Missing Read Free

disappeared. Instantly. His eyes bulged. His vision was still blurry, but Dr. Feldman’s uncommonly round head suddenly seemed like the most beautiful thing Ed had ever seen.
    â€œIt—it,” Ed stammered ecstatically, still croaking like some mafia guy in a grade-B mob movie. “It worked? You mean—”
    â€œIt doesn’t necessarily mean anything,” Dr. Feldman interrupted in a more serious tone, swatting Ed’s hopes right back at him. He came crashing back down to earth, back into his hospital bed—back into his wheelchair for life. The forgotten pain returned at twice the strength.
    â€œI—I don’t . . .,” Ed stammered again. “I don’t understand.”
    Dr. Feldman grabbed the chair at the side of the bed and pulled it up next to Ed, taking a seat so that they were eye to eye. He placed Ed’s chart on the bedside table. The pasty-faced crew took a half step away in unison.
    â€œHere’s the story,” Dr. Feldman said, clearly trying to keep things positive. “Your brain and your legs are connected again . . . they’re just not on speaking terms. They need to get to know each other again, and they may not want to at this point. Does that make sense?”
    Ed scowled. What was this,
Sesame Street
? He really didn’t see the point of metaphor right now.
    â€œAlso,” the doctor continued, “your leg muscles have completely atrophied. And they may not want to come back.”
    â€œSo what are you saying?” Ed asked, desperate to drop the double-talk. “Just tell me what I have to do.”
    â€œThat’s the right question, Ed,” Dr. Feldman replied. He sighed and looked Ed in the eye. “You’re going to have to start physical therapy. It’s going to involve a lot of pain and hard work—every day, for hours a day. Frankly, it will be grueling. But it’s the only way we’re going to get the strength back into those muscles.”
    Ed nodded as emphatically as he could. He didn’t care how hard he had to work. He didn’t care how much it hurt. He was ready. “What else?” he asked.
    Doctor Feldman offered a little half smile. “You have to have faith,” he stated.
    â€œA lot of it.”
    Â 
    â€œOH, I THINK HE’S COMING TO,” a disembodied voice announced.
    Wallop
    Tom Moore’s eyes fluttered open. He found himself staring at a host of concerned faces, hanging over the backs of their airline seats and hunched over him inthe aisle. A stewardess caked in makeup thrust an ice pack toward his head.
    â€œI thought you might need this,” she cooed in a southern accent. “That’s quite a boo-boo you’ve got there! Is your daughter a ninja or somethin’? You need peanuts and a diet Coke.”
    â€œNo. Thank you,” Tom managed to answer, as politely as he could. His head throbbed. He took the ice pack and raised his fingers to test out the swelling on his bruised cheekbone. The stinging was acute. “My goodness,” he said with a sudden smile.
    The other passengers cocked their heads, gaping at him. Tom knew they must have all been a little thrown by his reaction to his injury. He hadn’t smiled like this in a while—the unfettered smile of a proud father. What a wallop. Gaia’s strength was undiminished. In all his days as an operative, thinking back through the countless covert missions he’d been assigned—even when he’d been forced to do battle with the most rigorously trained assassins—he couldn’t remember being taken out with such a perfectly aimed, swift, and merciless blow.
    But as soon as the smile appeared, it dropped from Tom’s face.
    She hated him. And he knew why. He’d abandoned her. In her mind, he’d betrayed her—in the worst possible way. Guilt swept through him, overpowering the physical pain, blotting it out. She still didn’t know the