Matthew Costello - Vacation

“Can I see it?”

Jack looked down to Simon, his arm on the bed and chin resting on a hand, studying Jack as if he were a museum display.

“See what, Simon?”

“Your leg. Where you hurt it.”

Jack laughed. “I’m afraid they have it wrapped up in a lot of bandages. Nothing to see.”

“They feed you here?” Simon asked.

“That’s a dumb question,” Kate shot out.

Jack gave her a look; she could be so quick to dump on Simon. Normal for a brother and sister, he guessed. Still, it always sounded harsh to him.

“Yes. Hospital food. Nothing you’d like.”

Funny, Jack thought, food was never far from anyone’s thoughts. All the synthetic nutrient substitutes, the soy-based products, the pretend PB&J sandwiches couldn’t hide the fact that food—the way it used to be—was hard to come by. For some, impossible.

Most of what was once common had turned into rarities.

And then Christie walked in.

Christie turned around and saw Simon poking at the balloons on the windowsill.

Kate looked down at the bed.

She saw Jack look at the kids and nod.

Back to Christie.

“So, what did Brandt tell you?”

She had her fingers interlocked with Jack’s. Jack wasn’t normally one for handholding, the random unexpected kiss. Not his style. She accepted that.

Just like she had accepted how strange life had become for both of them.

She gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

“To make sure you did your exercises. Get to physical therapy. He likes you, Jack. Wants you back as soon as you’re better.”

“And what else? What’s that in your back pocket? The department’s guide to dealing with recovering disgruntled spouses?” He took a breath. “Psych information?”

She reached into her pocket and took out the brochure.

“Psych is part of your rehab. You know that. But this…”

She handed it to Jack. For a minute, he thought it was a joke.

Jack read from the front of the brochure: “‘Paterville Family Camp. The place for a secure and safe family vacation in the beautiful Adirondacks!’”

He laughed. “You’re kidding me. ‘Safe and secure’?”

“Captain Brandt says you should— we should take a vacation. Get away from the city. Things aren’t so bad up there.”

“Says who?”

“Can you listen? It says: ‘Families visiting Paterville Family Camp will have the luxury of staying in one of our traditional log cabins, all with breathtaking views overlooking our crystalline lake.’ Crystalline… that’s good. Gotta love a crystalline lake.”

She watched Jack flip open the folded brochure. The first inner page was all about security.

“Look,” she said. “See—it’s reached only by one road, has two fences, an inner one, and then an outer electrified fence with twenty-four/seven guards.”

“Show me a place these days that doesn’t have fences.”

“And look—tons to do. Swimming, boats, hiking, fireworks.”

“Cookouts?”

“I knew you’d ask that. Families eat communally, and the camp has been able to grow its own produce. Has a mini-farm right on the property.”

“Really? No blight or drought? They should tell the damn government how they pulled off that trick.”

He glanced at the kids.

Tone it down, he told himself.

Christie felt her forced smile and cheerful attitude fading. Jack could be a rock when his mind was made up. Probably what made him such a good cop. But as a father, a husband…

She leaned close. “Look at your kids. Tell me, have they even seen a lake, a real lake for swimming? Walked on a trail, seen a mountain, gone to a beach? None of it. This could be their chance, Jack. A week away from this—”

She stifled the word goddamned.

“—world to have a few days in summer like kids and families used to. They deserve that. You do. I do.”

Jack looked up from the brochure that he had found so amusing.

He waited. Part of his process. No quick answers out of Jack. He’d think things through and then think some more.

“Okay—here’s what I’ll do. I’ll see how the Highway Authority program has been working. Adirondacks, that’s way up there, Christie. Way up there.”

She gave his hand another squeeze.

“I’ll check it out. And, if it’s legit, we’ll talk about it again.”

Now Christie leaned forward. She gave Jack a kiss, his lips dry and cracked. She stayed close to his face.

“Thank you.” Then a look back. “For them.”

Jack reached up with his right hand and brushed some stray blond hair away from her face.

“A vacation, hm? I guess… that really would be something.”

To seal the deal, Christie gave him another kiss.

And then it was time for them to leave.

Jack raised his left leg slowly, feeling the dead pull of a massive weight working hard to pull the leg down.

From the start, he had quickly ignored the cautious advice of his physical therapy team, and pushed his rehab work. And his undamaged leg… he would push it to the limit.

If I have only one good leg, it’ll have to get as strong as it can be.

I may not run again. But one way or the other, I’ll be able to move.

The leg reached its full horizontal extension, and then he resisted the always present temptation to rush lowering it. That thought, that urge only promoted him to make the descent even slower, even more torturous.

Until it was time to work with the other leg.

The damaged leg, the bum leg. The bad leg.

Weeks after the attack, the bandages had finally come off.

And now, though he could still see the indentation where he had lost some muscle mass, it didn’t look too bad. Nothing that would scare anyone, even his kids, who had been so curious about what the leg would look like when all the surgeries were done and the bandages finally came off for good.

“See,” he said to Kate and Simon, “not so bad.”

But he quickly looked at their eyes, and that had told him the truth of the situation.

They weren’t used to seeing their dad wounded or damaged in any way. He was never anything less than their protector. Whatever their idea of police work was in this world, they always saw him as the best and the strongest.

Now? With his leg so obviously damaged, their eyes said—what?

Fear?

Worry?

And that drove his rehabilitation.

Besides working the machines they had installed in his basement, Jack started walking again, way ahead of schedule. He ignored the pull of the healed, tight skin, and the pain that was always there.

And if it didn’t go away, fair enough. He’d deal with it.

He walked around their community on Staten Island, past rows of neat and boring suburban houses, all encircled by a fence.

Everywhere, fences.

Even here, far from the “real” boroughs of New York.

Gradually, he was able to suppress the urge to limp, and the need to always favor the right leg.

Despite the warning of the surgeon, Dr. Kleiner, and his rehabilitation team, he didn’t slip backward. The wounded leg grew stronger. The shock of each step grew less.

His walks grew and grew, and eventually, until when he returned home, he started to see a flicker of worry in Christie’s eyes. Concern. Why are you out there so long? Why are you away for hours?

The few times they had talked about it hadn’t gone well.

Now he just did what he did. They didn’t talk about it.

While his family simply watched.

He looked at his right leg. The padded bar pressed against his lower shin.