It had seemed like forever rather than a mere three weeks and some odd days. Ian was aquiver in anticipation as Ripley and Jesse drove him through almost forgotten roads to his front door. For the first time in his life Ian knew what home felt like and he had missed it.
Now there it was, his front door in sight and unobstructed from his position in the back seat of his new car. There it was, homey little stoop with flowers that he and his son had planted together trying their best to bud out. It was the most beautiful sight he’d seen in such a long time.
When the car came to a stop, it took every ounce of control Ian had not to race from the car, throw open the door, lock himself in and everyone out. He knew that was impossible. First and foremost he couldn’t run fast enough. He was also well aware of the fact that behind that door was a group of very well meaning, loving people that would be surrounding him like vultures on a fresh kill.
He hated feeling like that. It was one of the drawbacks of family, that new group he suddenly found himself meshed with. They would dote and coddle and drive him absolutely crazy. He really just wanted to be left alone, but he knew that it wasn’t possible. He didn’t resent the people in his life, only the situation he found himself in.
He wanted to be angry. He was, but he had not been allowed to vent it. He wanted to slam his fists and break things. Unfortunately he had neither the strength nor the basic manual dexterity to get much of that accomplished. The time would come. He was due and counting on one heck of a private hissy fit.
“Here let me help you.” Jesse said rushing to the car door and trying to help Ian get out of the car.
Ian put up his hand, the one not still encased in plaster. “Let me do it or at least try.”
Jesse smiled and nodded. He stepped back, but obviously not too far that he couldn’t be right there if something should happen. Ian sensed a change in the young man. He had taken a personal interest in Ronnie and, although a daily presence at the hospital, he was oddly silent.
Ian had to admit that getting out of the car was a whole lot harder than getting into it. The basic physical change was that now every breath wasn’t painful, a totally different kind of hurt had taken over—helplessness. His body had been dormant for three weeks. His balance was shaky at best, energy only happened in short bursts and he had to think carefully about every step, twist and turn.
He managed to get two feet on the ground. Using the car door as a fulcrum he pulled himself to his feet. Ian took a deep breath. The series of movements had zapped all his energy for the hour, but he was not about to admit defeat.
Ripley appeared in his peripheral vision and subtly slipped Ian’s new best friend in sight. Ian let go of the door with one hand and grabbed the black cane. He nodded, signaling that he was ready to head for the door. Holding the cane with his left hand, he positioned it to be the support for his right leg, knee encased in a heavy brace.
In fact Ian’s right side was pretty much stapled, plastered and wired back into place. He took a heavy “toddle” towards his front door. He looked ahead, aware of the eager anticipation peaking out behind every curtain of the house. He appreciated the restraint.
It was a long walk that twenty-five, thirty feet up the sidewalk. He had to stop a couple of times but he made it. His goal for the day was to make it inside the house and to the couch without any help. After that, he’d happily acquiesce to being waited on hand and foot the rest of the day.
There would be no party. He’d put the kibosh on that the moment he even suspected Tippy was daring to put one together. There would be lots of family and friends running in and out of the house, but the last thing he wanted were paper streamers and cake. He didn’t feel like celebrating something that should have been routine.
Ian teetered just a bit getting up on the stoop. He’d sort of lost his balance and twisted around to see both Ripley and Jesse frozen in terror like parents watching a baby take his first step. They didn’t think it was funny. He thought it was a riot.
“Keys, please.” Ian said when he got to the door. “Please, tell me someone has keys.”
“Oh, sure.” Jesse produced a set from his pockets, jiggling them until the proper one was produced.
Ian was once again thankful for the restraint of those on the other side of the door. Tippy and Ronnie both were probably being held down to keep them from running to it, throwing it open and carrying him the rest of the way in. He slipped the key in the deadbolt and heard the click. It was a beautiful sound.
“Uh, Ian.” Ripley stopped him before he shoved the door open. “You need to put the code in now or the door won’t open.”
“What?”
“The new security system…” he reminded him. “Everyone who has a key has their own code. For now, yours is your birth date; month, day and four digit year.”
“Not a good code if everyone knows it.” Ian smirked.
“I’ll show you how to reset it later on, and when you are ready I’ll explain how it works. For now just put in your birth date like a good boy and let’s get you inside.” Ripley shifted his feet.
Ian nodded his head. He was too tired to come up with a good comeback. He knew Ripley knew it. Ian stood looking at the keypad.
“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten you’re birthday?” Jesse gently teased.
“Uhm…no…” Ian hated to admit defeat, but he didn’t see he had a choice. “I can’t lean on this damned cane and punch in the code at the same time.”
“Not a problem.” Ripley swiftly moved in close enough to put his big sturdy hands to each side of Ian’s waist, giving him the balance he needed to free one finger, lift the cane and punch in his birthday. As soon as he put his weight back on the cane, Ripley released him.
The door sort of beeped and drifted open. Ian pushed it the rest of the way with his left foot and looked in. “I’m home.” He sighed as he toddled a step inside to his foyer. It was too quiet. If he got the rest of the way in and people started jumping out from all over and screaming “Surprise” he would find the energy to have that hissy fit he’d been wanting to throw.
He heard Jesse and Ripley enter the house behind him, and Ian concentrated on the next few feet to the couch. Damn, it looked so good.
Ronnie was standing between the window wall and the couch, looking very much like a Weeble. He was admirably maintaining control. Someone had the aforethought to keep Tippy totally out of the living room, but Ian could sense her holding her breath and biting the back of her hand.
Okay, he was there all he had to do was turn around, aim his rear at the cushions and plop. Easier said than done. It took him a while, he just had to imagine one foot was nailed to the floor, and use his other to step his body around. The last completed movement seemed to take forever, and he heard his son, Jesse and Ripley all take a breath when he finally started to sit.
Ronnie did come over, and push an ottoman within his father’s reach so he could lift and rest his leg on it. As soon as that leg was up, and his butt was down all bets were off. People crawled out of the woodwork like roaches when the lights go out.
He was kissed, hugged, greeted, fluffed, lap blanketed and babied. He was too tired to put up a fuss. Everyone was trying very hard not to fuss, which of course made it all seem fussier.
It was good to be home. It was good to be surrounded by the warmth of love that radiated from that big boisterous group of people now trying to anticipate his every move without being noticed. It would take a while for him to get comfortable with it all.
They had come and gone unceasing to his hospital room. They had sent flowers, candy, cards and gifts. They had encouraged him and infuriated him by helping him stay within the limits of his confinement. Those limitations had not been erased only a longer chain had been linked to the doghouse.
Ronnie had made gingerbread. Tippy did her best to make a pot of tea. Jesse ordered pizza and the Tyson boys put on a “Welcome home Papa Ian” show. Ian laughed and sighed did a really good job convincing everyone he was glad to be home.
Everytime he changed position or rooms the hustle and bustle stopped dead in its tracks. Ian understood. It made him hold his breath, too, but he had to do it. He had to exercise the freedoms that Blue Richards had so thoughtlessly stolen from him.
He was tired of being the victim. It seemed to him that his entire life he had been the victim of a series of attacks, from within and without, and he was tired of it. Ian was determined as he regained his strength and his independence that he would never be a victim again, nor would he let his son be a proxy to it all.
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