I Can See for Miles Read Free Page A

barbecue set up. Everyone will probably be pretty hungry, so I’m guessing if we’re ready to start filling plates around four, that’ll be cool.”
    “Great, we’ll see you in a while. Oh, and just to warn you, your mother has made some of your favorites to put in the freezer—apparently you’re too thin,” Bill said in a stage whisper.
    “Tell her I’m wiry, not thin. I’ll see you later, Pop.” Charlie grinned and hung up. He adored his parents and knew everyone probably thought they had the best parents in the world, but he actually did… honestly. He knew they’d insist on coming with him on Wednesday to see Dr. Morgan. Not that he minded. He never liked to go by himself anyway, but he had a feeling that this time the news wouldn’t be what they had been hoping for. He already knew for himself that his latest operation hadn’t worked as well as they’d thought it would, so whatever Morgan said wasn’t going to be a big surprise to him.
    The operation had been eight weeks ago, and he had already been for his six-week checkup, when everything had been promising. Morgan had been happy with his progress, and they had all crossed their fingers that this time it had been a success and the cataracts wouldn’t grow back. Even Charlie had been hopeful, until three days ago when he woke up with the telltale clouded vision, clouds that hadn’t disappeared when he was fully awake or when he used his drops. He remembered the resignation in Morgan’s tone when he’d spoken to him on the phone and told him his symptoms had reoccurred.
    All Charlie had ever wanted to do was be an architect. Even as a young boy, he had spent hours building intricate constructions and drawing out designs for weird and wonderful buildings he wanted to create when he grew up. He had been in his sixth year with Gentles & Mitchell, working on a stylish, modern, new-age house for a movie star with more money than sense, when he’d noticed the first distortion in his vision. Charlie had shrugged it off at first with the usual excuses: he was tired, he didn’t wear his reading glasses enough, burning the candle at both ends—he’d used them all. Until he could hardly see his drawings six inches from his face with his glasses on.
    “Cataracts,” the doctor had pronounced immediately and referred him for surgery. It was rare in someone his age but not unheard of, and all they would have to do was a simple operation to remove them, and he would be fine—and he was. But then they grew back again, eight months later. The blurred vision returned and the tiredness, along with the pounding headaches—and a second operation to remove them. Then a third and a fourth and a fifth. By this time, Charlie had become resigned to the fact he was never going to be able to continue with his lifelong dream. How could he create buildings from nothing if he couldn’t see? That’s when he’d returned to the comfort of his momma’s arms and her peach cobbler, letting the familiarity of home go some way to healing his broken heart.
    Camp Aisling had been his father’s idea. He’d come across a similar retreat on the Internet and had mentioned it to Charlie: how there must be other people out there who’d had to give up their dreams and turn their lives in another direction; how they must long to be able to go somewhere to relax and meet like-minded people and just be treated like everyone else and do things that sighted people took for granted.
    So here they were, four years later. Their reputation was first-class, and they had regulars who came back year after year. Charlie loved it. Loved hearing the children’s laughter as they splashed in the lake, not a care in the world. Loved the sound of joy in someone’s voice when they were astride a horse and joining in a trek through the woods, after thinking it was something they would never experience. It gave him back some of the purpose he’d lost.
    During the four years he had built up Camp