She nodded quietly. “Now that we’ve gone over to such a depressing topic, maybe you want to fill me in on something that’s not so depressing.”
“This is somewhat better but not good news. I’m not exactly progressing as Shane wants me to, and, no, it’s not for a lack of trying, so don’t go there.”
Quinton frowned, cocked her head. “I would never say that, but I do think I remember something you shared with me early on. Shane had told you how it would take longer in your case—all because an awful lot of muscles had to be recruited to compensate for other muscles that were struggling.”
He nodded. “I remember something about that too. But it doesn’t change the fact that I feel like he’s getting frustrated with me and that I’m not doing as well as he would expect.”
“I don’t think he does get frustrated with us. I think he’s working with us at all times, trying to get us to do as best as we can. Then, whenever that ceiling is reached, he’ll come at it from another angle,” she said, with a half smile.
Ryatt grinned at that. “You know what? I can almost see him doing that. He doesn’t give up, does he?”
“I don’t think he gives up at all,” she murmured. “And that’s a good thing for us.”
“And so what difference does that make overall though? Because, if it ends up being something with no… further improvement, I still feel like I’m taking a place away from somebody else.”
“Maybe, in the sense of counting beds and not having enough for the incoming patients, but you’re just as welcome to have that place as anybody else is.”
“But other people might deserve it more.”
She let out a quiet whistle. “And here comes the root of it. You think you don’t deserve it. And I bet it goes back to your accident, doesn’t it? That you couldn’t save Peter, even though you could save Joe, and lost part of your leg in the process.”
He gave her a flat stare. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“And I get it. You’re fully in your rights to not talk about it.”
He stared at her. “The old Quinton,” he said, with quiet emphasis, “would have been hounding me for answers.”
She gave him a wry look. “The new Quinton is trying to be a little more understanding and accessible.”
“Is that Stan’s influence?”
“Well, he’s very understanding. He’s very accessible, and I do feel like I have a lot to learn from him,” she murmured.
Ryatt sat back, picked up his coffee cup, and stared at the contents, as he gently swirled the dark liquid. “Just because I know that I have things to deal with doesn’t make them something I’m ready to deal with.”
“No, definitely not, but nobody else will be ready if you’re not.”
“Meaning?”
“Whenever you are ready to go through that door, a lot of people are ready to help you on the other side.”
“And you, did you go through that door?”
She nodded. “I did. Several times, in fact. Because, if you think that you’ll go through it once and be done, you’re wrong. I don’t know if it works that way for some, but it certainly didn’t in my case. I had to go through it and then go back through it again—because I was still messed up.”
“You’re the most together person I know,” he murmured, having a hard time believing her. “I can’t imagine you not having your life together.”
She smiled. “Well, you’d be wrong. We all have stuff to deal with, and it’s up to us to deal with it, as soon as we’re capable.”
“And if we’re not?”
“I don’t know. I mean, it’s kind of tough to go through your whole life, hanging on to some of this stuff. I’m proof of that fact. I’d like to get rid of more.”
“So what’s stopping you?” he asked in a challenging voice.
“Time,” she answered quietly. “I think that’s what’s stopping me on some of this.”
“And what kind of stuff would you get rid of?”