Page 103 of How to Walk Away

“The sun’s not even up,” Kit said, in her best big-sister voice.

“I need to know if I’m dreaming right now. Am I?”

Fat Benjamin ventured, “Of course, if you were dreaming, then we wouldn’t really be able to give you a straight answer.”

Ian stepped closer. “What’s going on?”

“Look,” I said, pointing at my toe.

Everybody looked.

I pushed it down, then pulled it back.

“No! You! Did! Not!” Kit shrieked, turning around to hug me.

“What?” Benjamin said. “I missed it.”

“Do it again,” Ian said.

I did it again.

“Does it happen every time you try?” Ian asked.

“So far,” I said.

“Can you do the other one?”

I tried. Nothing. I shook my head.

Ian did a little mini-evaluation right then, even though he didn’t have any of the right equipment. Or a shirt. We didn’t learn much, except to confirm that—one—the toe was, in fact, wiggling on command, and—two—I was not dreaming.

“What does it mean?” I asked Ian.

“It means there’s more information getting through than there used to be.”

It wasn’t an unreasonable answer, but it wasn’t what I’d wanted him to say.

Or Kit, either, apparently. “It means she’ll walk again!” She started jumping up and down. “Right?”

We all looked at my toe again.

I wiggled it, showing off.

But Ian wasn’t jumping. He stared at the toe somberly. “Not necessarily,” he said, like a buzzkill.

“But it’s not a bad sign,” I said.

“It’s a hell of a birthday present,” he said. “I’ll give it that.”

***

DESPITE THE TOE-RELATEDexcitement, I managed to have several childish and ungenerous thoughts about Ian on the drive home. What a downer he was, for example. How he refused to let himself—or anyone else—be happy. How he squandered opportunities for joy. Maybe Ishouldwork with a different trainer. Somebody who knew how to motivate and inspire. Maybe Ian’s intolerance for hope was holding me back.

Kit was absolutely spazzy with excitement about the whole outing.

“I never knew your toe was such a genius,” she said on the drive. “It’s, like, the Neil Armstrong of toes. Or maybe Abraham Lincoln.”

As far as she knew, the weekend had been better than perfect. She had many topics she wanted to cover, but number one, for sure, just as soon as we finished our discussion of which famous person from history best represented my big toe, was “What the hell was going on between you and Braveheart when we walked in on you last night?”

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