A Heart to Heal

Ms. Browning plucked the metal bird from his hands, returned it to its perch on her desk and sat down. She crossed her arms. “We have. This summer at the church picnic.”

He remembered that picnic as a rather boring affair, all happy community fried chicken and potato salad. Nice, if you liked that sort of thing, which he didn’t.

“Mr. Jones, if you—”

“Max,” he corrected.

“Max,” she relented. “I want to state one thing right off. This is a serious time commitment, and I’m sure you’re very busy. If you don’t have the time to give Simon the attention he needs, I’ll completely understand.”

“Hang on.” Max felt his stomach tighten at the low expectation expressed in her words. “I’m willing to make the time. Only I’m not really sure how you go about making freshman year of high school not hard, if you know what I mean. That’s sort of how it goes, isn’t it?”

“I’d like to think we can do better than that. A senior boy—Jason Kikowitz—has made Simon a target of sorts, and it’s going to take more than a stack of detention slips to set things right.”

“Kikowitz?” Max chuckled; the name brought up an instant vision of a thick-necked linebacker with a crew cut and four like-size friends. “Why do the thugs always have names like Kikowitz?”

She didn’t seem to appreciate his commentary. “I want Simon to learn the right way to stand up for himself while I get Mr. Kikowitz to change his thinking.”

“Only Simon can’t stand up for himself, can he? Wheelchair. That’s the whole problem, isn’t it?” People always talked around the wheelchair—the elephant in the room—and Max liked to make them face it outright. It made everything easier after that, even if it took an off-color joke to get there.

She flushed and broke eye contact. “It’s part of the problem, yes.”

“It’s lots of the problem, I’d guess. Look, I’m in a chair. I get that. It’s part of who I am now, and pretending I’m just like you isn’t going to help anyone. It doesn’t bug me, so don’t let it bug you. I can take you out dancing if I wanted to, so I should be able to help this Simon kid hold his own.”

“You cannot take me out dancing.”

It was clear she wasn’t the type to like a joke. “Well, not in the usual sense, but there’s a guy in Chicago building an exoskeleton thingy that—”

“This is not a social meeting. Are we clear?”

She really did know how to suck all the fun out of a room.

“Crystal clear, Ms. Browning.” She was too stiff to even match his invitation to use first names. He’d have to work on that. “What is it, exactly, that you think Simon needs?”

“Well, I’d have to say social confidence. He’s led a fairly sheltered life because of his condition, but he’s brilliant...”

“The geeks always are.”

She sat back in her chair. “Can you at least try to do this on a professional level?”

Max made a show of folding his hands obediently in his lap. “Okay, Counselor Browning. Simon needs some base-level social skills and maybe enough confidence to know high school is survivable. Have I got it?”

She seemed to appreciate that. “Yes, in a manner of speaking.”

“And you’re thinking you need something just a little out of the ordinary to solve the problem, right?”

“Well, I...”

“Hey, you called me, not the nice bland people from social services.”

That probably wasn’t a smart crack to make to someone in guidance counseling. Her eyes narrowed. “Yes, well, the nice, appropriate people from social services were not available. This isn’t how I normally operate. It’s only fair to tell you you’re not my first choice.”

Max could only smile. “Alternative. Well, I’d have to say that’s exactly my specialty.”

Chapter Two (#ulink_33b5d504-34d9-5cf6-855a-0168d218910c)

Max hadn’t really expected Appropriate Ms. Browning to go for the idea of a pickup basketball game—especially one with the twist he had in mind—but she surprised him by agreeing to book the school auxiliary gym. Two days later, Max found himself whistling as his basketball made a perfect arc, rolled dramatically around the rim and then settled obediently through the net. “Jones nails it from behind the line with seconds to spare.”

His sister, JJ, palmed a ball against one hip. “Nice shot.”

Max turned to face her. “Let me see you do one.”

