Page 25 of How to Walk Away

She pushed on. “You have to believe you can get better. You have to work hard and never give up. I saw Chip’s mother in the yard this morning, and I promised you’d be good as new by summer.”

My dad and I both stared at her.

“You didn’t,” he said.

My mother sat up straighter. “I saw a video just this morning about a young BXM racer—”

“BMX racer,” my dad and I both corrected.

“—who simply refused to let his spinal cord injury hold him back. He broke his neck, Margaret!” She reached up and tapped at the spot on her own neck, still averting her eyes from my face. “They told him he’d never feed himself again! Now, he’s riding his bike from coast to coast raising money for charity—and he’s about to record a country album.”

“That’s very inspiring,” my dad said. “But it’s not just mind over matter, Linda. If you break your leg, you can’t just tell yourself it’s not broken.”

“But the human bodydoesheal,” my mom said, pointing at him.

“Yes, but the spinal cord is different,” my dad said patiently. “Remember what the doctor said? When those nerves get damaged, they don’t grow back.”

“Well, I don’t see why not.”

My dad looked at me. We both imperceptibly shook our heads. “But they might not be damaged,” he emphasized to me. “They might just be compressed. Your job is to get lots of rest, take your medicine, and do whatever these folks tell you. For five and a half more weeks.”

“Five and a half?” I asked.

“That’s what insurance covers,” he said. “One week in the ICU, and five and a half weeks in the hospital afterwards.”

“That’s awfully specific.”

“Yep.”

“What happens at the end of five and a half weeks?”

My dad shrugged. “They stop paying. You move home and start outpatient therapy at a gym.”

“Move home? Which home?”

My dad smiled. “Any home you want.”

I took all this in. I was going to be here for five and a half more weeks.

“The point is,” my dad went on, “to make the most of your time here while you have it. We’ll just see what happens when we see what happens. That’s all we can do.”

“And have the right attitude!” my mom added, like he’d forgotten the most important thing. “And believe two hundred percent that you can beat this.”

My mom had gone to my apartment and picked up my laptop, and the novel I’d been reading, and some fuzzy socks, and my pale blue chevron-print pillowcase, and some ridiculous, strappy high-heeled sandals that she thought might “cheer me up”—but, of course, did the opposite.

I didn’t want to use my laptop or read that novel or even look at the sandals. I didn’t want to see anything from before.

“Your cell phone was destroyed in the crash,” my mom said next,“along with everything—burned to a crisp—and so I stopped by the store and got you a replacement. They were really very understanding.”

She handed it to me and pulled out a charging cord for my dad to plug in. We watched my dad hunt for the plug.

“They never found the ring, either,” she added, after a bit.

“What ring?” I asked.

At that, my mother took a good look at me for the first time all day. “Your engagement ring!” she said, like,Duh!Then, “Chip gave us the good news while you were in surgery.”

The good news.I looked down at my naked hand. I’d forgotten a ring was ever there. “Oh.”

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