“Alabama.”

“Alabama! Wow, you sure are far away from home. Do you have any family in these parts?”

Amelia shook her head. “No, just my patients.”

“You poor, sweet thing, I want you to come to dinner at our house on Sunday after church! You can just call your folks in Alabama and tell them that you got stolen by a crazy lady in Philadelphia! I’m adopting your butt! I know you like soul food!”

Amelia nodded. “Raised on it.”

“Girl, my collard greens will make you wanna slap your mama!”

Amelia threw her head back and laughed. She liked Viola. She knew then and there that she had just found a foster family in her new city.

Amelia rushed into Quadir’s hospital room, closing the door behind her.

“Your name is John Smith. Do you understand me?”

“What?”

“I said your name is John Smith.”

“Why do you keep telling me that?” Quadir asked.

“I’m telling you again today, in case you didn’t understand me the other day. You were still a little out of it. But understand me, this is extremely important.”

“Why?”

“Because someone tried to kill you, and because I sent Quadir Richards’s body to a funeral home, where they held a funeral service for it and buried it almost two weeks ago. Quadir Richards is dead. John Smith, someone whom no one wants dead, is alive and well in the hospital. Understand?”

Quadir nodded. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you trying to help me?”

“Let’s just say I promised someone that I would see things through.”

There was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Amelia shouted.

The door opened, and two gentlemen in white hospital coats walked in.

“How’s he doing today?” one of them asked.

Amelia nodded. “Cranky. But alive.”

“That’s a good sign.” He extended his hand to Quadir. “Hello, young man. My name is Dr. Benjamin Brant. How are you feeling today?”

Quadir nodded. “Doing pretty well, doc.”

“Well, that’s good to hear. Any pain anywhere?”

“No.”

“That’s good. You feel any discomfort, you let the nurses know, and they’ll give you something for the pain. We want you to be as comfortable as possible.”

“Thank you, doc.”

“Don’t thank me; thank Dr. Hopkins over there. She’s the one who saved your life. You’re a very lucky young man, you know that? You’re fortunate that she was here that day.”

Quadir turned and stared at her. She was young, black, and country as all out backwoods. He had thought that she was a nurse or something. But the doctor was now telling him that she was a doctor, too. A surgeon, in fact the surgeon who saved his life. Ain’t this a bitch?

Amelia lifted Quadir’s chart. “I want you to go easy on the medication. I’ve written up the orders to start your therapy today.”

Amelia turned and waved her hand toward the second gentleman in the room. “This is Neal Ryan, your physical therapist. Neal is the best we have here at Hahnemann Hospital, and probably the best in Philly. He’s going to get you back up and running in no time.”

Neal extended his hand to Quadir. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Smith.”

Quadir clasped Neal’s hand and shook it.

“We’re going to have you back up to a hundred percent before you know it,” Neal told him. “Can you move your leg for me?”

“Well, I’ll leave you guys alone. I have some more patients to peek in on,” Dr. Brant told them. He patted Quadir’s arm. “You get better, young man. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Thank you, doc,” Quadir said.

Brant exited the room, leaving Quadir, Neal, and Amelia alone.

“Okay, try to move your leg again for me,” Neal said.

Quadir stared down at his legs, but neither of them moved. “I can’t move them, I can’t move my legs!”

“Relax, it just takes time.” Neal reassured him.

“Relax? What the fuck do you mean, relax? I can’t move my fucking legs!”

“Okay, calm down,” Neal told him.

“I can’t move my legs!” Quadir cried out.

Neal turned toward Amelia.

“He’s not paralyzed.” Amelia shook her head. “There may be some internal scarring that we didn’t know about. I’ll order some X-rays.”

Neal placed his hand beneath Quadir’s leg and bent it. “I can feel your nerves jumping and your muscles contracting. Try to force your leg straight.”

Quadir’s face contorted as he tried to force his leg straight.

Neal turned to Amelia and shook his head. Nothing.

Amelia examined Quadir’s chart. She made several notations on it. “I’m modifying your diet. Right now I have you on liquids and soft foods. I’m going to slowly adjust it to include more and more solids. I want to increase your proteins and lean foods. Also, I’m ordering a dietary supplement to be given twice a day.”

“I’m going to add the pool to his therapy regimen also,” Neal told her. “I think starting him off slow with some water resistance would be good.” He faced Quadir. “From what I can tell, your muscles have been used to doing nothing for the past few weeks. We’re just going to have to whip them back into shape. I want to get you down there into our therapeutic pool and get you started today. It’s a heated pool, really warm water, and it should feel good to your body. It may also cause the internal swelling to go down a bit. How’s that sound?”

“Like a bunch of medical bullshit!” Quadir told him.

Neal smiled. “I’m going to run and get the pool ready, take care of some paperwork, and I’ll be back with a wheelchair.”

Neal turned and exited the room. Amelia replaced Quadir’s chart.

“I’m paralyzed,” Quadir said flatly, unable to believe it, and at that very moment wishing he was dead.

“You are not.”

“Bullshit! I can’t move my legs!”

“I’m the doctor here, and I’m telling you that you’re not paralyzed! You’re just lazy.”

“Oh, like I wanna be stuck in this fucking bed!”

“Why is it that when Dr. Brant or one of the white doctors come around, it’s yes, sir, no, sir, thank you, doctor. But with me, it’s fuck, bullshit, and every other curse word that you can think of?”

“What?”

“Is it because I’m young, black, or a woman? What is it? Whatever happened to manners?”

“No, it’s because I can’t move my legs and I’d rather be dead than paralyzed.”

Amelia couldn’t help but smile. He was an asshole. “You’re a bitch, you know that?”

“I’m a bitch? I didn’t know doctors called their patients bitches now days.”

“This one calls them like she sees them. You’re more than just a bitch; you’re a punk bitch. You bow down and suck up to the white man, but you treat me like shit.”

“What?”

“You’re one of them house niggas, aren’t you. You’ll pick up a gun, and you’ll aim it at another black man, but you’ll throw that bitch down and put ya hands up when the white man comes around.”

“Fuck you! You don’t know me! You don’t know shit about me, or who I am!”

Amelia nodded. “I know you. I know your type. Big bad brave man, tough with a gun. Quick with ya mouth. But when it really comes down to it, you ain’t shit. You ain’t a real built-to-last nigga. You’re a quitter and a coward.”

Quadir tried to sit up. “Bitch, you don’t know me! I ain’t nobody’s fucking coward!”

“Coward!”

Quadir sat up, clasped the bed rail, took his free hand, and swung his legs off the side of the bed.

“You want to know something, Quadir?”

“What?” Quadir snapped.

“A paralyzed man wouldn’t be able to sit up in bed.”

Quadir looked down and examined himself. He caught on to what she had done.

“You’re not a coward. You’re a fighter. The way you were going to come after me, that’s the same determination that you have to use to regain all your abilities. You have to fight for your life again. Fight to get it back! If you are counting on some medicine or some magic potion or formula to give it back to you, it ain’t going to happen. Sorry, brother, but nothing like that has been invented yet. You’re going to have to fight.”