Missing (10 page)

Correction. There wasn't any “might” about it. That day would come.

Ed had been working his butt off the past few days in physical therapy. He'd actually had to blow Heather off a few times because he wasn't ready to come back to school yet. He'd told her that he'd caught a mean case of the flu at his aunt's house. Heather didn't even seem to mind that she wasn't allowed to come see him. She didn't seem to mind anything these days. It was as if Ed could do no wrong.

And this would be the first time they'd seen each other since his return. Face-to-face. He was brimming with so many different crazy emotions, it was getting harder and harder to keep his cool. His palms moistened as he maneuvered his way through the restaurant. This was the night. The night Ed was going to tell Heather about the amazing news.

She'd be ready for it, too. Her e-mail had said everything he needed to hear. Ed opened it at least three times a day. Every day.
He especially liked to read it during that hormonal high that always followed a grueling physical therapy session.
He couldn't get over it.

His life was changing so fast, it was almost as if too many good things were happening at the same time. To have his legs back
and
have Heather back the way he'd had her before? It would be like picking up right where Shred left off, when his life was at its most perfect—like wiping the accident and the horrible breakup right off the record—like going back in time. Who wouldn't go back in time if they had the chance just to fix things?

Ed forgot the answer to that question. He forgot the question. He forgot his own name when the sight of Heather Gannis entered his eyes and swept through his body like a neon blue electric current.

Heather stood up from the table.

Ed's eyes traveled down her ivory-sculpted neck and shoulders, past that long dark hair to her short, black dress. The hem barely cleared her knees. What Ed could not believe was that he'd forgotten that Heather's actual body was so much more perfect than the body he'd
imagined
in all his X-rated fantasies of the last week.
Maybe because it was so much more elegant than an X-rated body.
It was ...well, it was Heather's body.

The next thing he knew, her legs had straddled his lap, her hands had clamped onto the back of his chair, and her lips were on his in a deep, wet, powerful kiss. Ed succumbed completely. He shut his eyes as his hands grabbed onto the back of her head, and for a brief moment there was no sound but their own breathing. Finally Heather slid off his lap.

“Hi,” she said with sweet simplicity, and then sat back down.

Ed blinked. He could hardly breathe. He certainly couldn't move. Everyone around them stared at their plates.

The maitre d' looked horrified.

Ed smiled up at him. “God, I've missed my sister,” he said.

“Yes, monsieur.” The man scowled, then scampered off.

After a few deep breaths Ed managed to gather himself enough to pull up across the table from Heather.

“Sister?” Heather asked, frowning as she took a sip of water.

“Not important,” Ed mumbled with a grin. His eyes roved over her again. “You look . . . unbelievable.”

“You too,” Heather replied.

Ed could feel his face getting hot. “Um—Um . . .,” he stammered. “Thank you for that ...kiss.”

“Oh, don't thank me now,” Heather whispered as
the waiter handed them their menus. “Thank me later.”

“Shut up,” Ed murmured. He couldn't wipe the idiotic smile off his face. “I won't be able to eat if you keep acting like this.”

“So sue me.”

He glanced at her again. Heather had become much more emotional in this new incarnation of their relationship, much more open about her needs than she had been in the old days of Heather and Shred.
She'd always prided herself on her poise in any situation.
She used to talk about how her mother had taught her “grace under pressure” and how to “keep them guessing.”

But tonight Heather seemed so desperately emotional, it was almost out of character. And Ed liked it. Every sexual impulse was showing—every ounce of her joy—how much she seemed to need him and, most of all, how much she loved him. When she heard the news, she was going to flip.

“Do you want me to tell you the news now, or should we wait?” Ed asked, placing his hands over Heather's.

“Tell me now.”

