She looked from him to the box and back again. “What’s that?”
He glanced at me once, then back at her. “It’s a new wheelchair for you.”
Her mouth parted, and she looked like she might cry. “What?!”
Jillian, her mother, appeared behind her, wiping her hands on a dish towel.
“Emily, who’s…”
She stopped too.
“It’s a new wheelchair for you.”
David set the box down so fast he nearly dropped it. “Your old one was bad,” he said. “I mean, not bad bad, just… it wasn’t working right. And I found one, and I thought maybe…”
Emily’s eyes filled so suddenly it made my chest ache.
“You bought me a wheelchair?” she whispered.
David looked embarrassed. “Yeah.”
“How?”
He hesitated.
I answered for him. “He sold his guitar, sweetie.”
Emily’s eyes filled so suddenly it made my chest ache.
Jillian put a hand over her mouth.
Emily stared at him like he had handed her the moon. “Why would you do that? You love playing guitar, David.”
My son shrugged, which was his favorite move whenever he had done something huge and wanted to pretend it wasn’t. “Because you needed it, Em.”
Emily’s father, Nathan, came into the hallway then, still in his uniform pants and a gray T-shirt, like he’d just gotten off a shift and hadn’t fully settled in yet. He took one look at the box, then at Emily crying, then at David.
“What’s going on here?”
Jillian turned to him. “David sold his guitar to buy Emily a new chair.”
“Because you needed it, Em.”
Nathan went completely still, suddenly looking younger and more tired at once.
David, poor kid, mistook that silence for trouble.
“It’s okay if you don’t want it,” he said quickly. “I mean, I already paid for it, but I could probably…”
Emily started crying for real then. “No! No, I want it. I need it.”
She laughed through tears and reached for him, and David stepped forward awkwardly, letting her hug him while his ears turned red.
Then Jillian was crying too.
Emily started crying for real then.
Nathan wasn’t. But something in his face changed in a way I can’t forget.
He stepped toward David slowly, like he didn’t want to scare him. “Son,” he said, his voice rough. “You sold something you loved for my daughter?”
David looked down at the floor. “Yeah, sir.”
Nathan swallowed once. “Thank you. Thank you, my boy.”
That should have been the end of it.
But it wasn’t.
“You sold something you loved for my daughter?”
***
The next morning, somebody pounded on my front door hard enough to rattle the frame.
I barely got it open before two uniformed officers filled the doorway.
“Ma’am,” one of them said. “Are you Megan?”
My mouth went dry. “Yes, I am.”
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