By the time everything was said and done, the girl had damn near a hundred million in benefits due her over the course of her lifetime – and that was in addition to her medical care being paid for. Me, I'd figured everybody but her got off pretty easy.
I nodded my understanding and remembrance to the manager; he looked at his watch and said "She'll be coming down pretty much any time now, so we might as well wait for her in the lobby" before standing up. I followed his example, and the two of us made our way out to the front desk to wait for her after he reaches into a drawer in his desk to hand me a Handicapped parking placard, saying "This should make it easier for you to find convenient parking. If you get ticketed or anything anyway, we'll take care of it."
We made small talk with each other for a couple of minutes before one of the elevators opened up to reveal that the hotels concierge had gotten her into a non-powered chair (a damn good one, by the look of it), and down to where we were waiting. When they'd gotten over to where we were, the manager took a step forward and said "Miss Towers, this is Jim Stoddard. He's probably the best cab driver in town, and we've made arrangements for him to guide you around today. He'll not only be driving you, but helping you get around, as well as carrying any purchases you make. We think you'll be quite satisfied with him."
As he was talking to her, I took the chance to look her over: it had been a few years since the accident, and being unable to move much (if any) hadn't done her any good – but to my surprise, she still looked fairly attractive. Her auburn hair was cut short in a style that complimented her features (and made it easier on whoever took care of her, I figured). She had lovely hazel eyes, and her face didn't seem to have suffered any damage in the accident. Her arms and legs were somewhat thin from lack of exercise, but it was pretty plain that she was careful enough with her diet and got whatever exercise she could to keep from gaining too much weight. Dressed in a lightweight pantsuit, it was easy for me to see that she'd undoubtedly had a very nice shape: medium-sized breasts, a waist that was doubtless a little thicker than it had been, and hips that had suffered a similar fate. All in all, even in a wheelchair, she was still something of a looker.
When the manager had finished his little spiel, she turned her head to look me over for a few moments before saying "So you're the poor bastard that's my watchdog today, huh?" Her speech was slightly slurred, but understandable.
Looking into her eyes, I answered "Begging your pardon, Ma'am, but no, I'm not your watchdog. Like he said, I'm here to help you get around. If you want to do something to get yourself arrested or something, that's your get-go."
Surprised by my response, she just looked at me for a few seconds while the manager got a pained look on his face. Finally, she gave me a small grin and said "Okay, we know where each of us stands – or sits, in my case."
Looking at the manager again, she said "Okay, can I go now, Dad?"
Hearing that, I knew that she was jerking the managers chain; it reaffirmed that she probably could be a real whirling bitch when she wanted to.
The manager quickly assured her that she could; the concierge and manager kept her company while I went to get my hack. Once I was in front of the hotel, the concierge wheeled her out to my cab and the two of us carefully and gently got her into the back seat. Then he showed me how the chair would fold up so that I could transport it in the trunk. As we were doing that, he told me "Jim, she knows that getting her in and out of this thing isn't easy, so don't worry too much if putting your hand on her ass is the only way to get her moved. She doesn't like it, but she understands it." I thanked him for the information, and after closing the trunk lid, went around and got behind the wheel. I asked her where she wanted to go first, and after she told me, started the cab and got us moving.
Ten or fifteen minutes into the ride, I heard her tell me "You don't have to drive like I'm a bottle of nitroglycerin or something. I'm crippled, not something you have to worry about breaking."
I looked at her in the mirror before answering "Ma'am, whether you're crippled or not doesn't have anything to do with how I drive: I'm driving the same way I do for everybody. He was wrong when he said I'm probably the best cab driver in town: I am the best, and any honest driver will tell you the same thing. One of the reasons I'm the best is because I AM such a good driver. That isn't bragging, it's a fact."
Another quick glance in the mirror let me know that she was surprised at my response; she didn't have anything else to say the rest of the way to the store she'd said she wanted to go to.
When we get there, I'm relieved to see that they've got Handicapped parking spots that are right by the doors, and I pull into one – to the surprise of a couple of people outside. When I hang the placard on the rearview mirror, they get even more surprised; but not as much as when I get the wheelchair out of the trunk and get it set up before opening the back door. I take a few moments to look the situation over so I can try and figure out the best way of getting Evangeline from the back seat to the chair. Once I've got that worked out, I have at it; it isn't easy because she's no lightweight. I was surprised to see that she was able to move her arms and legs, at least a little bit, when she tried to help. Once she's in the chair and situated to her satisfaction, I close the door to the cab and start pushing her toward the store. Along the way, she tells me "I could see that you were surprised I'm able to move. I'm not totally paralyzed; what happened was that I suffered a spinal cord injury that only did enough damage to take away most of the motor control from my shoulders down. Lucky me."
I didn't bother saying anything – I mean, what could I say that wouldn't sound like I was just dismissing her injuries, or worse still, pitying her?
Once we were inside the store, I noticed that we got more than a few looks. They seemed to fall into one of two categories: either folks couldn't seem to resist looking at her as if she was a freak in a sideshow; or they'd look, and then look away, feeling guilt at the relief they felt that it wasn't them in a wheelchair. I couldn't help but watch Evangeline, and realized that she was all too aware of the reactions she was getting; that got me thinking about what it must really be like, being handicapped as she was – the looks, the pity, and all the rest that goes with it.
We spent a little over an hour in the store before she decided she was ready to leave with the couple of purchases she'd made. I'd been pleased to discover that there was a pouch on the back of the chair that would hold the bags; I wasn't looking forward to trying to push her and carry shopping bags at the same time. While she'd been shopping, all she said to me was to direct me to where she wanted to go, and to handle getting her credit card in and out of her purse when she'd bought something.