someone stronger, more compassionate, more resilient. The old Davis Anderson died in that accident, but a new one is being born. And I'm honored to be here to witness it."
Her words, so real, broke something open inside of me. The months' pent,up river of tears finally flowed, and I wept. Not angry, bitter tears as before, but cleansing tears washing away some of the pain and fear I had been carrying.
Alexis remained alongside me, silent comfort. She didn't try to hush me or tell me everything would be alright. She simply let me feel, let me grieve for the life and the man I had lost. And in doing so, she gave me the strength to start imagining the life and the man I could become.
As days soon turned into weeks, I found myself opening up more and more. Alexis became not only my caregiver but confidante,somebody to whom I could share all my fears and hopes. Never judgmental, never pitying, she listened and advised, or just raised my spirits when necessary.
I sat one evening in my study going over some business reports, catching myself watching her as she worked beside me. Furrowing of her brow in concentration, the slight smile playing upon her lips as she found something interesting,the whole thing was just so natural. There was just something about her that seemed to draw me in, made me feel. alive.
"Alexis," I said, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen between us. "I. I want you to know how much I appreciate everything you've done. I know I'm not the easiest person to work with, but you've. you've made a real difference."
She looked up, that warm smile lighting up her face. "Thank you, Mr. Anderson. That means a lot to me. But you're the one doing all the hard work. I'm just here to support you."
Turning back to the reports, I found myself speculating about her. Who really was Alexis Cooper? What motivates someone to do this job, to care for broken people like me? Of course, there was depth to her, a complexity that intrigued me.
But before I could follow through on that line of thought, a noise coming from the doorway distracted me. I looked up to find Beverly standing there, watching us. Her face was an interesting array of emotional contradictions,relief, gratitude, yet something else. Unease? Jealousy?
"Beverly," I said, startled. We hadn't spoken much since our argument, her visits less frequent as Alexis took over more of my care. "I didn't know you were here."
She stepped into the room, her eyes dancing between Alexis and me. "I. I just wanted to see how you were doing. Clementina told me you've been making great progress."
Alexis rose with smooth ease, gathering up the reports. "I'll leave you two to some privacy," she said, trying to make her tone neutral. She smiled once, a small, professional smile, as she passed Beverly in exiting. "Nice to see you, Ms. Stone."
When we were alone, Beverly leaned in, settling on the edge of a chair. "You're looking good, Davis," she whispered. "Better than I've seen you in. well, in a long time."
I nodded, not knowing what to say. My anger for her was gone and in its place was a jumbled mess of emotions that I wasn't about to sift through just yet. "I am feeling better," I admitted. "Alexis has been. she's been a big help."
Beverly smiled a little tighter. "Yes, she seems. Very competent." She paused a moment, as if searching for her next words. "Davis, I. Wanted you to know I am here, if you need anything, when you wanna talk."
I looked at her, really looked at her for the first time in months. She was still beautiful, still the woman I had fallen in love with. But something had changed between us, a chasm opened by my accident and my subsequent behavior. Was it bridgeable? Did I want to?
"Thank you, Beverly," I said finally. "I appreciate that. I know I haven't been. I haven't been easy to be around. I'm sorry for that."
She reached out, her hand hovering over mine for a moment before she pulled back. "You don't have to apologize, Davis. I can't imagine what you've been going through. I just. I want us to be okay. Are we okay?"
I wish I had an easy answer for her. But the truth was, I didn't know. Everything was different now,I was different. And I wasn't sure where Beverly fit into this new life, this new me.
"I don't know," I said truthfully. "But I think. I think we can try to be."
Beverly nodded, trying to keep herself from crying. She stood up and rumpled her dress. "That's… That's all I can ask for. I should get going. It is getting late."
She turned to go but lingered in the doorway, turning back to look at me. The mixture on her face was even stronger now,relief at seeing me improved, gratitude toward Alexis for having helped, yet a clear unease at the changes she witnessed.
"Goodnight, Davis," she said softly. "I'm glad you're doing better."
As her footsteps faded down the hall, I turned back to the window, my mind lost in thought. So much had changed in so little time. Alexis had blown into my life with the suddenness of a tornado, carrying with her light and hope to a place where only darkness and despair previously existed.
But as I sat, staring out at the city lights across the water, twinkling, a small voice in the back of my mind asked a question I had never even let myself consider: was this all just too good to be true?
I pushed the thought away, not wanting it to ruin the progress I had made. As I called out for Alexis to come and help me ready myself for bed, though, the feeling didn't leave my mind that there were levels to this situation,and to Alexis herself,that I still hadn't grasped.
As I went to sleep that night, my dream was a jumbled mess: Alexis's bright, comforting smile; Beverly's anguished eyes; shadowy figures on the fringes of my vision, their intentions indiscernible. But above it all, there was one thought still echoing within me, and that was, whatever was going to happen next, I was finally ready. There was a new Davis Anderson emerging, stronger than ever before.