The Running Dream Read Free Page A

“So … do I get to see?”
    Oh, yeah.
    The leg.
    “You don’t have to,” she says. Her face crinkles. “Am I being an idiot again?”
    I think about it, then flip back the covers and let her stare. When she’s whiter than my sheets, I cover it back up and say, “You should see it unwrapped.”
    “Why couldn’t they save it?” she asks, and her voice is choked. Almost inaudible.
    “Smashed beyond repair,” I tell her, and I feel odd.
    Like I should be crying.
    My mother eases into the room with a smile. “Are we doing okay?” she asks.
    We’re both dead quiet. Fiona starts blinking like there’s too much light in the room, then says, “I … I guess my time’s up.” She gives me a long, hard hug and whispers, “You can do this.”
    Then she says goodbye to my mother and walks her long, tan legs out the door.

 
    I ’M IN AN ENDLESS BLUR of exhausted days and sleepless nights. The nurses are nice about my pain meds. It’s the only way I get any sleep.
    Dr. Wells visits every morning and leaves with a cheery prognosis. “You’re healing beautifully, Jessica. Keep up the good work.”
    The physical therapist teaches me how to care for my stump.
    I have to learn to clean it.
    Learn to dress and protect it.
    Learn to massage it and desensitize it.
    Learn to not vomit at the sight of it.
    I finally have a real visit with Kaylee.
    I try to be brave, but it’s hard.
    “When can you come home?” she asks after we’ve dispensed with the small talk.
    “I don’t know if I want to,” I say with a smart-alecky grin. “They wait on me hand and, uh,
foot
here. They clean up after me and give me massages. You gonna do that when I get home?”
    A part of her’s not sure I’m kidding, so I pull her in and whisper, “As soon as I can, okay?” Then I give her some space and ask, “How’s Sherlock holding up? You walking him for me?”
    “Dad is.”
    “Well, you get out there and do it too. He’ll chew up all my shoes if he’s cooped up too long.” I smirk at her. “Okay, so he can have the right ones, but don’t let him anywhere
near
the left ones.”
    She doesn’t laugh, and I’m feeling dumb for trying so hard. She also doesn’t ask to see my stump. She just hugs me some more and tells me she loves me, and after a game of gin rummy Mom gently informs her that it’s time to go.
    I wave goodbye and tell her, “Stay out of trouble! And hey! Stay out of my closet too! You cannot have my clothes, you hear me? I’m coming home, so don’t even
think
about taking my stuff!”
    “You were wonderful,” Mom whispers after she’s passed Kaylee off to Dad. “Absolutely wonderful.”
    “Thanks,” I tell her, but my whole chest seems to collapse under the effort of that single, empty word.
    Suddenly I’m wrung out.
    Exhausted from the effort of pretending to be strong.

 
    I DO MY PHYSICAL THERAPY .
    Mom makes me.
    “It’ll make you strong, darling.”
    Dad makes me.
    “You don’t want to spend the rest of your life in a bed, Jess. Get up.”
    Fiona makes me.
    “I miss you! We need to get you out of here!”
    The phone rings as I’m panting from a therapy session with Fiona. She snatches it up and says, “Jessica Carlisle’s room, Nurse Bartlett speaking.”
    Her mouth stretches into a long, pink O as she turns to me. Her eyes are enormous. “One moment, please,” she says in a very professional manner, then hands the phone over with the mouthpiece palmed. “It’s Gavin Vance!”
    I take the phone from her. “Hello?”
    “Jessica? It’s Gavin.”
    Something about hearing his voice stuns me silent.
    I’ve wished for this call for almost two years.
    “Uh … Gavin Vance?” he says, and I imagine him wondering how there could possibly be any confusion. After all, he
is
the mayor’s son.
    “Oh, hey,” I say back.
    “Uh … I just wanted to say … you know … I hope you’re … you know …” His voice trails off.
    “Back on my feet soon?” I ask.
    He laughs.