Read Casey's Courage for Free Online Page B

horse?” Pauline asked.
    Casey struggled to move. “Why was I on a horse?”
    Pauline’s eyes widened in dismay. “Do you know who I am?”
    Casey stared at the woman. “Am I supposed to?”
    “I’m your mother.”
    Fear made her Casey’s heart beat faster. She grew quiet, very still, then said, “That’s Amy, I’m Casey, you’re my mother, and Dr. Newton is the doctor. I got hurt on a horse.”
    Amy stepped between Pauline and Casey. She took Casey’s hand and rubbed it gently. “Don’t fret about not remembering things. When someone has been unconscious for as long you have, it takes time for memories to return.”
    As two aides wheeled her along toward the MRI area, Casey lay still, watching the ceiling lights flash by. She winced every time she tried to swallow. Little did she know that the pain in her throat was insignificant compared to the pain to come as rehabilitation therapy began.

    Tres had made arrangement with the hospital for a computer printout to be sent to him each day. He’d learned long ago, money makes lots of things possible. Every night he perused the printout that recounted Casey’s care and progress for the day. The day she’d regained consciousness, he wanted to get into his granddad’s Cessna and fly to San Angelo. But he didn’t. He doubted she would be glad to see him. If she couldn’t remember her parents, she certainly would not remember him. The thought made his heart squeeze a little. But she’s alive. Daily, Tres shared the information with Jake, who never commented but seemed to rage in silence about what had happened.
    Three weeks after Casey regained consciousness; Tres noticed a flattening-out of her progress in therapy and noted behaviors he could not associate with the Casey he knew. Temper tantrums. Crying jags until she had to be sedated. Refusal to try to do rehab exercises. These notations became more plentiful day-by-day. He had to see for himself what was going on. His invitation to Jake to go with him was refused. Tres didn’t understand Jake’s way of thinking, but accepted that he was coping the best he knew how.
    As Tres stepped off the elevator in the private wing of the hospital, he saw a tall, frail figure with just a short fluff of auburn hair, leaning on a walker between therapists. She was sobbing. “I can’t walk any more. I need a wheelchair like Pauline.”
    The therapists coaxed her to try harder.
    She screamed in a fit of temper that would have done any two-year-old justice. “. . . done enough. I hurt.”
    Tres quickened his steps, every protective instinct in his body on alert. “May I carry you to your room? I’ve come a long way to see you.”
    The therapists grew silent while Casey, still seething, looked at him, then said, “Please carry.”

    He scooped her up into his arms. He could feel her muscles quiver and the knots in her legs and arms shake with fatigue as she reached around his neck and turned her face to his chest. Tears dampened his shirt, seeping into his very soul.
    An embarrassed Pauline greeted him as he came through the door of Casey’s room. “I’m sorry, Tres, she gets so cross when she gets tired.”
    When he started to lay Casey on the bed, she tightened her grip on his neck. “No, don’t like bed,” she said, still sobbing.
    Tres sat down in the recliner, settling her comfortably in his lap. “Why don’t you like your bed?”
    “Just don’t.” Her crying died away to soft, little hiccup sobs reminding him of a child who had been left alone too long after crying for help.
    Pauline said, “Her speech is usually better, but when she has one of these spells, she talks like a baby.”
    Tres looked at Casey’s mother. “Have you talked to the doctors?”
    She shook her head. “No, the therapists say it is just a stage that she’s going through, that it will pass.”
    Impatience gouged his outward calm. “Would you mind if I talked to the doctors to see if something can be done to ease her