JJ nodded and dribbled the ball, getting ready to best her little brother. “No,” Max corrected. “From the chair.” He pointed toward the three armless, low-backed sports wheelchairs that sat against the wall. He’d decided even before he was out of the parking lot the other day that the best way to meet Simon Williams was a pickup game of wheelchair basketball. The boys-against-girls element, with he and Simon facing JJ and Heather Browning? Well, that had been a brilliant afterthought.

JJ paused for a moment, shot Max the look years of sibling rivalry had perfected and sauntered over to the chair. After settling in, she wheeled toward him in a wobbly line, smirking. “Not so hard.”

“Really?” Max teased, rocking back to pop a wheelie in his chair. “I’ve been waiting to smoke you on the court for months.”

She laughed, trying to bounce the ball until it got away from her. “Just like you smoked me on the ski slope?”

Max shot over to scoop up the ball and passed it back to her. “Worse. Okay, try a shot.”

JJ missed by a mile. “This is going to be harder than I thought.”

Max grabbed the ball, dribbled up to the basket and sunk another one in. “Actually, this is going to be a lot more fun than I thought. Me and Simon should wipe the floor with you girls.”

“Simon and I” came Heather’s voice from the gym door. “And don’t get too confident. You will get a fair fight from us ladies.”

Max groaned, JJ smirked and the kid who had to be Simon Williams had the good sense to look a little baffled by whatever he’d just gotten himself into. The boy was spindly thin and a bit pale. His glasses sat a little crooked on his face, and a 1970s haircut didn’t help his overall lack of style. Still, his sharp blue eyes and goofy grin made him oddly likable.

Max caught the kid’s eye and lamented, “Teacher types.”

“Yeah.” The boy’s response was noncommittal and soft. He’d expected the boy’s smile to widen, but it had all but disappeared.

Shy, skinny and unsure of himself—Max remembered the years when he used to eat kids like this for breakfast. It wasn’t a comfortable memory. He wheeled over to Simon and pointed to the line of chairs. “Can you transfer into that sports chair by yourself? I guessed on your size but I think it’s close enough.” Heather had given him some basic medical info on Simon’s cerebral palsy—a condition that mostly left his legs too unstable to support him for more than a few steps.

“Uh-huh.” Again, a small voice lacking any stitch of confidence. Max began to wonder if the kid had ever played any sport, ever. He looked as if his family hardly let him outside in the sunshine. Max pretended to be adjusting his gloves while he watched Simon slowly maneuver from his larger daily chair to the smaller, lower sports chair. It was a relief to see that he could do it by himself. The kid’s steps were gangly and poorly controlled, but while Max had met other cerebral palsy patients with very spastic movements all over their bodies, Simon’s seemed to be confined to his legs. He had the upper-body control to have some fun in a sports chair, yet he looked as if he’d never seen one. If he’d never known speed, this chair would be a barrel of fun. Somehow, he doubted this kid had ever seen much fun.

Whose fault was that? His shy personality? Or overprotective parents? Well, that drought was going to end today. The thought of introducing the boy to agility sparked a faint foreign glow of satisfaction that caught Max up short.

JJ noticed his reaction. She raised an eyebrow in inquiry as Simon finished settling himself into his seat. “What?”

“I think I just got a bit of an Alex rush.” Max knew he’d regret admitting that to his sister. His boss—Alex Cushman, JJ’s husband—was always going on and on about the charge he got from taking people out of their comfort zones into new adventures.

“Not all about the new toys anymore?” Her tone was teasing, but JJ’s eyes were warm. That girl was so stuck on her new husband it was like a nonstop valentine to be with either one of them.

“No, it’s still about the new toys.” Max popped another wheelie and executed a tight circle around his sister. He turned his attention back to Simon, now sitting next to a delightfully baffled Heather as the two of them explored the gear. “What do you think?”

“They’re crooked,” Simon offered in a sheepish voice as he pointed to the wheels. Unlike the straight-up-and-down wheels of his daily chair, this chair’s wheels tilted toward the middle.