Our boy is struggling his way back. The long convalescence has taken its toll, physically and emotionally. So this is a less kind and gentle Colt than you may be used to. But the old one's still healing. And that takes time and patience, as Aisha learns. The song lyric that says, "Still, I wonder why it is, I don't argue like this, with anyone but you..." seemed appropriate, to be sure...

I kicked the table over and just dropped down on the floor. Like a little kid having a tantrum. Or rather, I was having a tantrum. When I first started physical therapy, I was like a 2-year-old some days. I totally admit that.

I mean, it sucks not to be able to control your body right all of a sudden. And you know how I like to be in control of my world. So being too weak to even stand up messed with my head big time. I hated myself. I really did.

But Glenna, my incredibly patient physical therapist, didn't bat an eye.

She actually smiled. And said, "Well, that's a good sign. Takes some muscle to kick like that."

And of course, I felt like a dick immediately. She was so nice to me. I guess they're taught to be but I think she was just a really sweet person. And she's nice looking, too. Which normally would've made me behave.

But I didn't take her seriously at first. I'm not proud of it, but I remember thinking, when I first saw her, that she was too young and too "college girl" pretty to handle the job. She belonged on the cover of Seventeen or something. And I didn't want a cover girl grinning at me all the time. I wanted someone who could get me back on my feet, fast.

But she had wicked skills. The smile was just the sugar coating that tricked you into doing what she knew you needed to do. Because she understood what I was dealing with. See, her brother was paralyzed from the waist down. Took a bad hit playing football.

She vowed to become a therapist after watching him struggle for years to just stand up again on his own out of sheer stubbornness, she said. Especially after he finally killed himself with a whole bottle of pills.

So my little tantrums were no biggie to her. But I was ashamed of myself. It wasn't her problem, it was my problem. Or maybe it wasn't anyone's problem. It just was what it was. Or maybe, like Aisha'd said, I needed to be humbled.

We never discussed that idea, after that time she first said it. But I was starting to prepare myself for the possibility that I might never make it all the way back.

I hadn't told anyone because I knew they'd argue. But a part of me felt like maybe the jig was up like the say in the old movies. Maybe this way payback for getting away that night when everybody else burned up. Maybe I'd gotten too full of myself, you know? With the modeling and designing and whatnot. That's how I felt.

See, I watched all these little bitty kids everyday who were never going to get to be anything but sick, ever, in the little bit of a life they would have. And that didn't just make me feel like a jerk for being so into my own body and all, when I was well. It also made me mad at God. Or the big Whoever that did this stuff.

I mean, why do you bring a baby here and then give it cancer before it even walks or talks or anything? And make it have to have a hundred surgeries and lose an eye or something, on top of everything else?

One little bitty one got some kind of allergy from the meds they gave her, and the allergy made her look like she'd been burnt in a fire or something. I saw her parents when they were trying to explain why she'd coded all of a sudden. They were losing their minds, because her skin looked like she'd been dipped in boiling water or something.

On top of the cancer, she was being scalded from the inside out. And her mother kept wringing her hands and going, "Nononononono. No!" And a few days later, the poor thing just gave up and died. The nurses didn't say it to the parents, but they were relieved. She would've been all scarred up her whole life, even if she lived through the cancer.

But all I could think was if God could do that to an innocent kid then I was fucking doomed.

So that day I kicked the chair over, I was sort of acting out all the frustration I felt about everything, not just me.

But after I'd done it, and started feeling too dickish to live, I covered up my face with my arms and just laid there and let myself breathe for a minute. Glenda had taught me to do that when I got upset with myself. She was all into yoga and meditation and stuff like that.

I was sure that her training was the only thing keeping her from cussing me out every day. Even though she kept telling me I wasn't nearly the worst patient she had.

She said, "You over think it, sweetheart. Let go a little. It's okay. You're doing fine."

I didn't answer. Though I knew I was better than I'd been at first, for sure. When she came for me that first day, after almost four months vegging out in bed, I couldn't even walk. No lie. I had to hold onto this walker thing to haul myself up. And then my legs started wobbling like mad and I fell right back down on the bed like a rag doll somebody threw across the room.

So I had to learn how to get off the bed and into a wheelchair first, if I just wanted to go pee in the bathroom for a change or something. Then, I had to learn how to hang onto the rails in there. But my arms were too weak for me to do everything at once, so I'd stand up, brush my teeth and sit down. Stand up, wash my face, sit down. So annoying.

"That whole area we talked about needs time to toughen up," Glenda said. "The nerves weren't actually damaged, which is something to be grateful for. But the surgery and the swelling and all, that definitely affected them. And it means you'll have to go a little slower than you want to so you don't aggravate them even more while you're healing."

"I feel like I'm not getting any better, though," I said.

"Well, you're 19! You want it all and you want it fast," she said. "And we'll get you there. But we will get you there safely. So listen to your body. It's telling you what it can and cannot do for the time being. Honor that."

