question.â
âAnd?â
â And . . . didnât you sort of stipulate way back when that we wouldnât ask each other questions because if you ask me something, that would mean I get to ask you something in return?â
This time it was Gaia who stopped in her tracks. âRight. Youâre right, Ed. Forget that I asked.â
âNo, no, no, no, no,â Ed said, swiveling around to face her with a mischievous grin. âNot so fast. You canât back out now. A dealâs a deal.â He rubbed his hands together gleefully. âSo â I believe the category is color blindness. Whatâs the question gonna be?â
âDoes it make you jealous?â She was startled to hear her own voice saying those words. She hadnât meant to say them out loud.
Ed blinked a couple of times. âJealous?â he repeated, sounding confused. âWhat do you mean?â
Gaia chose her next words carefully. âDo you ever feel . . . upset . . . that other people can . . . experience something that you . . . canât?â
âUpset? Not really.â He shrugged. âAfter all, itâs not like being color-blind means everything looks black and white to me. I mean, I still see things in color. For example, I can tell that jacket of yours is the color of mucus. Itâs just that certain colors look alike to me. Mostly I have difficulty telling reds from greens.â He pointed down at his feet. âObviously.â
Gaia self-consciously eyed her jacket. âDo you ever wish you could tell the difference?â
Ed nodded. âWell, sure. There was a pretty ugly incident involving hot sauce a few years back.â He grimaced at the memory. âBut most of those taste buds grew back. Eventually.â He scratched the back of his neck. âTraffic lights pose a theoretical problem, but I figured out at a young age that red is on top, and green is on the bottom. Aside from that, I donât really think about it too
much . . . except when I commit the very occasional fashion faux pas and some heartless person goes and points it out to me.â He shot her a fake-hostile glance but quickly leavened it with another shrug. âBut â honestly? â I canât say Iâm jealous of people who arenât color-blind.â
âWhyâs that?â Gaia prompted. Ed bit his lip, thinking. âHmmm . . . I canât explain it all that well, but itâs sorta like this: I canât imagine a world with more colors than I see it in already. I just canât. And . . . well . . . I donât think you can truly be jealous of something if you canât imagine having it in the first place. Besidesâ â he ran a finger across the arm of his wheelchair, adding casually, almost to himself â âthere are better things to be jealous of.â
Gaia gave him a rare smile. What had she done to deserve him?
After a moment he looked away self-consciously. âUh . . . did any ofthat make sense?â
She nodded. âYeah. It did.â
âGood.â Ed sat up a little taller in his seat. âSo, I believe now itâs my turn to ask you something.â
Gaia took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. âShoot away.â Part ofher almost wished he would ask her one of her secrets. Considering all heâd witnessed over the past three months, she supposed it was a wonder he hadnât guessed them all already.
Ed stroked his chin thoughtfully, gazing skyward. âLetâs see now. . . . I get to ask the mysterious Gaia Moore a question.â He was clearly savoring the moment. âAnything I want. . . . Anything at â â
âYou got five seconds, Ed.â
âOkay, okay!â Ed scowled at her. Then he snapped his fingers. âHereâs one: Whereâd you learn how to â no, no, scratch that.â He waved his hand in the air as if erasing an imaginary chalk mark. âI got a