“I remember the first time I saw him walk across the street,” Marsha said. “He moved so slowly. I could tell that every step hurt him, but he never complained. He couldn’t remember much about the fall and his mother didn’t talk about it.”
She turned the page, showing more pictures of Josh. In some he was with another boy, in a few, he was alone.
He was so physically perfect now that it was difficult to reconcile the adult with the child.
“He’s come a long way,” Charity said, aware of time passing.
How was Josh feeling in the hours before the race started? Tense? Confident? He’d worked the program and conquered his fears. Despite the fact that it would mean he would leave her, she found herself hoping he would win. It was what he wanted, and she loved him.
“His mother rented a room in a cheap motel. One of those horrible places with bugs and rooms by the hour. It’s since been torn down.” Marsha flipped another page. “He never brought a lunch to school or had any money to buy one. The principal told me how he would sit in a corner of the cafeteria, carefully not looking at any of the other students. He must have been starving.”
Charity’s own stomach tightened. “She didn’t feed him?”
“Not enough. We arranged for him to get a hot meal every day. That helped. He was bright and friendly. He enjoyed school, all the kids liked him. I made an appointment to talk to his mother. I told her I wanted to help. But when I showed up at the motel, she was gone. Josh was standing in the parking lot. He said she’d gone out to the store, but she would be back. He’d already been waiting for three days.”
Charity felt her eyes start to burn. This time she didn’t fight against the tears, mostly because ten-year-old Josh deserved them.
“How could she have done that?”
Marsha shrugged. “I can’t begin to understand her. You know what happened after that. The town took him in. He joined the Hendrix family and started riding a bike as part of his physical therapy.” She closed the album and looked at Charity.
“He’s never forgotten what happened. How his mother simply left him. He believes it’s because he wasn’t whole.”
Broken, Charity thought. He described himself as broken. Less than. As if anyone who really knew him could find him wanting in any way. But he wouldn’t believe that. And proving himself meant just what he’d said. Being worthy.
She stood and clutched her hands to her chest. “Oh no. He really does have to ride in the race, doesn’t he? It’s not about winning, although that would be nice. It’s about healing.”
“Not being broken,” Marsha agreed.
Charity brushed the lingering tears from her face. “I told him I wouldn’t be with him if he rode. I told him…” She covered her face. “Why was I so stupid?”
“A question people in love have been asking themselves for thousands of years.”
Despite everything Charity laughed. She lowered her arms. “Is this you trying to help?”
“Do you feel better?”
“I don’t know. Is it too late?”
“Do you really think an argument is enough to make Josh fall out of love with you?”
“No, but I made him feel bad. He has to race. Of course he does. He’s not going anywhere afterwards. Why couldn’t I see that?”
“Maybe you haven’t had anyone to believe in before.”
She hadn’t, Charity realized. Until now. “I believe in you,” she told her grandmother. “And I love you.”
Marsha smiled. “I love you, too. Now I think we have a race we need to get to.”
Charity nodded. They both hurried out of the house. There were throngs of people even on this quiet residential street. Marsha led the way, weaving through the crowds and slipping easily through clean, tidy alleys.
“Don’t worry,” her grandmother told her. “We have plenty of time. They can’t start the race without me.”
When they came out on the main road, they found themselves among a multitude of cycling enthusiasts.
Marsha turned and pointed. “The bike race starts over there. Put on your official ID and you can get right to the starting line.” She checked her watch. “You have five minutes before I make a few introductory remarks and Pia starts things.”
Charity hugged her. “Thank you so much.”
“You delight me, child. Now hurry.”
Charity pushed her way past families and couples, slipping into the tiniest openings, excusing herself when she bumped into someone. It was bright and hot. How did anyone ride a bike in weather like this?
She pushed and wiggled and darted her way through to the beginning of the race. Here the crowds were even thicker and there were barricades in place to keep everyone back. Probably so the line didn’t get covered with enthusiastic viewers.
Charity ran up to a deputy and smiled at the young woman as she showed her official ID. “Hi. I’m Charity Jones. I’m the—”
The deputy grinned. “I know who you are. You got the hospital to come here. They’re putting in a special children’s wing. My cousin has cancer. Not having to drive so far all the time is going to be great.”
“That’s great. Um, can you help me get through?”