Page 37 of Wedded to a Wayne

He leans harder. “That’s no excuse.”

“No, it’s not.”

He lifts his head and digs at his tears with an impatient knuckle. “She never liked us. She didn’t want us when she had us, she just wanted to upset Dad. I want to hate her.”

“I feel sad for her.”

He looks up at me like I’m crazy. “Why?”

I wipe away one of the tears he missed. “She doesn’t know what she’s missing. She thinks she does, but she doesn’t. It’s going to hit her eventually. I only hope it’s not too late when it does.”

“What’s she missing?”

“You and your brother. She’s missing his hugs. The way your brain works on a problem. Your laughter.”

He’s shaking his head. “You’re wrong. She doesn’t miss us.”

“Sometimes people get confused. They look back instead of forward, they obsess on things they shouldn’t, and they’re blind to what’s already right here.”

“Those people are stupid.”

I stroke his back and close my eyes, hoping he feels the love I’m sending him. “I was stupid for a while. For a long time after I lost my leg, I’d feel it at night, as if it were still there. It hurt so much, but I hoped every time that when I pulled back the covers, I’d see it. If it was still there, then my mother would stop crying and thinking my life was over. If it was still there, my father would look at me again the way he used to. I wouldn’t be a burden. I’d be normal. All I could think about, all I could see, was what I didn’t have anymore.”

“But then it stopped hurting?”

“It took time, and my best friend Joey. We’d only known each other for a few months, but I told him about the feeling, and for some reason, he decided to help me. He did some research on phantom pain, which was what we found out it was called. One day, he came to my house with a mirror. He sat me on the floor and leaned the mirror against my injured leg so I could only see my good leg in the reflection. It looked like I had two whole legs again. He made me wiggle my toes and arch my foot as I stared at the mirror. After a minute, I could feel it. My brain told me I was wiggling two sets of toes. Moving two legs.”

“Really?”

“The human brain is amazing.” I sigh. “It was the strangest thing, but seeing that reflection was what made me realize my leg wasn’t coming back. And after I finally accepted that, I started feeling better. I looked around and I could see what a good friend I had in Joey. I could enjoy school again. And now, I get to be here with you and I can appreciate the wonderful guy that you are, all because I’m not obsessing about what I don’t have. Does that make sense?”

Langston rubs his chest. “I think I have a phantom pain.”

“You aren’t missing a thing.” I kiss his forehead tenderly. “But I promise you now that if you ever need me to be your mirror, I’ll be here.”

He’s hugging me again when I hear a noise and turn toward the entry to see Cassandra standing beside Emerson. She’s got tears in her eyes. And something more. Something that doesn’t feel like pity at all. When I smile reassuringly, she nods and then gives Emerson a speaking look before disappearing into the kitchen with the others.

He’s looking at me now. He walks in hesitantly, his hands clenching at his sides before he sits down beside us and takes us both in his arms.

He’s so warm, and I lean into him gratefully.

“Where is she?” Royal breaks through our bubble and comes to kneel in front of us. He winces when he sees my face.

“Is it that bad?” I ask.

“It’s not,” Lang says quickly.

“Joey’s going to kill me,” Royal groans as Austen and the others start wandering in, as if they’ve been given permission. “I should have been looking after her.”

“Back off, Hale. I’m the only one who needs to be looking after my wife.”

Royal, whom I’ve known most of my life and who’s one of the most easygoing, mischievously irritating people you’d ever want to meet, just stares at him in shocked surprise.

“Did pocket protector Emerson just piss a circle around his new bride or am I in a food coma?” Robert asks.

When everyone looks at him, he holds up his hands. “No. Come on. I’m just making an observation. Don’t vote me off the island. Not again.”

Bronte’s husband, William, is laughing in the corner, and the sight has my lips twitching as well. “Is Emerson not usually like this?”

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