"But I can't even pee by myself half the time. And I don't want people to have to keep babying me all the time. They've had enough. The girls, I mean. They need a break."

"They want to baby you all the time," she said. "Believe me, it hasn't been easy to convince them to back off."

I sighed and covered my face again. And Glenda came and put her hand on my shoulder. Or I thought she did, but when I opened my eyes, I saw it was Aisha.

And she said, "Git up off this flo', baby boy. You actin' a fool up in here today?"

I said, "What else is new?"

She gave me one of her little sassy stares and said, "Well, I had a lil surprise for you. But if you gon' act out like this maybe you don't deserve it."

"He's been working too hard, actually," Glenda told her.

She came and helped Aisha haul me up on my feet. And I said, "I don't know if I'm up for any surprises today."

I was such a little prima donna while I was sick. I admit it. It makes me sad when I think back now.

But Aisha said, "Oh, you gon' wanna see this."

Her smile was a little bit tense, though. I thought it was because of how I was acting. So I looked at Glenda and said, "Can I just use my scooter?"

"I was going to suggest that," she said. "Your legs are tired."

Aisha got on my electric scooter thing, like the ones they have at the mall and in grocery stores and whatnot, and drove it right at me.

"Yeah, real funny," I said.

"Lord, you are in a mood today," she said, as she got off and started helping me get on.

The rehab facility was huge. And right on the same "campus" with about a dozen different hospitals and other facilities that dealt with different types of illnesses. We decided I should be there so I could be in Emergency in a few seconds if something else popped open in there. Every other week, something weird happened. I was getting used to it by then.

So I followed her out to the lobby and she held the glass doors so I could scoot on outside, and that's when I saw my kids, standing up in the back seat of Bonnie's Escalade with their little hands pressed against the windows. God, I was happy. I let out this little whoop and started scooting their way.

But outside the car, next to Wyatt, I saw two women I didn't recognize. And Wyatt did not look happy. Neither did Aisha, when she saw the two women standing there.

She said, "Shit," under her breath. And held out her arm in front of me like you do when you put on the brakes real hard in the car and there's a kid in the front seat that might go flying.

So I stopped scooting and asked, "What's goin' on?"

And she said, "Just wait here. I'ma go see."

And before I got a chance to even blink, she was out there next to Wyatt and the two women standing there with her. And when I saw her start flinging her hands around, I hit the little lever thing and got out there pretty quick, too.

And heard Wyatt saying, "...absurd! What could possibly happen to them here?!"

"Should they even be here?" one of the women asked. She was this real tall and sort of husky black woman who looked like she was or had been a cop by the way she stood. I can't explain that, she just looked like one.

And Aisha yelled, "He their father! He got the right to see his children, don't 'e?"

And the big woman said, "There have been some court-ordered changes to the original ruling. Which we have tried to explain to the grandmother several times."

"What the hell is all this?" Mike asked. She'd come out of the facility with Cat right behind her, and she was super pissed. And I think the big woman got blind-sided by Mike's masculine energy. She didn't come back at her like she had with everyone else.

So Mike said, "They have to be escorted everywhere now or what?"

So the other woman, a Hispanic one, said, "We were on our way to an unannounced visit when we saw this one drive off with the children."

She looked annoyed. That kind of bureaucratic "annoyed" you get in welfare lines or at the DMV, for those of you who've never had to deal with the welfare people. We had obviously messed with her schedule or something.

"You just happened to be there," Wyatt said. She sounded annoyed, too. But in a different way.

"Y'all up to sum," Aisha told the two women. "I can smell it."

I rolled right into the circle of women and said, "What's up? What's goin' on?"

And the two social workers got quiet right quick. I think me looking so weak, still, probably made them nervous.

But I said, "Is there a problem?"

And the big one said, "I'm not sure this is something we should discuss informally."

"Meaning?"

Wyatt gave me a look that scared me. Because she looked scared. Really scared. Except then she sort of squared her little shoulders and said, "Colton, they've been with a foster family for a while now. Just as a precaution, we were told."

I wanted her to be honest, but it hurt me worse than a bullet. Felt like another bullet, right through the heart.

The social workers both looked at Wyatt like they would've slapped her if they could've.

And Aisha blurted out, "Woman, what is the matter with you?"

But then I drew a bead on the big one and barked out, "What the hell'd you do that for?!"

And she squared her shoulders and said, "It's a temporary arrangement. For their safety."

"Yeah, well, the court said I had to be consulted, too," I told her.

"You have been incapacitated for months," she said. "And the grandmother—"

"Her name is Bonnie," Wyatt said.

"You need to hush," Aisha said. And Wyatt turned beet red, but I gave Aisha a look that ended that little verbal assault right quick.

And Mike said, "He brought up a good point. I mean, you're not allowed to negotiate or mediate without both of them present, innat right?"

"That is the point," the Hispanic one said.

I said, "Well, explain it to me, because I'm lost here."

