Four Times Squared

"What are you going to do with this gift?" Emily interrupted my observation. "What are you going to do with your life?" She smiled that damned perfect smile, and then she faded away.

In the darkness, nearing sunrise, I lay awake thinking. There was no doubt at all, that Ashley meant every word she said the previous day. The real issue was that Ashley didn't know that I knew what I knew. She was being absolutely honest with me, not out of guilt, but because she was so used to 'weak' Dean, after all these years. The one who always capitulated to her needs and desires. Now, being disabled, it would be worse. I'd have to surrender or succumb. I had no means to check up on her, or confront them. Shit, I couldn't even run away.

In many ways, it dawned on me, Ashley would have been far better off if I'd died. There would be no constant, daily reminder. Time would heal her, and eventually, she'd force herself to move on. She'd been a conceited, conniving bitch, and that's a hard thing to reconcile with one's self, especially when one has been fooling themselves for so long. Becoming a sudden widow would have been an escape hatch. I was the victim, the witness, and the evidence, all rolled into one. If I'd died, Ashley could've buried all her sins with me. My only hope for revenge then - setting aside that I wouldn't have been in a position to hope for anything - would have been that Steve would finally out himself to her as the complete asshole he was, and ruin her life too.

Yes, Ashley would be quite easy to deal with, now that 'weak' and 'kind' Dean was no more. It would take no more effort, than to do absolutely nothing at all. Steve, on the other hand, would require more thought and planning. He was a sleazy asshole, not a stupid one - quite the opposite, in fact. I was an electrical engineer - well, by education and experience, at least, even if I might never work that job again. I wasn't a schemer. I wasn't a weasel. If I was going to out-weasel a professional weasel, I'd need help. Unfortunately, that meant trusting other people with my plans. I didn't have a lot of that to spare at that moment.

But what was Emily trying to tell me? Were these just dreams? I'd read plenty of stories about people, like me, that had crossed over into that light. Only a select few had remembered what they'd seen there. I supposed I was now one of them, but it could have very easily just been some dream. Sure, I'd still been grieving Emily's death when my accident had happened. But I hadn't been thinking about her at all when I'd gone blurry. She'd been right there in my windshield, reaching out. That was the thing that made me believe that I hadn't been dreaming, and maybe still wasn't just dreaming. I certainly wouldn't be sharing those thoughts with anyone else.

Destiny returned as I ate my first solid food the next morning. It was slow going. She smiled at me and set the iPad box on the side table.

"Here you go, Daddy," she said, beaming. "I'm so happy you're getting better. I can't imagine ever being without you."

God, I loved my little girl.

"Daddy?" she asked more seriously. "What's going to happen with you and Mom? She and Steve told Haley and I about what they did... to you. Is there a chance...?"

She trailed off. I loved my daughter, but I needed to keep a lid on some things, while still being somewhat honest. For all I knew, she was asking for Ashley.

"She told you about the oath?" I asked feigning surprise. "Or something else?"

"The oath, Dad," she sighed, and continued, "and how they hurt you with their actions. Haley is so pissed at her dad. She told me you were stupid if you didn't kick his ass and divorce Mom."

Destiny's smile disappeared then, and she began to sniffle. I knew this was going to be hard on her, but at least both her parents were alive.

"I don't know, sweetie," I responded honestly. "I have a lot to think about. I've told them both that Steve is no longer a friend, and I don't want to see him ever again. Your mom and me, well, we'll have to see about that. Did she tell you I already had divorce papers drawn up before I went on my vacation?

She nodded.

"Can you tell Haley something for me, honey?" She nodded again, still sniffling.

"Tell her not to worry," I started. "I can't explain this, so don't ask, and please keep it between you, me and Haley. During the time that I... was, well, gone, I got a strange sense that her mom is fine, at peace, and that she loves Haley very, very much."

"Dad?" she asked incredulously. "What?"

"I just told you I can't explain," I said. "Trust me, okay?"

"Okay, Dad. I will." She responded looking strangely at me. "Do you need anything else today? My flight doesn't leave until eight tonight."

"Yeah," I said thoughtfully. "A fish dinner."

She looked at me questioningly.

