Lance: A Hathaway House Heartwarming Romance

called it quits, Lance was surprised to see his ankle rotating slightly.
“So it really does make a difference,” he said. “I’m surprised.”
“All kinds of things make a difference,” Shane said, laughing. “Don’t be surprised. Just adjust your thinking at the beginning of the journey. There’s a long road to go yet.”

Chapter 5
Two days later Jessica walked into Lance’s room to find him sitting on the edge of the bed, twisting and rotating his upper body. “You look a little better this morning,” she said, pulling out her blood pressure cuff.
He held out his arm immediately. “I’m feeling a little bit better,” he said. “Look.” And he slowly rotated his ankles.
She smiled. “Is that a new motion for you?”
He nodded. “Feels like the kid in me has woken up a little bit,” he said with a smile. “To be happy about such a simple thing, you know?”
“It is what it is,” she said. “And it’s new and different for you, so enjoy it and rejoice in the success.”
“I think that’s why Shane focused on it,” he said, “so I could see a success. Even a small one.”
“Lots of little ones pile up into a big one, and any success is progress, right?”
He looked up at her smile and asked, “What about you? What are your successes?”
“Getting through the day sometimes,” she admitted. “I try to get away from Hathaway House every once in a while, just to remind myself there’s a world outside. I went to a movie a few nights ago,” she said, “so it’s all about finding a life that works for me.”
“What do you do in your spare time?”
She shrugged. “I like to write poetry,” she admitted with a sheepish look. “Not fancy or anything but it makes me happy.”
“I think that’s nice,” he said in surprise. “I don’t know too many people who write poetry.”
“Seemed like a whole generation wrote it all the time,” she said, “then it died away. I’ve often thought about writing stories, but that seems like work, whereas poetry just flows off my fingertips.”
“And that is probably the best way to have it,” he said warmly. “Something that you enjoy doing but isn’t too stressful.”
She nodded and smiled. “That’s what I was thinking. What about you?” she asked. “What do you have for hobbies?”
“I don’t really have any right now,” he said. “I used to play music, but I stopped when I went into the navy. I’ve been known to sit down at a set of drums every once in a while,” he said, “but now my feet and hands don’t work the same way anymore.”
“You like musical instruments, huh?”
“I like music in general,” he said. “I haven’t found too many instruments that I can’t pick up and play.”
“Wow,” she said. “I wish I could say the same. That makes my poetry feel pretty childish.”
He looked at her with a frown and then shook his head. “These days, I couldn’t sling two words together if I tried,” he said. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’ll tell you. I’m not exactly communicative.”
She chuckled. “Yeah, I noticed.”
But they shared a gentle look of understanding.
“I, on the other hand, can’t possibly play any instrument,” she said with a smile. “I tried to play the recorder in Introductory Music class when I was in elementary school, and that was just painful.”
He burst out laughing at that. “Not sure I ever took that class,” he said. “I probably would have enjoyed it, just relaxing, listening to the other musicians.”
“And that just makes you weird,” she said, chuckling.
“That’s me,” he said.
“Did you ever really get a chance to play?”
“When I went on leave,” he said, “I had a favorite pub where I used to play the trumpet in the evenings sometimes. The trumpet is probably my favorite, but the guitar was always a good instrument to just sling around and have fun with in the evenings. Of course the piano is a favorite too.” He looked at his fingers and murmured, “Or was?”
“Did you have other friends who played?”
“Long ago,” he said. “I’m not so good anymore at making friends.” He sank back onto the edge of the bed.
“Well, the music may change all that.” She shook her head. “No lying down again. It’s breakfast time.”
He groaned and forced himself back up again. “I know I should eat,” he said, “but honestly, my stomach isn’t terribly impressed with the idea.”
“Is that because Shane’s appointment comes next?”
“Maybe,” he admitted. “Some of those sessions are a little rough.”
“But you can also tell him that they’re too rough,” she said.
“Maybe, but I don’t want to seem like I can’t do the job,” he said slowly.
“Well, maybe asking him for smaller successes is a better way to go.”
At the reminder of his earlier words, he looked up thoughtfully. “It’s funny. Some things I don’t really consider a success, like playing music,” he said. “Because it came to me naturally so I didn’t have to really work at it. But this? I really have to work at.”
“Which is also why you need to ensure every success counts,” she said.
“I’ll think about it,” he said.
“That’s all any of us can do here,” she said, “and what’s important is to go at the speed that you can do.”
“Got it,” he said.
She took her leave, making the rest of her rounds, wondering how anyone could just pick up any old instrument and play it. When she thought about all the gifts she wished she had been born with in this world, that was always a sore subject for her. And playing the guitar, playing any kind of musical instrument, was one of them. Singing was another one. She didn’t have that ability either. Her voice sounded like frogs with a cold; yet she found, with poetry, that words flowed off her fingers.
So, just like he said he didn’t have to work for the music, she didn’t have to work for the poetry. She did work at her nursing job, and she worked hard, trying not