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“Hey, hey, what’s the matter?” I said, going in and putting my arm around her.
“Look at my foot,” she said, sobbing. “Look at how swollen it got just from, like, a half an hour on a stationary bike with practically no pressure.”
I leaned down and saw the swelling across her midfoot.
“That’s not good,” I said.
“What am I going to do?” Jannie said. “My physical therapist thinks there’s something else wrong in there. She said what we did should not have caused this kind of reaction.”
“Okay,” I said after several moments of thought. “I understand you’re upset. I would be too if I were you.”
“Dad, what if it’s real bad?” she said, starting to cry again. “What if there’s something so bad I can never run again?”
“Whoa, whoa,” I said. “We are not thinking that way at all. Ever. We’ll just take it step by step. Does your PT have a number and a name?”
She nodded and snuggled into my chest. “I have it.”
I rubbed her shoulder and said, “Don’t work yourself up into a state by imagining the worst. Okay? We’ll go see the best foot doctor in the country. I’m sure your coaches know who that is, and we’ll have that doctor take a look and tell us what to do. Okay?”
Jannie nodded and sniffled. “I just don’t want my dream to be over before it’s even started.”
“I don’t either,” I said, and I hugged her tight.
Chapter
73
Nana Mama was watching Ali sweep the kitchen floor when I walked in.
He looked at me with watery eyes. “Is it true Jannie will never run again?”
“What? No.”
“I keep telling him it’s not true,” Nana Mama said. “But he won’t listen.”
“It’s what Jannie said,” Ali told me.
“She was upset,” I said. “Everyone, calm down. Her foot’s swollen, not rotting off.”
“Ugh,” Ali said, but he smiled.
“Finish your sweeping, you,” Nana Mama said, and then she looked to me. “Thin pork chops fried in a little bacon grease and covered with a fiery compote of onions, applesauce, and sriracha.”
“That sounds great,” I said. “And it smells amazing in here.”
My grandmother smiled, said, “It’s the caramelized onions. Ten minutes? I’ve got the compote made already.”
“Ten minutes is fine,” I said, grabbing a beer from the fridge and going out into the great room. I sat down and pulled out my cell phone to look at the message from Judith Noble.
The phone rang before I could read it.
“It’s Dolores,” she said. “Fender and Hobbes both replied.”
I set my beer down and said, “Tell me.”
“They’re interested but said they’re tied up overseas until Monday. Then they’re open to any and all offers.”
“Which means what?”
