Going Home

Andrew

None of the vehicles I owned would accommodate the cast on Raven’s leg or provide the lumbar support she needed for the ride home, so I booked a spacious van with drop-down side steps for her. She raised a skeptical eyebrow at it when it pulled up in front of the exit, and she tried to peer around at me where I stood behind her wheelchair.

“Really, Dad? A minivan? Have you lost all your mojo since I’ve been in the hospital?”

I rolled my eyes and helped her to her feet. “I was hoping you’d lose some of your attitude along with your movability.”

“My attitude is genetic.”

“Touché.”

She hobbled along beside me to the van. Had this gone down a few months ago when things with her were still rocky, I was sure she never would have leaned on me for support. In fact, I’d bet money that she would have crawled on her belly military style if she had to.

The driver came around and pulled open the sliding door. It locked into place, and I half lifted, half slid Raven into the seat in the back