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I study the way my stump ends just below my elbow, trying to imagine a hand on the end. “We could never afford one. At this point I wouldn’t know what to do with it. They have a weightlifting prosthetic I wouldn’t mind trying, but I just kind of strap heavy things to my arm and hope they don’t fall off.”
“I couldn’t cope without one,” he muses. “I need to be able to drink tea and turn a page in my book at the same time.”
I burst out laughing. “What if you got a prosthetic that had a teacup instead of a hand?”
Before he can answer, we come over the last hill into view of the waterfall, roaring softly in a halo of mist between the rust-colored trees. Avery and the rest of the class have settled into a circle of camp chairs, and I can see Elliott and Sophie standing near the falls, waving up at me.
Something careful descends over Mr. Freeman’s face at the sight of them, and when he speaks again his voice has turned distant and polite, like he just remembered who he is and why he’s here. He takes the bag from my hand, and this time I let him. “I appreciate your assistance, but I can manage now. I doubt I’ll get lost between here and the picnic blanket.”
“You think you’re joking, but you’re not.”
Examining the view expressionlessly, like he’s cataloging it instead of admiring it, he glances over at me. His eyes are the same color as the moss below the falls. He takes a slow breath, his lips pressed together, then nods at me and walks away.