And the big one said, "You all haven't told him anything, have you?"

"About what?!" I asked.

And everyone but Wyatt started looking really sheepish.

So Cat sighed and said, "Bonnie's been...upset."

"Upset like how?"

"She had a panic attack," Wyatt said. "But it looked like something much worse at the time. So she was hospitalized. And they discovered that her blood pressure was off the charts. So they kept her until they were able to find the right combination of meds to lower and stabilize it."

"We were concerned that she might not be able to continue as custodial parent," the big one told me.

"And you will be incapacitated for quite some time as well," the Hispanic one said. "And the incident in Vegas was another issue we couldn't ignore. That and the fact that there are no responsible relatives on either side. So foster care was the only option."

I couldn't even sputter anything out right then. The "incident" in Las Vegas? For which I was found blameless?

Cat stepped in for me.

"She's been home for weeks," she said. "And there is nothing she could possibly need that we couldn't provide. You know who we are. What we've got."

"Maybe that's why," Mike said. "What we've got and who we are. That's the problem, right?"

"When the custodial parent is overwhelmed and overruled by it, yes. That is a problem," the Hispanic one said.

"The woman lost her daughter," Wyatt said. "And then, she watched someone shoot him. Of course she's overwhelmed. But she has fully recovered. Her doctor signed off on the document you couriered over. I drove her to his office. And the courier had me sign as a witness that they had both received and read it in my presence."

All the women standing around me seemed pretty stunned by that. But I could feel the girls were really shocked.

But before they could jump all over her, the Hispanic one asked her, "Were you authorized to bring the children here?"

That was the ace she'd kept up her sleeve, just in case. She was almost smug about it.

"They let us take them," Wyatt said. "The foster parents. We arranged it with them."

"I'm asking you if you were authorized to bring them here," the Hispanic one asked again.

Wyatt looked at the other one and said, "What am I not understanding?"

Big One sort of rocked over on one hip and said, "They don't have the authority to make visitation decisions at this time. The children are only with them because neither party could continue caring for them according to the provisions of the order. Their rights are extremely limited."

So I yelled, "Whose children are they, then? Who do they belong to? The court?"

And that's when the cop car drove up. I couldn't believe it. I hadn't seen anyone make the call, but there they were, two cops running right up looking all stern and serious.

And there were my kids. Starting to cry, as they watched. Kelli took Tyler into her arms—she'd stayed in the car with them.

And I glared at the two women and said, "You're scaring the hell out of 'em! Is that the kind of protection you're talkin' about? Scaring the hell out of a coupla toddlers?!"

One cop went, "Sir," but I yelled, "I don't wanna hear it!"

"Look, we're not here to—"

"I want my lawyer here and I want this settled right now! Right now!"

Took all the wind out of me, all that yelling. I fell back against the scooter seat and closed my eyes, to stop the world from spinning around. I was close to blacking out.

Aisha ran over and knelt beside me.

And she started patting my face and going, "You okay, Papi? Papi?"

And then I heard her yell, "Y'all gon' kill this boy!"

"Can't you let him see them?" Wyatt said. "Nothing could possibly go wrong. The police are here for Chrissake!"

The women exchanged looks. Didn't know what to do now.

So Wyatt said, "Look, they're clearly upset. Wouldn't you be, if you saw your father collapse right in front of you?"

"Are you the mother?" one of the cops asked.

And Wyatt got that determined look again. Wheels turning like mad in that brain of hers.

She raised her chin and said, "Their mother died only a couple of weeks ago. And now they're probably afraid that their father is going to die, too."

"I'm not dying," I said. I forced myself to say it. And I sat up in that seat, too, and looked the cops in the eyes.

"If I could just hug 'em, maybe, they might not be so scared anymore," I told them. "Knowing I was strong enough to hold 'em and play with 'em a little bit."

You could see the cops weren't even sure why they were there. One of them looked downright sad, when I said all that. But they didn't want to bust up the united front. So they took the two women aside.

And Aisha looked at Wyatt and said, "We gon' talk, you'n' me."

And I said, "No, you and me are gonna talk." And Aisha stepped back like I'd slapped her.

And Wyatt touched my shoulder as if to stop me from doing any more damage.

But Aisha was that kind of fighting mad you can't let go of right quick. She yelled, "Oh, you large and in charge now, huh? Din' even want 'im befo'! And now you here meddlin' in 'is business like you got that ring on your finger already!"

Well, that got me up off that scooter.

I stuck out my hand and yelled, "YO! Back it up right now, goddamn it!"

But Mike got hold of my wrist and said, "Don't," in this real firm voice.

Because Aisha's eyes had filled with tears. And Wyatt was giving me the silent, "Stop" sign, too. With her eyes.

But just as she said that, I saw one of the cops go over to the Escalade and open the door. And I scooted over to be right there when Kelli got my babies out of that car.

So I didn't see Aisha run off from everybody in tears. Or Wyatt take off after her.