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Authors: Diane Chamberlain
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springhouse,” he said. “Not sure what I can do, but hopefully there’s something.” The family was turning the springhouse into a playhouse. Molly was going to love it. “I’ll take Molly with me, of course,” he added.
Nora lifted a blouse from the hanger on the closet door. “I know Amalia is chomping at the bit to take the training wheels off Molly’s bike,” she said as she slipped into the blouse. “I just don’t think she’s ready.”
He smiled at her. “Your overprotective side is showing,” he said. He stood up carefully, then lowered himself to the seat of his mobility scooter, lifting his legs onto the platform. “She’s six,” he said. “She’s ready. I never even had training wheels on my bike.”
She stopped buttoning her blouse. “You’re kidding,” she said. “On these hilly roads?”
“Not kidding. How old were you when yours were taken off?”
“I don’t remember.” She finished buttoning her blouse. “I might have been Molly’s age, but I grew up in a nice flat neighborhood. Nothing like Morrison Ridge. I just don’t think she’s—
“If you had your way,” he interrupted her, “she’d still have training wheels when she’s a teenager.”
She nodded. “I like that idea,” she said.
“I think they can come off today,” he said, turning the key on the tiller. “She’ll be fine.”
* * *
A year ago, he could have made it to the bathroom with just his cane. He probably still could, but it wasn’t worth the risk. Last year they’d had the master bathroom remodeled with a roll-in shower and a lower sink and higher toilet. Everything he needed to keep him as independent as possible for as long as possible. They’d had the closet expanded, too, so that he had room to transfer from the scooter to an armchair, where he could dress. They’d first put an armless chair in the closet, but three months ago, he’d fallen from it. He’d felt himself slipping sideways as he pulled on his jeans and there had been nothing to grab onto to break the fall. Nora had been at work and he lay there until Molly got home from school. He was so stiff by then that he could do little to help Molly get him up, and she had to call the sheriff, a guy he’d known since elementary school. He came out and got Graham to his feet with one burly arm, easy as lifting a pillow from the floor. Sometimes the humiliation was worse than the disease.
By the time he made it to the breakfast table on his scooter, Molly was halfway through a waffle and Nora stood next to the waffle iron at the kitchen counter, steam filling the air next to her.
“Hi, Daddy!” Molly said, hopping up from her chair. She climbed onto the floor of his scooter and leaned over to peck him on the cheek. When had she gotten so tall? Had she been that tall in his dream?
“Morning, sunshine,” he said as she began buttoning his shirt. “You’re almost too big to share the scooter with me.”
“Then you need to get a bigger scooter,” she said matter-of-factly as she buttoned the last button. He could see the gaps in her mouth where she was losing her teeth, one on the top, one on the bottom. They only made her cuter. She stepped off the scooter and returned to her chair at the table.
“One or two waffles?” Nora asked him. She already had her white pharmacist coat on. Her hair was pulled back in its usual low ponytail and her cheeks still looked flushed from their lovemaking. Yes, he’d made her late this morning, but he was quite sure she had no regrets.
“One will be fine,” he said, stepping from the scooter to his seat at the head of the table. He smiled at his daughter. “You know what’s happening today, darling?” he asked.
“The springhouse!” she said. She was adorable. He honestly didn’t think he felt that way simply because she was his daughter. He saw plenty of kids in his therapy practice and none of them was as beautiful as his own child. She wore her brown hair in two long
Nora lifted a blouse from the hanger on the closet door. “I know Amalia is chomping at the bit to take the training wheels off Molly’s bike,” she said as she slipped into the blouse. “I just don’t think she’s ready.”
He smiled at her. “Your overprotective side is showing,” he said. He stood up carefully, then lowered himself to the seat of his mobility scooter, lifting his legs onto the platform. “She’s six,” he said. “She’s ready. I never even had training wheels on my bike.”
She stopped buttoning her blouse. “You’re kidding,” she said. “On these hilly roads?”
“Not kidding. How old were you when yours were taken off?”
“I don’t remember.” She finished buttoning her blouse. “I might have been Molly’s age, but I grew up in a nice flat neighborhood. Nothing like Morrison Ridge. I just don’t think she’s—
“If you had your way,” he interrupted her, “she’d still have training wheels when she’s a teenager.”
She nodded. “I like that idea,” she said.
“I think they can come off today,” he said, turning the key on the tiller. “She’ll be fine.”
* * *
A year ago, he could have made it to the bathroom with just his cane. He probably still could, but it wasn’t worth the risk. Last year they’d had the master bathroom remodeled with a roll-in shower and a lower sink and higher toilet. Everything he needed to keep him as independent as possible for as long as possible. They’d had the closet expanded, too, so that he had room to transfer from the scooter to an armchair, where he could dress. They’d first put an armless chair in the closet, but three months ago, he’d fallen from it. He’d felt himself slipping sideways as he pulled on his jeans and there had been nothing to grab onto to break the fall. Nora had been at work and he lay there until Molly got home from school. He was so stiff by then that he could do little to help Molly get him up, and she had to call the sheriff, a guy he’d known since elementary school. He came out and got Graham to his feet with one burly arm, easy as lifting a pillow from the floor. Sometimes the humiliation was worse than the disease.
By the time he made it to the breakfast table on his scooter, Molly was halfway through a waffle and Nora stood next to the waffle iron at the kitchen counter, steam filling the air next to her.
“Hi, Daddy!” Molly said, hopping up from her chair. She climbed onto the floor of his scooter and leaned over to peck him on the cheek. When had she gotten so tall? Had she been that tall in his dream?
“Morning, sunshine,” he said as she began buttoning his shirt. “You’re almost too big to share the scooter with me.”
“Then you need to get a bigger scooter,” she said matter-of-factly as she buttoned the last button. He could see the gaps in her mouth where she was losing her teeth, one on the top, one on the bottom. They only made her cuter. She stepped off the scooter and returned to her chair at the table.
“One or two waffles?” Nora asked him. She already had her white pharmacist coat on. Her hair was pulled back in its usual low ponytail and her cheeks still looked flushed from their lovemaking. Yes, he’d made her late this morning, but he was quite sure she had no regrets.
“One will be fine,” he said, stepping from the scooter to his seat at the head of the table. He smiled at his daughter. “You know what’s happening today, darling?” he asked.
“The springhouse!” she said. She was adorable. He honestly didn’t think he felt that way simply because she was his daughter. He saw plenty of kids in his therapy practice and none of them was as beautiful as his own child. She wore her brown hair in two long
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