It was kind of great, in a way, getting to tag along to Sylvia’s appointments, because it meant Corinne could observe in real time what a professional did to assess progress and make recommendations for exercises. This was the kind of thing she hoped to do someday: help the injured recover use of their body.

  It was important to take small steps, of course, but she wasn’t so far into her education that she had, like, job shadowed, or anything. She was still more focused on understanding kinesiology — how things were supposed to work. So it was really fascinating, maybe even humbling, to watch the physical therapist lead Sylvia through really, really simple motions. Like shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Or bending her knees.

  The problem, they had all learned, was that Sylvia’s pain receptors weren’t working right. It wasn’t like she didn’t feel pain; it was that she didn’t understand what the signal was. The accident had been pretty bad, but the idea that the concussion had fundamentally altered the way she perceived pain hadn’t occurred to anyone until well after the casts had come off her arm and her legs. Bea had mentioned the doctors were very impressed with how well she was doing with all the surgeries and recovery. In retrospect, maybe she wasn’t handling it well. Maybe she just didn’t comprehend what she was handling.

  So the PT had gotten really good at checking for physical signs her body had hit a threshold instead of just checking with Sylvia for how she felt, and directed her in memorizing what it felt like to stand with proper body mechanics at the shallowest level instead of pushing to find a limit she couldn’t perceive. And Corinne took Sylvia to all her appointments because she really wanted to help out but also because she really wanted this rare look into a person’s healing process.

  Maybe that was selfish. Sylvia didn’t mind, though, and when the PT asked “Any questions?” she deferred to Corinne, because Corinne always did. These five minute interrogations every week were as precious as gold.

  Corinne pushed the wheelchair, and spotted Sylvia while she got into the passenger seat, then loaded the chair into the hatchback. She got behind the driver’s seat and smiled brightly. “Home, or food?”

  Sylvia didn’t smile like she used to. She smiled like she knew it was expected but didn’t know how to mean it. That was fair, all things considered. “What kind of food?”

  “There’s McDonald’s, or Wendy’s, or… That local Tex-Mex place, maybe?”

  “Maybe we should just do drive-thru.”

  “If you want Tex-Mex, I can get it as takeout. Or we can do dine-in.”

  “I don’t want to fight with the chair.”

  “I’ll fight with the chair. Hey, if you want Tex-Mex I’ll get the order and we can eat it in the park.”

  Sylvia nodded.

  “Here —“ Corinne opened the Tex-Mex place’s site on her phone browser. “You make the takeout order, just pay with one-tap. I’ll go in and grab it.”

  When they got to the park, they propped open the car doors and ate in their seats. The snow from Saturday night had melted by Sunday morning, and Tuesday afternoon was, for November, almost warm. With the takeout boxes on their laps, it was actually kind of nice.

  Corinne, two and a half fish tacos down and in no hurry to finish the third, said, “Your mom wanted me to help you with your schoolwork later.”

  Sylvia stuffed a fully loaded nacho chip into her mouth. “Mhm.”

  “We should probably at least try to make it look like you’re studying.”

  “I guess.”

  “Don’t you want to pass high school? It’s your senior year.”

  “Kind of thought I’d just take the GED exam, maybe.”

  Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

  Corinne’s insides clenched. “What about college?”

  “I dunno. I’ll do my GenEds at a community college and transfer, I guess. If I feel like it.”

  “Maybe — I don’t know — be a fifth year senior? Your grades were always really good, I don’t think anyone would blame you if you just focused on recovery for a while.”

  Bea hadn’t liked the idea of Sylvia being a fifth year senior, not when she had been on track to graduate early, but Corinne had pointed out that “late” was better than the “not at all” which was starting to look more and more likely. John had agreed with Corinne, and they all agreed that it was better to gently encourage Sylvia to keep studying a little bit and not fall off completely than not interfere at all. She already wasn’t going to school. Because of her circumstances, she had special dispensation to attend digitally, but she was barely showing up for that, either.

  Sylvia scraped up more sour cream and refried beans onto a corn chip with more dedication she was offering this chat about her future. “Maybe.”

  Corinne dropped it. Seed planted. You couldn’t push a teenager to do what you wanted; you had to show them their options and then cross your fingers that they chose their own wellbeing. Then, if they didn’t, you had to give them room to make their own choices and learn for themselves what they really wanted.

  Anyway, Sylvia had lost a lot lately. A lot a lot. Corinne could shake her for not taking the long view of things, but it’s not like she didn’t have bigger problems to deal with.

  They got back to the Halversons’ house, and Corinne pushed Sylvia up the ramp to the door. Sylvia unlocked and opened it. Corinne pushed her inside. Once in, Sylvia took over her own controls — this, too, was part of physical therapy, strengthening her wrist and arm in a controlled environment after the fractures had healed. Inside, no one touched the chair unless Sylvia expressly asked for help. She never did.

  She wheeled into the kitchen to put her leftovers in the fridge, then to the living room to take the joycons off the Nintendo Switch and boot up Animal Crossing. Corinne sat on the couch, tight as a piano string, and after watching the little avatar go through fifteen minutes of daily island check-ins finally asked, “Did you do any schoolwork earlier today?”

  “A little.”

  “Can we work on some of that before you get too deep into your game? Just so you don’t burn out all your dopamine for the day.”

  Sylvia didn’t argue, and even turned off the console and put the joycons back in place, but she suppressed a sigh while doing it and wheeled down the hall.

  Corinne called, “Are you getting your homework?”

  “I’ll work on it in here,” Sylvia called back.

  This wasn’t what Corinne had hoped for. She had hoped they could each do their own homework in the living room, sort of together and sort of independent, occasionally checking in to see if Sylvia needed any assistance. What she wanted was to tell Sylvia to bring it out to the living room, but she didn’t have that kind of authority and Sylvia would probably just invite her to join her in the room instead, which wasn’t going to happen. So she said, “I’ll be out here if you need help,” and pulled out her laptop.

  This happened just often enough that Corinne suspected it was on purpose — that this was how Sylvia got some space when she felt badgered. Andy’s old room was a safe zone from basically everyone else, even her parents, so she retreated there and left the door mostly closed and no one had the fortitude to open it.

  Corinne had tried to help move some of the essentials from Sylvia’s basement bedroom upstairs when they found out she would be wheelchair-bound for a while. It was the last time she had stepped foot in that room. Even Bethany and Damien, whom she had enlisted to help, had to take crying breaks between boxing up Andy’s clothes and moving them down to Sylvia’s room. Bea and John had gone to grief counseling and then to pick up pizza and beer while Corinne had an embarrassing little meltdown and Bethany and Damien did all the work. She still felt bad about that, even though everyone had been really supportive. Somehow, that made it worse.

  They weren’t going to be her in-laws anymore, but she still thought of them as family. It had felt like she failed them.

  When she told Bea this, Bea gave her a hug and, voice heavy from days of crying, told her, “You’ll always be one of the kids.”

  Corinne had said, “Thanks, Mom,” and they’d cried together. Sometimes, they still did — first day back to classes, anniversary of her first date with Andy, the Independence Day fireworks show they never missed. It was relentless, but it was easier when you weren’t alone.

  Except that room. The only person who could handle that room was Sylvia, and alone was the way she liked it.

  It was good, really good, that Sylvia had suggested they resume weekly Game Nights. She had changed so much that it was getting a little frightening.