"I had four trout and a couple bass in my trunk when that accident happened," I told her. "I'd earned them in the river that morning, and I never got to enjoy them."

We both had a laugh. That's when I finally felt the broken ribs!

My hospital stay was a mixed bag. Have you ever tried 'swiping' with bandaged hands? Sometimes I had to wait for one of the nurses to help me, but I finally got all of our finances separated. I changed my death beneficiaries, but maintained our health insurance for the time being. The State of Florida had helped get me placed on disability. I stayed in contact with Ashley, about what needed to be done, but we had no personal conversations about us, or our future. I could tell she was getting antsy, but that she had decided to await my return home to start her plan to get me back.

On day ten, I was able to witness the unwrapping of my hands. What a mess. Fortunately, I had feeling, and could move all ten of my digits. The neurologist examined, poked and prodded. I few things he did immediately reminded me of when Emily had squeezed my hand. It made me wonder again about my vision. The hands themselves would be checked and rewrapped several times per week, until healed.

There was one other surprising bright spot on my road to recovery. Patricia, my physical therapist, worked with me for the first four days. She told me right off that she was working her last week, as her family was moving to Oregon. On the fifth day, Patricia brought in her replacement.

The young lady was feisty. She was funny, and a breath of fresh air to me. It was easy to see that she loved life and her job. Her name tag read 'Emily.'

Emily and I hit it off right away. We weren't merely compatible; we seemed to share an uncanny and unspoken closeness. It almost felt like two twins, separated at birth, being reunited. She showed me charts and x-rays of others who had my particular injury. She talked to me straight about the percentages and chances for a full recovery. But she also made sure I knew about all the options. She explained advances in prosthetics where the connections could be attached directly to the nerves.

Most importantly, Emily made me feel hopeful, and that was something I sorely needed. She also had a way about her, which I couldn't really describe, but it allowed me to open up to her. Before we got two weeks in, Emily knew about my recent past and what had led me to that mountainside - if not necessarily down the ravine, directly.

Emily was also physically unlike most women I knew. First, she had blonde hair that bordered on white. Ashley and my other Emily were both brunettes. This Emily was pleasantly plump. She was thirty-two, which made her twelve years my junior. I was totally aware that there were very few commonalities between my old friend Emily and this new one. I didn't get all giddy about it, not even silently, to myself.

We talked at length about my return to Jacksonville, what I expected to find there, and what I could do to keep my head on straight while continuing my recovery. Emily was worried that the toxic environment between Ashley and me would build and eventually keep me from doing the things I needed to do on a daily basis.

"Dean," she started, "if you two need to have it out, do it. Give it to her straight, if need be, so you can focus on everything we've been doing here. I wish I could come with you."

I ended up staying at the hospital for eleven days longer than anticipated. The doctor wanted to play it safe with my spinal injury before flying. I'd gotten some feeling back in my right leg, from about mid-thigh up. The best and worst part was getting the feeling back in my groin. While it felt great to have sensation, the occasional tingling was very annoying. It felt similar to when your hand or foot goes to sleep. My left leg still needed exercise daily so it wouldn't atrophy.

Ashley arrived the morning of my flight, looking marvelous. If not for the divide between us, I would have had some dirty thoughts, but as it was, I could only wonder if she dolled herself up for Steve like that. There were lots of smiles, most faked, and very few words after the initial salutations. Ashley wasn't prepared at all to wheel a man around a busy airport. With all the mistaken bumps here and there, I was beginning to wonder if she was trying to fuck up my spine. About seventy percent of what came from Ashley's mouth was "Oops! Sorry." and "Excuse me!"

The first potential blow-up might have occurred after we arrived home, but Ashley covered well. After a long struggle to get out of the car and into my wheelchair, I noticed the makeshift ramp covering our two front steps. Ashley seemed to sense my discomfort.

"Mahaney & Sons Construction made it," she said nervously. "I have their card inside."

I didn't reply. Once inside, I was situated in the spare bedroom. The new bed had a button to raise the head of the mattress, which I really appreciated. Ashley went to the master bedroom to get ready for bed while I settled in. She came back looking like she'd been crying, but I didn't care enough to ask.

