Brave

Chapter 17: The Painting

The rest of my therapy for the week is a breeze. I'm growing accustomed to my new leg very quickly, probably because my stump has already been conditioned to some extent by the temporary prosthetic limb. At the end of my session on Friday, I make a comment to Fern, and to Ethan, who always pops his head in when I'm there. "This has been a really good week. I feel almost like I could run a marathon!"

"Are you a runner?" Fern asks.

"I ran track in high school," I answer. "And I run on occasion to stay in shape. But I doubt I'll ever really run again."

Ethan, in his characteristic encouragement mode, puts his hands on my shoulders and makes me look him in the eye. "You will be able to run again, I have no doubt."

I sigh, acting like I'm feeling discouraged. I whisper back to him, loudly enough for Fern to hear, "No, Ethan I will never run again...because I really, really hate running!" Then I dissolve in laughter, and they join me. It gives me a strange thrill to make Ethan laugh so hard.

"You seem to be in better spirits this week," Fern observes after we've stopped laughing.

I shrug. "I have a good cheerleader," I say, nudging Ethan with my elbow.

Fern smiles and says, "Awww, that's nice." I wonder what she really knows about Ethan and me, if there is anything to know about us. I just wonder what he's told her.

On the weekend, I'm surprised by a text from Ethan: Can I stop by?

I chuckle because he can't just "stop by" when I live twenty miles from Lansing. I'm eager to see him, but I'm actually afraid I might send mixed signals, like when I kissed him when I was really trying to tell him that I wanted him to take a step back. But since our coffee outing, I've become more comfortable with the idea of spending time with him. And maybe, possibly, being open to more.

I text him back: Sure, when?

His reply is quick: 12:30, after lunch

"Hi!" I greet him with a huge smile when he arrives at promptly 12:30. In some ways, it feels like I'm sabotaging myself. I was the one who wanted space. I was the one who was confused. But I'm slowly finding myself wanting that space to become smaller and smaller and to spend every waking moment with this man at my door.

He smiles back, accentuating his bright blue eyes. The bright April sunshine pouring in from behind him makes him seem all the more handsome for some reason. He steps in, sets down a large leather portfolio, and folds me into his arms. He kisses the top of my head during his extended embrace. Where once not long ago, I wasn't sure whether he was invading my personal space, now I welcome being close to him like this.

"Would you like some coffee or hot chocolate?" I offer.

"Ooh, hot chocolate," he says, grinning like a little kid. "Do you have marshmallows?"

"Sure," I laugh. "You'd think you had never drunk hot cocoa before."

"I buy it often in the winter time, but it always seem to disappear before I get any. I guess we're all chocoholics in my house."

"So you do the shopping for your family?" I ask, putting the tea kettle on the burner to boil.

"Yeah, I started doing it right after Mom died because Dad could hardly function. I found out I really liked doing it, so I just stuck with it, I guess."

"That must have been really hard time for you," I say sympathetically.

"Indeed," he responds, biting his lip just a little. "I was finishing my second year in college, so I moved home, stepped up and took on a lot of responsibilities. It was kind of like I became automated, I didn't think about anything, I just did what had to be done, made lunches, got the kids to school, signed papers, got the groceries, made doctors' appointments."