I can still close my eyes and picture the ceiling fan above my bed, whirling as I felt strength leaving my muscles—lying there day after day. There’s a gap of time in my memory where I don’t remember much at all.
Nadine laughs at something one of the kids says, bringing me back to the right now, and then suddenly there’s a football in my lap. I look over at a boy who’s maybe nine, with Matt’s nose and Nadine’s black hair.
“My dad says you know how to play,” the boy says. “I’m Henry.”
I put my hand out. “Hi, Henry. I’m Milo.”
“Dad said you played for the New York Giants,” he adds as he puts his small hand in mine and shakes.
“I did, but I’m afraid my knee didn’t want to keep playing.” I stretch out my left leg slightly.
Henry looks down at my left knee. “Is it okay now?”
“It does all right.”
“Wanna play?” he asks, a hopeful gleam glittering in his green eyes.
I stand up with the football in my hands. “I’d love to.”
I still love the game. I just don’t love it the most.
Realizing that is all the difference.
18
SADIE
It’sThursday afternoon and I’m sitting in the library, Ginny on her phone and me withFox in Socksby Dr. Seuss in my hands as I make all the fun sounds and say the words that twist my tongue up like a tornado to eight small children gathered around me.
“What’s that?” a young girl with braided pigtails asks, pointing at the book.
I look at the upside-down picture. “It’s a dog.”
“That doesn’t look like a dog,” a young boy says.
“Well, it is,” I insist.
“My dog doesn’t look like that. My dog’s name is Murphy and he’s white with black spots,” another young boy adds.
“Well, there are different types of dogs,” I try to explain.
“I really want a puppy, but my daddy says no,” another young girl whines.
“How about we talk about dogsafterI finish the book. Okay?”
They all nod, but not before the little boy with a dog named Murphy pokes his finger up his nose and then sticks it in his mouth.
As I’m on the second-to-last page, I look up and see thesilhouette of a man leaning in the doorway, arms crossed. The sun is bright through the windows, but once my eyes adjust, I realize it’s Milo, grinning at me as I read.
I finish the book, answer a few questions about dogs that I am not qualified to answer, and then stand up and walk toward him.
“You found me,” I say, hugging the children’s book to my chest.
“I did,” Milo answers. “And I don’t know how you can read those rhymes so quickly.”
“Lots of practice. You just have to keep the sounds moving on the tip of your tongue,” I say before I stick my tongue out slightly and bite it playfully.
His gaze drops to my mouth, and heat flames my cheeks.