"Dean, honey," she asked somberly, "I know we have an awful lot to talk about, but can we wait until tomorrow? I'm just beat, physically and emotionally."

I nodded, and said goodnight. I knew what she meant. It was emotionally debilitating to see her husband like this, not knowing if the situation would ever improve.

That set the tone for our next few days. Ashley had been told before all this had happened, that there would be no soothing my hurt feelings. I guess she didn't realize that once respect is gone, and trust badly shaken, it's pretty hard to have a legitimate or meaningful conversation.

Ashley tried, I mean really tried, those first seven or eight days. Except every time she seemed ready to start discussing our relationship, it was like a door slammed in her head, and she shut down. The looks on her face were an endless back-and-forth of determination and confusion. Maybe she just didn't know what to say, or how to start. Ashley had begun to wilt under the pressure. I'd already had an other-worldly glimpse of her heart, her mind, and likely even her soul. The chances of Ashley cracking and then breaking were exactly one hundred percent. Once that happened, we could finally have the talk we so desperately needed to have.

On the eighth night after my homecoming, Ashley came into my room at about seven. She was dressed for a night out.

"Do you need anything?" she asked stoically. She didn't wait for my reply. "I'm going out for a bit - for coffee. I need a break, Dean. I hope you understand."

I understood perfectly. It had been expected, and honestly it gave me more time. More time to deal with my enemy.

Ash had taken a part time job four days per week as soon as she'd gotten back home from that first hospital visit. We needed the money badly: the bed, my chair, the uncovered medical expenses, deductibles and co-pays. I was guessing we didn't owe on that ramp that Steve had probably had made.

We were hurting financially, but I still had thirteen thousand, six-hundred on that credit card. I'd given my attorney-referred PI a deposit of fifteen hundred, and asked for a hard background check of Steve. There weren't a ton of hours to bill, since I wasn't having him followed. The initial report showed him to be pretty clean for a lawyer. There were some suggestions though.

"Dean," my PI said, "this is outside the law, but if you can get a Trojan on his email account, we can take a look at any activities he's trying to keep quiet."

"I don't enjoy the prospect of being crippled and in prison," I replied.

"I get it," he responded, "But without playing a little dirty, your entire revenge will be trying to publicly humiliate him for stealing a disabled friend's wife. That's if she ends up going to him. I'll remind you that Jill Biden did the exact same thing to her husband, minus the disabled part, and now she's the First Lady. The rotten prick of a lawyer who took her is now the President of the United States."

Emily called me on Tuesday of the following week. "What the hell, Dean?" she admonished. "I just got off the phone with your PT, and she said you canceled her Monday appointment and haven't been doing your exercises regularly. Are you having problems?"

I made a few half-hearted excuses, but I finally relented. There wasn't any point in lying to her. I knew I'd slacked off the past week. Thoughts of personal redemption had overtaken me. I promised to get back on track, and she promised that if I didn't, she'd fly to Florida and slap the shit out of me. Before saying our good-byes, Emily promised to check in on me every other day, and said that if I needed to talk, to call her. She provided her personal cell number.

When Saturday rolled around again, Ashley came into the kitchen to check on me before going out again. I stopped eating dinner, and looked her over top to bottom. She seemed unhappy with the way I regarded her.

"What's that," I said without emotion, "four nights this week?"

"Dean," she replied with a perturbed sigh. "We're not talking, we're not interacting. I'm doing my best here. Give me a damned break, will you?"

"Your best?" I laughed as I asked. "Boy, Ash, I'd hate to see your worst."

"And what about you?" she snarled. "Sitting around in a daze. Are you depressed or something? Geez, we're living like strangers, except I'm waiting on you hand and foot, plus working. I haven't gotten so much as a 'thank you,' let alone a hug. I'm your wife, goddammit! I'm... just trying to fix..."

I cut her off. "Just trying to fix something I told you from day one that you probably weren't going to be able to fix. Understand, Ashley, I'm not a car's engine or a pair of eyeglasses. You don't fix humans the way you fix innate objects. I tried to explain that very thing to you, but you wouldn't even listen."

She started to respond, but stopped, realizing she was about to lose it. She couldn't even comprehend a world where I didn't simply conform. She turned and walked to the door, opening it.