Ed nodded. He took her hands into his own and thought:
Take your time.
But it was no use. He couldn't contain himself.
In a mad rush the news tumbled from Ed's mouth:
the surgery, the white lie
about his aunt's house, Dr. Feldman, the mixed feelings of fear and ambivalence and excitement, the freezing cold recovery, that indescribable moment when Dr. Feldman told him that the surgery was a success . . . Brian, his WWF rock-obsessed lunatic physical therapist, the grueling workouts for hours a day, and wanting to kill Brian for the pain he was inflicting and then wanting to hug him whenever it was over....

Heather just kept shaking her head. Her blue eyes widened, searching his face. Her lips quivered. One moment it looked like she might burst out laughing; the next, it looked like she would break down in tears.

Finally Ed took a deep breath. There was still one thing he couldn't bring himself to mention . . . in some ways, the hardest thing of all.
It was his confusion—confusion over the chair itself.

After two years he'd not only gotten used to being in the chair, he'd come to accept it. And then there were his feelings of guilt and hypocrisy for potentially leaving behind all the other handicapped folks who didn't have a choice. In a way, wouldn't he be some kind of sellout—claiming that the quality of life didn't have to be any worse in a chair but then dying to get out of it? He saw the situation kind of like when a big rap star shoots to the top, rapping about the 'hood and demanding respect for all the brothers and sisters
in the 'hood. Then he makes a fat wad of cash, and two seconds later he drops the 'hood for a phat pad in Beverly Hills right next to Kenny G. Ed didn't want to feel like he was betraying his chair-bound brothers and sisters . . .

But the excitement was too much to handle.

“This morning,” he said, leaning closer to Heather's beautiful face. “I moved my left pinkie toe. I swear, I told my foot to move, and my toe actually heard me. Do you know what that means? That means it's working, Heather. I am—”

Before Ed knew what was happening, Heather had jumped out of her seat and into Ed's lap, kissing him and hugging him and kissing him again, tears pouring down her face. Ed couldn't believe it. This was like a scene from a movie: It was the exact response he'd dreamed of every night since the surgery. Pure unadulterated joy.

“I am so happy for you,” she sobbed. “You deserve it, Ed. You deserve it. You deserve everything.”

They kissed again.

Finally Heather pulled herself away from Ed and slumped back into her seat, wiping the tears from her eyes. “God,” she murmured, looking almost embarrassed. “I thought you were going to tell me something completely different.”

Ed laughed. “What?”

Heather just shook her head and sniffled.
“Nothing. I thought it was going to be good news about your settlement, that's all.”

“Oh, the settlement.” Ed sighed. Funny. He hadn't even thought of that. Not once in over two weeks. “Yeah, well, we can kiss that good-bye.” He picked up the menu, scanning it for terms like
cheeseburger
among the endless list of alien French phrases.

“What do you mean . . . kiss it good-bye?” Heather asked.

“Well, you know,” he said. “I mean, if it turns out the damage wasn't irreparable, that's going to be a whole other story. They'll probably get most of the money back in the appeal. Which is fine. I mean, I never wanted their money.”

“But you said . . .” Heather's voice tapered off, and then it stopped altogether.

Ed glanced up.

Heather was crying again. Only . . . these didn't look like the same tears of joy from a few moments ago. No.
Something had changed.
She kept her eyes focused to the side, away from Ed, almost as if she didn't want him to look at her. Whatever thin piece of emotional elastic had held her together snapped as she dropped her head in her hands and hid her face from Ed.

“Oh God, I'm sorry,” she cried quietly. Her mascara was starting to run. “I'm so sorry, Ed. I don't want to ruin this night for you. I . . . I'm just going to run to
the bathroom and wash up for a second.” Without another word, she snatched up her purse and bolted from the table.

Ed's jaw dropped. He felt like a knife had been plunged into his heart. What on earth was she so upset about all of a sudden? He pulled out from behind the table and moved closer to her chair, to comfort her when she came back. For a few seconds he felt ill— ashamed. He'd been so wrapped up in himself and his own issues that he hadn't even asked or cared what was going on with her....

A minute later she returned. She seemed to have calmed down a bit; her makeup had been fixed, and she was no longer crying. She eased herself into her chair and forced a brittle smile.

