“Do you need help?”
“No, I can manage, thank you,” she said. “I actually feel better today, so that should make things easier—a bit quicker, too.”
She laughed, but it sounded forced.
It was my turn to frown. “You don’t use it always?”
“No. Not that often really. Just when I have a bad flare-up.”
“What’s wrong with you?”
It was a full five seconds before I realized how bad that sounded.
Laney arched one eyebrow.
“My boyfriend says that liking ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer’ is wrong because it’s a show made for adolescents and I’m 29. I disagree—Buffy kicks ass. Is that what you meant, about what’s wrong with me?”
I winced and ducked my head.
“I’m sorry. I just meant . . .”
Laney gave a thin smile. “I know what you meant. And the answer is Rheumatoid Arthritis.”
I knew the second word.
“I thought it was something old people get?” I said, my words hesitant.
I must have still looked clueless because Laney quickly explained.
“You’re thinking of osteoarthritis. Everyone gets it confused. That’s the wear and tear arthritis. Mine, you can get at any age, from birth if you’re unlucky—or special, you might say,” and she laughed sadly. “It means my joints can become swollen and painful, among other things. Bad days, I need the wheelchair; most times, I’m well enough. Luck of the draw.”
“There are no medicines?”
“Yes and no. It can be controlled, to an extent, but it’s pretty much guess work. There’s no cure.” Laney gave a small smile. “Sometimes the best medicine is to do the things that make you happy, things that remind you that life is good and being alive is the best gift.”
She smiled like she meant it and waved a hand at me.
“Ask: I can see that you have more questions.”
I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the empty wheelchair.
“Have you always had it?”
“RA? Since I was seven. Please don’t say you’re sorry.”
I gave her a quick glance. “You hate that, don’t you?”
“You noticed?” Laney laughed wryly.
I nodded.
“The way you looked at the woman in the diner yesterday—it was a very strong look.”
“Oh dear! I try not to do that,” Laney laughed, her nose crinkling. “Sometimes it just slips out.”
I grinned.
“I know! My father’s friends always look sorry for him, having a dancer for a son. They think it’s . . .” I struggled to think of the word in English. “Effeminate,” I said at last, my smile fading.
I looked at her intently, demanding that she understood.
“I’m not gay.”
Laney’s snorting laugh surprised us both.
“I’m not!” I said defensively. “I tell people that I dance ballroom style and they think I must be gay. Every time!”
“People believe stereotypes because they’re predictable,” she said, shaking her head. “But why ballroom? What first attracted you to it?”
“The Paso,” I said with certainty. “So strong, so masculine—the man versus his own demons, his own weakness, fighting to be brave.”
Laney’s eyebrows shot up. I could see that she’d never thought about it like that, but I think she understood. Not with the same intensity, but she understood.
“Any woman would know from a thousand yards that you’re not gay. You’re just so . . .”
She stopped suddenly and I cocked my head to one side, wanting her to finish the sentence.
“I’m so what?”
“Um, I was going to say, so masculine,” Laney muttered, clearing her throat.
“Gay men are masculine.”
“I know. I meant, well, just that it’s obvious you’re not gay. Oh God, I’m saying this all wrong!”
Her cheeks flushed and her gaze darted to my body. My shoulders relaxed and I grinned at her, leaning in closer, my eyes still fixed on hers.
“You think it’s obvious that I’m not gay? I could make it more obvious . . . but you have a boyfriend.”
I smiled triumphantly then moved away from her.
Her eyes narrowed. Then she surprised the hell out of me by grabbing a pillow and tossing it at my head.
I raised my hands reflexively and just missed getting hit.
Once my surprise melted away, I gave her an evil smile. She squealed as I started to swing the pillow at her. But then I remembered that she was disabled—it was hardly a fair fight. I dropped the pillow back on the bed, shrugging sheepishly.
“Sorry.”
Her expression was something between annoyance and sadness, and I knew that I’d done the wrong thing.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” she muttered.
She was upset, and I could have cheerfully kicked myself in the balls. I’d never known a disabled person before—I didn’t know how to behave and the fact that I kept forgetting she used a wheelchair caught me off-guard.
“Could you just look the other way?” Laney said quickly. “I’m a little underdressed here.”
I shot her a look. “You could pretend I’m gay.”
“Turn around!”
I turned, standing with my back facing her, hands on hips.