"You're going to him, aren't you?"

Ashley stopped, frozen in the door frame, her hand still on the knob. She wouldn't turn to face me, and after a few moments, she closed the door behind her.

I called Emily that night. That damned double-edged sword was back, grinding away inside of me. I knew I was quickly filling up with self-pity, and I needed someone to help me pull the drain plug. We talked for nearly two hours. There was no rush after all. She asked me some questions about my other Emily, perhaps trying to take my mind off Ashley. The tears came, recounting memories of my dear friend, and moments later I broke down. It was embarrassing, but cathartic.

I supposed Ashley had come home at some point, but I slept like the dead. I heard her putting together some breakfast, or something, before heading out to work. Ten minutes after she left, my cell rang, and it was Emily.

"Hey Dean," she said. She sounded happy. "How are you this morning?"

"Well, I'm just waking up," I joked. "Haven't started my morning regimen yet."

"You can in about five minutes," she replied jovially. "I'm at your front door. Do you have a spare key somewhere? Oh, and I'm starving. I've been sitting at the end of your block waiting for the wicked witch to leave."

I told her where the spare key was, and moments later, I was staring at her smiling face. We spent the afternoon getting reacquainted and recapping my new life with Ashley.

"I don't understand, Dean," she said, confounded. "If she's still going to be with him, why not just divorce her?

"Because," I replied, "I need her to see for herself what's she's done and the repercussions of her actions. All of her actions, Emily. I know what she's been up to all along. She just doesn't know that I know. I have a feeling it was Steve who initially convinced her, but I also believe that after a while it just became exciting and repetitive enough that she didn't even consider the consequences of her actions. I do plan to get everything out in the open soon, but I still need to be able to take care of myself. I don't have anyone else."

"Well, now you have me," she stated definitively, "for as long as it takes."

Later that day, Ashley came home looking ragged. I introduced her to Emily, and my soon-to-be- ex-wife just stared with her mouth hanging open. When I told her that Emily would be staying for a while to help with my recovery, and that I'd let her set up in Destiny's old room, I'm sure I saw veins exploding in Ashley's forehead. Still, she remained silent. I let it go. It was her burden to bear.

The silence didn't last long, however. The next morning, I heard elevated voices, followed by yelling and then something breaking. I quickly called both women's cell phones, and finally Emily answered. I felt this could be the breakthrough I'd been waiting for, so I asked Em to come back and help me get settled in my chair. She told me Ashley had accused her of trying to steal me away and said she wasn't going to stand idly by. I asked Emily if she could find something to do for a couple hours so I could talk to my wife.

I came into the kitchen to find Ashley slumped at the kitchen table. She'd recently been crying but was now just staring languidly at her food. I rolled up to the table and asked Ash if we could talk for a bit. She nodded, and got up to fix me a cup of hot coffee.

While that was happening, Emily sauntered out, pep in her step, and headed for the door. "Call me if you need anything, Dean," she casually remarked.

Ashley let out an audible "hrumf" as she sat back down. "Dean, what is going on with this... woman? I've been doing my best to care for you. She's not here just to help you with your treatment, you know? She has other ideas. I can see it in her eyes."

A part of me said, "Dean, just roll back to your room, and stop this talk right now." That part told me she wasn't anywhere close to ready for what was coming. But I'd learned something - a great many things actually - about myself lately. I'd never really dealt with my fear of losing loved ones, even though I'd had it spelled out for me by multiple people since all the way back in college. I'd also never linked it up to my unhealthy desire to never be alone. I finally had, though, and I'd resolved to make a change.

I'd had plenty of time to decide exactly how this was going to go. I just needed to stick to my guns. At the hospital, Ashley had sincerely promised to heal my heart. Her grave miscalculation was expecting the same old Dean to come home, maybe even weaker from his ailments. She'd quickly discovered that the capitulating husband she'd known for twenty years was gone forever.

"Ashley, she's a physical therapist, for God's sake," I said calmly. "What's the problem? I need someone to help me through this."

"That's what I'm supposed to be doing, Dean," she hollered back, "but you won't let me. Why her?"