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I gawk at him. “The hell? Are you a birdwatcher?”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “I was quite avid about it in college.” He picks up the two bags and we fall into step along the trail.
“Isquite avidcode forobsessed with being the best at everything?”
“I have absolutely no idea why you’d think that.”
A laugh bubbles up, loosening the knot in my chest. “I don’t watch birds, but I like them. Any animals. But there’s too many people here scaring everything away. I slept on the kayak shed last night and there were fifteen deer on the soccer field at dawn.”
“What?”
“Fifteen deer.”
“You—” He sighs and shakes his head. I focus on trying to match my pace to the length of his deliberate stride. As the sun reaches its peak, people have started coming back down the trail, and I can feel their puzzled eyes on us. I live in a world of my own, never quite right. Today I’m sharing it with a towering man who thought business casual was appropriate outdoor gear.
After a few minutes, I clear my throat. “I lost it when I was two and I don’t remember if it hurt or not.”
“Hm?” His eyes are distant, like I jolted him out of a deep thought.
I hold up my arm. “It’s the two things everyone wants to know.”
“Oh.” He squints unhappily at the giant hill coming into sight around the bend. “Was it an accident?”
“No, intentional. My dad got sick of my whining andwhackwith his machete.” I make a chopping motion with my hand, grinning.
A wide, genuine smile tries to cross his face, but he pushes it away. “You think you’re hilarious.”
“I know it.” I jump from one rock to another, my bag slapping my back. “Dad was working on a tractor. He didn’t know I sneaked into the shop until the sleeve of my sweater caught in the engine. Most of the time it rips your arm right off in one go, but in my case it just crushed all the bones and shredded the—” I stop. “Sorry. TMI.”
“So they amputated it?”
“Uh-huh. But I never learned not to do stupid shit without thinking.”
He goes quiet, like he’s one of those people who isn’t afraid of silence while he finds the right thing to say. “What do you…” He pauses, thinking, then tries again. “Is there terminology you prefer? Or dislike?”
“What do you mean?”
“Surely…” He gestures. “When people talk about it, I assume there’s a respectful way to do so and a shitty way to do so, and I’d like to avoid being shitty.”
No one has ever asked me that before. I’m not sure I’ve even asked myself that before.
Bored with going slowly, I turn around and walk backwards, facing him. “I call it my stump, I guess. I don’t mind if other people do too.” I glance up at the sun, considering. “I don’t like being called crippled.”
He stops abruptly. “People do that?”
I shrug. “Sure.”
“Fuck.” I don’t understand the look that crosses his face.
“It’s whatever.”
When I hop onto the rock behind me without looking, he frowns up at me. “Am I boring you? Do you want more things to carry?” He hands me another heavy bag, and I hang it happily over my shoulder.
“Back hurting, Dad?” It comes out of my mouth two seconds before I remember that I’m talking to a very rich, important professional who controls seventy percent of my grade. “Sorry, sir. That was uncalled for.” Two more steps backwards. “But Avery might have a foam roller in his bag.”
His eyes flick up to meet my innocent smile with a dangerous gleam that shoots straight to my dick so fast I’m starting to thicken before my brain even catches up. I turn around and think about having sex with Sophie so I can tell myself that’s why I’m walking funny.
“Do you have a prosthetic?” he asks as we start up the hill.
