Chapter 8

 Amanda  POV

I continued to deliver flowers over the course of the next two weeks everyday. For two months, it was six times a week. And now, all of a sudden, it was everyday. The same arrangement with the same flowers in the same type of vase. I wasn't sure why, but the prospect excited me. Writing that man more notes in the hopes that it was doing something positive for him made me smile. We were having to outsource our orchids from another florist across town, but it was worth it. I'd come in early, pick them up, and get to arranging them along with the lilies and the greenery.

Every day for two weeks.

But this time, things were a little different.

I drove out to the house, knocked on the door, and was greeted with a very tired mother. I'd come to get to know her a bit. Her story and how her son had gotten into the position he was in. She told me he enjoyed the flowers. That the backyard was a passion project between her late husband and her son for almost two years. The flowers in his room and around the house were her way of bringing the outdoors to him since he wasn't interested in going outside of his own volition.

Which didn't surprise me.

The man was obviously depressed.

However, when she opened the door she seemed more tired than usual.

"Where would you like them?" I asked.

"I don't care," his mother said. "Anywhere's fine."

I walked into the house with my brow furrowed. At the very least, his mother always had a smile to offer. A kind word or a thanks. But her shoulders were slumped and her feet were dragging and it seemed as if she couldn't keep her eyes open.

"Mom? What the hell? Where are you?"

I watched who I assumed was the man's sister come down the hallway stomping her feet. She looked a lot like him. And like her mother. They both seemed to take after her in all the major features.

I wondered what their father looked like.

"Why are you standing there?" she asked.

I realized she was talking to me and I hurried along.

"Don't get angry with her. She's just bringing flowers," the mother said.

"I need help with Alfred. I can't get him into his wheelchair," the woman said.

I felt panic rush through my veins as I set the flowers down on the small table in the foyer.

"What do you mean you can't get him into his wheelchair?" the mother asked.

"I mean I'm too tired. Too weak. We can't keep doing this, Mom. The center hasn't sent another nurse over and I can't physically lift him."

"Where is he?" I asked.

They both turned to me as I brushed my hands off on my shirt.

"Your son. The one in the wheelchair?"

I watched the mother nod as I drew in a deep breath.

"Where is he?" I asked.

"He's uh… he's in the dining room. We were doing physical therapy, and he fell," the sister said.

I rushed down the hallway and through the kitchen and found exactly what was going on. The man was on the floor, trying to pull himself up by his hands on one of the chairs. He was grunting and slipping, trying to get his bad leg underneath him so he could stand.

I rushed to his side and put my arms around him, then centered myself on my feet and leaned back.

"On three," I said.

"Get the fuck away from me."

"One… two…"

I lifted them man up and in two strides I had him sitting down in his wheelchair. He was drenched in sweat and his eyes were closed and his hand was planted firmly on my chest. He shoved me away and I stumbled backwards, catching myself on the windowed double doors that led out to the backyard.

I put my hand on my chest where he had touched me and felt the searing heat of his skin against my body.

"Get out," he said.

"I need to make sure you're-"

"Get out!"

His voice was booming. It shook me to my core. His eyes were angry and his body slumped in defeat and it made me frustrated with his situation. What the hell was going on in this house? Why wasn't this man being properly taken care of? I turned my head and saw his mother and his sister standing in the doorway, their eyes wide as they watched the scene unfold.

I pushed myself through them and headed for the door before I felt a hand on my wrist.

"I have more deliveries to make," I said.

"Can we talk? Just for a second?" his mother asked.

I turned and looked at her. Took in her desperate stare and the way she was already huffing for air. She was exhausted. The bags underneath her eyes told me the story of how long they had been struggling to take care of that man. I nodded my head and she led me into a room. A room full of books and a fireplace.

Then she dragged me into another room that was tinged with the faint essence of smoke.

"Yes?" I asked.

I watched his sister come into the room before she shut the double doors behind her.

"We've been struggling to find another nurse to help us out with Alfred."

"That is your son's name?" I asked.

"Yes," the younger woman said. "I'm Cara, and this is our mother. Clarisse."

"It's nice to meet you both," I said. "I'm Amanda."

"You picked him up so easily. How?" Clarisse asked.

"I go to the gym everyday. I consider myself to be pretty strong. When you know how to properly squat and deadlift weights, it becomes easier to pick up a man of that size," I said.

"It's exhausting," Cara said. "Keeping up with the things he needs. The showering and the physical therapy. The cooking and the cleaning."