For Lucy

“It’s just temporary until you’re running up and down the stairs again,” her mom says, grasping for the positive side.

When Lucy doesn’t respond, Tatum angles her body to get a better look at her. “Say something,” she murmurs as regret saturates her words.

“I might not walk again.”

Wow. This is the first time she’s voiced those words. Was she putting on a brave face for weeks? For who? Us? The therapists?

I make a quick sideways glance just as Tatum swallows hard and blinks back her emotions.

“And that’s life,” Lucy continues. “I’m alive. Maybe I’ll do something in the Paralympics. That would be cool. Right?”

When Tatum doesn’t answer, because she can’t, I jump into the conversation. “The coolest, Luce. Your mom would probably frown upon you doing Paralympic rugby, but I can definitely see you competing in archery or Boccia.”

“Ooo … archery would be cool. I’m pretty fantastic at darts.”

“Stop,” Tatum says so quietly we can barely hear her.

“Or tennis. I knew I should have gone out for tennis my freshman year instead of track. What a waste,” Lucy says, like she’s not facing one of the toughest battles of her life.

There really are no words to describe how much I love this girl. She is and always will be my idol.

“It’s never too late—”

“Stop!” Tatum cuts me off with an explosive response. “Stop talking about this like it’s no big deal. Like never walking again is okay. It’s not okay!”

I glance in the rearview mirror at Lucy, who shifts her attention out the window, and Tatum turns to look out her window too. When we get to the house, I help Lucy into her wheelchair and let her wheel herself up the ramp I built before we definitively decided whether or not she’d stay with me. For me, it has been and always will be her home, so I want to make sure she feels at home and a little independent when she is here.

We’ve added all the necessities with advice from her therapists. She has aids to help her use the toilet, shower, and get in and out of bed.

“Thanks, Dad.” Lucy smiles as she manages to spin her wheelchair around in the entry to face me and Tatum. When her mom can’t even look at her, Lucy clears her throat to get Tatum’s attention. “I don’t blame you. We all make mistakes that we’d give anything in the world to take back—get back that piece of the past—and have a redo.”

I stiffen, a little uneasy about the reference. We all know she’s talking about Austin.

The flinch on Tatum’s face isn’t missed by me. I see it. I feel it.

She takes a step toward Lucy and rests her hand on Lucy’s cheek. “I’m grateful … so grateful to God that you are alive.”

Ouch …

Lucy lifts her hand and rests it over Tatum’s. “But it could have turned out differently.”

“Lucy—” Tatum starts to pull her hand away.

“No, Mom.” Lucy holds on to Tatum. “I’m here. But fate could have easily gone the other way. And you would have had to forgive yourself. Right?”

I want the floor beneath me to open and swallow me whole. Instead, I have to watch my daughter broach the subject I’ve avoided around Tatum for five years. And Tatum’s discomfort is palpable. What does she say to Lucy? With me right here?

“I’m glad I don’t have to think about that. It would feel quite …”

Unforgivable.

She doesn’t have to say it. Not again anyway.

“I’m going to bring in your bag from the back of the car. The therapist should be here soon.” I jab my thumb over my shoulder toward the front door and back my way out of this really awkward conversation. As I head toward the car—Lucy’s car that we’re using since it’s too hard to get her in and out of my truck and Tatum hasn’t gotten a new one yet—I think of all the things I will need to say to Lucy when Tatum is not around. Her need to soothe Tatum’s conscience while trying to right the wrongs of the past is admirable, but it’s a mistake. We’ve come too far. The things that are broken cannot be fixed, and it would only open old wounds to make such an unnecessary attempt.

She should forgive her mom and move on. That’s the best move for everyone.

After we get Lucy’s things unpacked and put away in the closet space I emptied for her in the master closet, the therapist works with Lucy, teaching her to live without the use of her legs in her home.

We watch as she learns and struggles. It’s hard to not jump up and just insist we do everything for her. We can set her on the toilet and bathe her. We can put her in bed or on the sofa.

We can take another piece of her independence by not forcing her to rehabilitate and acclimate. That would be a bigger tragedy, so we leave her and her therapist alone for now, except when the therapist shows us things with which we might still need to assist Lucy.