She described the phone calls, the requests for documents, and the maddening difference between knowing what had happened to her body and persuading a system to accept the records. She did not claim that everyone she encountered had been indifferent; there had been kind clerks, sympathetic clinicians, and one advocate who tried to help before being transferred. But sympathy had not repaired the knee or paid the bills, and after enough setbacks she had begun to organize her life around the assumption that the answer would remain no.
"Eventually I stopped appealing," she said. "It didn't seem like I was getting anywhere, and I had to keep working."
Cole looked at her. "So you've been hurting all this time?"
She nodded. "Not every minute. Some days are better. I learned how to avoid certain movements. I thought I could manage until I figured something out."
"How long before 'until' becomes forever?" he asked.
The question pierced her more sharply than she expected. She had never said the word forever to herself, because the word suggested she had chosen to surrender. She had simply postponed help one month at a time until the postponement became the structure of her life. Now Cole had named the thing she had not wanted to examine.
The truck arrived outside. Cody had cleared the rear seat and brought a cushion, and Reese returned with Emily's jacket and purse. Marcus stood by the door, holding himself stiffly, unable to reconcile the woman he had mocked with the experienced mechanic who had given him a lesson in humility without trying. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then thought better of doing it in front of everyone.
Cole waited until Emily was ready to be helped to the truck. He kept his voice low and asked her where she wanted him to put his arm, careful not to pull against the injured knee. She accepted the support, leaning on him for the few steps between the workbench and the door, and felt an unfamiliar heat rise behind her eyes. For once nobody told her she was making too much of a problem, and nobody acted as though the inconvenience of caring for her was hers to apologize for.
As they reached the door, Reese looked back at the Harley. "What about the bike, Raven?"
"It stays here until you inspect her work and finish testing it," Cole replied. "And you do it properly."
He paused with one hand on the truck door. "But before you start, look at the notes she wrote. Every one of you. Then ask yourselves why the woman who kept that parts room running had to take a chance on getting fired before you would hear her out."
Reese lowered his eyes. The question was not directed at one person, and that made it harder to escape. Emily heard it from the passenger door, where Cody was helping her settle into the seat, and wondered what kind of future could exist on the other side of such a question. She had spent years wanting to be left alone because being seen had always seemed to invite judgment. She had not yet learned what being seen without judgment might feel like.