Isabelle and Alexander by Rebecca Anderson (read novel full .TXT) 📕

when he was conscious. She took a deliberate breath and reached for Alexander’s hand.

His fingers were warm, and that made their unresponsiveness strangely frightening to her. It was impossible to see his hand as anything less human than a part of his body, but its immobility felt wrong. Fighting the urge to let go and remove herself from the couch, she inhaled slowly and waited for the doctor’s next direction.

“Lift his hand. Feel the resistance.”

Isabelle tried to raise Alexander’s hand to the level of her shoulder without taking her eyes from the doctor. She felt her arm shake at the weight of him and raised her other hand. With his fingers in both of her hands, she brought his arm up.

“Good, good. What do you feel?”

What do I feel? Isabelle thought. Terrified. Weak. Exposed.

Alone.

“I’m not sure,” was all she could manage. Hands shaking, she kept his arm lifted.

“Can you feel if he’s resisting at all?”

Now she turned to look at Alexander’s face. She didn’t want to respond to the doctor as if her husband couldn’t hear or answer for himself.

“You’re not pulling away,” she said to Alexander.

“I don’t believe I can,” he replied. Since he didn’t turn to look at her, she had to guess at the tone behind his whispered words. She couldn’t determine if he was referring to his will or his ability.

Isabelle continued to address Alexander. “Your hand feels warm and heavy.”

“Let it fall,” Alexander said.

She looked to the doctor, who nodded his permission. The idea of letting go of his hand gave her simultaneous fear and relief. “Will it hurt you?” she asked, her voice lowering to match his.

Alexander closed his eyes before responding. “Right now, I can imagine no comfort greater than feeling my own pain.”

With those words, Isabelle felt a wave of sympathy wash over her at how exposed and fragile Alexander had become, had allowed himself to be.

She blinked away a tingling in her eyes and said, “I am going to let your hand fall.”

Her hands wouldn’t move. She had to concentrate all her strength on separating one from the other and letting his fingers go. His arm dropped heavy and landed on her leg, where she felt the heat of it through her dress.

There, directly upon her leg, where he would never have placed his hand of his own will, his long fingers covered her skirts above her knee.

Certain that Alexander would move it if he could, she nonetheless could not bring herself to do it for him. When she pulled her gaze away from the place where his body touched hers, she looked at his face. He was staring at his arm, as well. There, where it lay. She wondered if, even though his muscles were immobile, his skin could feel her pulse pounding. How odd for such a reflexive action to lead to a feeling so powerful.

She cleared her throat. “Is that,” she asked, looking across at the doctor, “what you expected to happen?” Her voice shook like an autumn leaf.

“Nothing was expected, but you need to know how it feels. How his muscles react. What resistance there is, and what there is not.” He rubbed his hands along his trousers in what must have been an unconscious representation of what he wished to see Alexander do.

Isabelle attempted to make her voice more solid. “I hardly know what I should have noticed.”

The doctor nodded and said, “Of course not. But now you’ve felt something. Next time, you’ll notice if it feels the same or different.”

Isabelle thought that if she had to sit this close and perform such an intimate action again, her heart might burst from her chest.

As if he could read her thoughts, the doctor said, “Practice that at least three times every day.”

Alexander produced what Isabelle assumed was a laugh, although it sounded absent of all cheer. “And when she tires of that, she can pick up a fireplace log and drop it on the floor.”

Doctor Kelley ignored Alexander’s pessimism and said, “Then make sure Yeardley stocks the log holder with plenty of cut wood.”

Alexander’s scowl did not intimidate the doctor. Isabelle envied the man’s fortitude.

“Next,” Doctor Kelley said, “we work on the legs. Mrs. Osgood,” he said, standing and extending his hand, “if you please.” He helped her from her seat and together they settled Alexander back into a reclined position.

“Ready, Alec?”

In response, Alexander closed his eyes. The doctor picked up Alexander’s leg at the ankle and pushed it toward his torso until his knee bent. Pulling it back again, he said, “There’s no resistance but significant weight. See if you can manage,” he said, and Isabelle realized she was supposed to bend and straighten Alexander’s leg.

Shocked, she stood and stared at the doctor.

“His muscles need to move, or they’ll weaken,” Doctor Kelley explained. “At the moment, he can’t do it himself. Can you do it?”

With his straightforward clarification, Isabelle felt it would be ungracious to refuse. Steeling herself against another awkward exploration, she placed both hands on Alexander’s ankle.

“Higher,” the doctor said. “You’ll need to grasp just here,” he added and placed her hands on Alexander’s calf. “Hold his leg against you. That’s right, directly up to your side there.”

Attempting to ignore the trembling in her hands at such an uninvited familiarity, Isabelle darted a glance at Alexander’s face, relieved to see that his eyes were still closed. She awkwardly pressed his leg forward, realized she needed to follow, and stuttered a few steps forward. Comprehending she’d succeeded in bending his knee, she let out a cheer.

Alexander’s eyes flew open.

“We did it,” she said, unable to contain her grin. “Look,” she said, gesturing to his bent leg.

“Forgive me for not applauding,” he said and closed his eyes again.

“You are pardoned. This time,” she said.

She looked at the doctor, and he nodded his encouragement, watching her shuffle forward and back a few times until he appeared pleased with her ability.

“Very well done,” he told her. Reaching across her, he patted Alexander on the arm. “You’re in good