“I can understand that,” Theresa said.
“They know a lot of cool tricks, though. Once they show you something — like how to get from the floor back into your wheelchair without tipping over — it’s just so obvious how much you need their help. And that just makes it worse. You hate learning it, but you can’t afford not to.”
“Sounds like a blast,” Hartley said.
“You’d think, since I’d spent so many hours training for sports, that I would have been a model patient, but you’d be wrong,” I told them. “Okay, I’m going to stop whining now,” I said, tossing a potato into the bowl.
“You’re not a whiner, Callahan,” Hartley said sweetly. “Except when you lose to me at RealStix.”
“But that so rarely happens,” I said, and Theresa laughed.
The house began to smell wonderful. Dana and Bridger set the table, swearing that they couldn’t use my help at just at that moment. So I sat on the living room couch, flipping pages in my economics textbook. Exams were coming up fast.
Lucy appeared in front of me, a deck of cards in her hands. “Do you know how to play Uno?”
“Well, sure,” I closed the book. “Want to play?”
“Yeah! Do you know how to shuffle? I suck at shuffling.” She threw herself down on the living room floor and cut the deck in two.
I unstrapped my braces and dropped them on the floor. Then, with no grace whatsoever, I slid off the sofa and butt-scooted over to Lucy. Using my hands, I arranged my legs in a straddle position and took the cards from her. As I shuffled and dealt, Lucy stretched out a hand and cautiously touched my toe.
“Um, Callahan?” she looked at me with a question in her eyes. “Can you really not feel this?”
I shook my head. “Can’t. Swear to God.” I watched as her finger traced the top of my sock. She might as well have been touching someone else’s foot, for all I could tell.
“What does it feel like not to feel?” Lucy had a high little voice, clear and sweet. If someone else had asked me the question, I might have bristled. But there was a guileless curiosity shining in her face, and it was impossible to feel self-conscious.
“Well, I can only say that it feels like nothing. If I were to reach over and pinch your ponytail, you might not notice. Or you might feel a little tug, but not in the place I’m pinching. Like that.”
Lucy considered this explanation. “That’s a little creepy.”
I laughed. “It is, honestly. Sometimes I stare at my feet and try to convince them to move. When I was in the hospital I did that all day long. I just couldn’t wrap my head around it. I’d say, ‘come on feet! Everyone else is doing it.’”
Lucy giggled. “Do you miss walking normal?”
“Well, sure. But mostly I can get where I need to go. Stairs are a big problem, though. And what I really miss is skating.”
Lucy frowned, her elfin face tilted up toward mine. “Skating is okay,” she said. “But I fall down a lot. Not like Bridger. He skates fast.”
“Keep skating, and you’ll go fast too. Fast is amazing,” I told her. “It feels like flying. I still dream about skating. I think I dream about it every night.” I’d never admitted that out loud before. And Lucy’s mouth didn’t fall open with distress the way my parents’ would, if I’d said it to them.
“I dream about riding horses,” Lucy said, fiddling with her cards. Then the little girl turned her chin toward the doorway. “What, Hartley? Did you want to play too?”
I looked up quickly, but Hartley was already turning away. I had no idea how long he’d been standing there. “Dinner in fifteen minutes,” he said in a gruff voice as he walked away.
There were six of us around the table, and Theresa lit candles as we passed around the dishes.
“No green beans,” Lucy argued as her brother filled her plate.
“Just eat three,” Bridger countered. “Hartley, guess what they outlawed from the training camp for next year?”
“Let me think,” Hartley said, flipping a dollop of mashed potatoes onto his plate. “The climbing wall?”
“Bingo,” Bridger said. “Isn’t that stupid? The insurance company is making them take it down.”
Hartley passed the platter of turkey to his mother. “As long as they don’t outlaw hockey, we should be okay.”
“Actually, I heard they’re talking about jacking the penalties again,” Bridger complained. “Which is stupid. You almost never see anyone get seriously hurt at the rink.”
At that, I almost choked on the piece of turkey in my mouth.
“Didn’t somebody break both his wrists last year?” Theresa asked.
“That was really a freak accident,” Bridger said. “But seriously — look at football. Brain damage, anyone?”
Dana cleared her throat. “This is just lovely, Theresa. Thank you so much for having us.” I felt my roommate’s eyes on me.
“My pleasure, sweetie.”