The Trophy Exchange by Diane Fanning Read Free Book Online Page A

swelling panic. She jerked her leg to the left and stepped down hard on Chester ’ s tail. He yowled as he darted from the kitchen and down the hall.
    “ I ’ m sorry, Chester . I ’ m sorry. I ’ m sorry. Sorry, ” she wailed. “ Come get some tuna. C ’ mon. Nummies, nummies! ” She reached for the handle of the cabinet over and over before her hand finally landed on it and jerked it open. She kept her fingers on the door ’ s wooden surface and trailed them around to the corner, down the inside of the door, across the edge of the shelf and to the can of cat food. She expressed her exuberance at the successful maneuver with a long, contented sigh.
    She popped the top and, after fumbling with the knob on the drawer, reached inside for a spoon. She thought her hand headed straight for the right section. Instead, her fingers landed two dividers over and withdrew a fork. It ’ ll do, she told herself.
    She stooped down by Chester ’ s bowl and scooped out a forkful of tuna feast aiming for the bowl; she missed. It landed in a sodden lump on the floor three inches away from its target. Lucinda sighed with defeat. Chester dug in. He wasn ’ t a prissy cat – tuna was tuna no matter where he found it.
    Lucinda concentrated on removing the water pitcher from the refrigerator and a glass from the cabinet. It took far more time than she thought it should. By the time she ’ d mastered it, Chester stood beside her begging for more.
    “ Just a minute, Chester , ” she said before lifting the pitcher. She believed she had the glass and pitcher spout in perfect alignment but when she poured, the ice cold water landed on Chester ’ s head. He shrieked in displeasure and raced out of the kitchen again.
    “ Damn it! ” she said and slid in defeat to the floor. Her posterior landed right in the middle of the puddle formed during Chester ’ s soaking. “ Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! ” she cursed as she pounded her fists on her thighs until one of them missed and slammed into floor. She shrieked in frustration. “ My butt ’ s wet. My hand hurts. My cat ’ s freaked. And I ’ m still thirsty. ” She remembered her stubborn insistence to the hospital social worker that she didn ’ t need therapy, that she could manage adjustment on her own. “ You are a stubborn fool, Lucinda Pierce. ”
    She hopped to her feet and managed to grab the phone without too many false attempts but when she tried to punch in the number, it was an exercise in frustration. No matter how hard she focused, she could not get her finger to land on the right buttons. She banged the receiver on the counter out of anger and then the thought hit: If I were blind, I bet I could find my way around the key pad. She closed her eye. She ran her fingers across the surface memorizing the layout by touch, punched in the buttons and brought the receiver to her ear. It ’ s ringing. Please let it be the right number!
    “ Rehabilitation Clinic. May I help you? ”
    Hallelujah! “ Yes, ma ’ am, I need to make an appointment for monocular occupational therapy. ”
    After setting up an appointment for two days ’ time, Lucinda smiled at her accomplishment until her first attempt to place the receiver back in the cradle failed. Anger burned away every shred of triumph. She regretted her call for help and wished she ’ d never picked up the phone but the effort required to call back and cancel was more than she could handle.
    The uncomfortable dampness in the seat of her pants fed her ire. She pulled them off and let them drop to the kitchen floor. She stomped out of the kitchen but came to a jarring halt when her hip bone collided with the corner of the counter. Her anger went up yet another notch. She collapsed onto the sofa and pulled an afghan over her outstretched legs.
    Fury at her inability to perform the smallest task, rage at her injury and despair over her future stirred up a deep well of bitterness. Why am I being punished for doing the right