“What is it, Heather?” he whispered. “What's wrong?”

“Well . . . my life is a complete wreck,” she admitted. Her shoulders sagged, as if she'd given up. Her smile rapidly faded. “Phoebe's a stick, and my parents can't afford her recovery anymore. And they're fighting about money all the time, and my dad can't find a job, and I'm afraid they're gonna split up, Ed, I really am, and I'm hiding from my friends 'cause I can't afford to hang out with them anymore. All this money stuff—”

“It's okay,” Ed assured her, stroking her hair. “It's okay. Calm down.”

“I just thought . . .” she mumbled as she tried to
catch her breath. “I just thought that you'd be able to help me, Ed—to help us, my whole family. Like you said ...you know, before all
this . . .
”

Another dagger stabbed through Ed's chest. Shame and guilt washed over him like a flash flood. “I would have,” he insisted. “If I had that money, I'd do anything I could to help.”

“I
know.
” Heather moaned. “I know you would, Ed. You've always kept your promises. It's just . . . that money was going to fix everything. Without that money, I don't know what I'm going to do. What am I going to do?”

“I—I . . . don't know,” Ed stammered, lightly kissing Heather's forehead. “I mean . . . I know how these cases go down . . . if I walk again, then the liability is totally different. That's just the way things work. . . . I'm so sorry....”

Ed realized that he was now apologizing for the possibility that he might walk again.
It was an extraordinarily disconcerting feeling—even on top of everything else.
But just when he thought he'd have to remove Heather from the restaurant on a stretcher with the help of an oxygen tank, she stopped crying. She pulled her head up to Ed with a bright glimmer in her eye.

“But what if . . .” she uttered. “No, forget it; that's so stupid.” She shook her head angrily and snatched up her menu, her brow tightly furrowed.

“No, what?” Ed encouraged her. “What is it?”

Heather lifted her head again and probed Ed's eyes before she spoke.

“Well . . . what if they didn't know you could walk?”

 

ED'S HAND WENT LIMP ON HEATHER'S
shoulder, and then it fell away.

“What are you talking about?” he asked.

Heather couldn't help but detect a fraction of the sweetness dropping from his voice, replaced by some combination of confusion . . . and something else. Her heart squeezed.
That something else had the potential to turn into anger.
She knew it. She should have kept her mouth shut.
No, no, no
—she was just so desperate . . . and this would work. Yes. She just prayed Ed wouldn't turn on her, not now, because she had it all figured out.

It had come to her in a rush. The perfect solution to everybody's problems: a simple little white lie. Besides, he'd lied to her, right? About his aunt's house. About being sick. This was really no worse....

“Okay, wait,” Heather said, taking Ed's hand and squeezing it for dear life. “Please just hear me out for a second, Ed.” She wiped away her remaining tears. “There is something you could do, and it wouldn't even be that hard, and it wouldn't even take that long.”

The look in Ed's eyes softened. “Okay,” he said, squeezing her hand back.

“Okay,” Heather echoed happily. “Aren't you pretty close to getting that money?”

Ed narrowed his gaze slightly as if to say,
Where exactly are you going with this?
“Yeah,” he finally replied with a slight shrug. “I mean, I won the case. It's just in appeal.”

“And there's no way they'd win the appeal, right?” Heather asserted.

“Well, I'm saying,” Ed explained, “if I walk again—”

“Right, but if you couldn't walk again . . .” Heather interrupted. She was maintaining eye contact obsessively.
Looking in Ed's eyes, she could read his shifting emotions.
And right now, he was starting to doubt her; she could see it. He was an open-minded guy, but this might be a little much—

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Ed murmured with a tense shrug. “Why don't you just tell me what you're talking about?”

“Okay,” she said, rubbing her hand along his arm—struggling with every ounce of her strength and
will to appear both relaxed and seductive. “Here's what I'm saying: If you just . . . pretended for a little while that you weren't making progress ...I mean until you got the settlement, then ...you'd get everything.”