“Okay, well, I’m sure she has her reasons,” I say. I know Cass wants to introduce me, on her own terms. And I know her sister beat her to it. So I don’t fault Cass for this at all. “I’ve been a paraplegic for a little more than six years.”
He doesn’t interrupt. I thought my words out while I was waiting for his call, and I knew I would share this and share it quickly. It’s hard for people to stop you when you lead with this line. It’s a perk of my circumstance. I’ve earned temporary patience. And I use it to my advantage.
“Stupid cliff-diving accident; dumbest thing I’ve ever done. Ruined my life. Or it could have. I thought it did for a while. But I had people in my life who saw me for everything but my disability, for everything beyond that stupid decision. They saw my potential. And they preached to me, pounded it into my head, day after day, hour after hour, until yeah…I saw my potential too. I’m getting my MBA. I’m sure Paige didn’t mention that. I graduated magna cum laude for undergrad, on a scholarship. School…it’s so easy for me, it isn’t even funny. I don’t have to study, because things just make sense to me. My brain is strong. My body is strong. I haven’t run into something that I can’t find a way to do. And you know why?”
I give him a second to answer, but he doesn’t. It’s okay—he hears me. I’m sure he hears me.
“Because when I needed people the most, my parents, my brother, my friends—they stood up. They were present. They didn’t go for easy. My mom, she could have thrown medicine at me. I was a teenager, and she could have forced me to take drugs to help me cope with depression, to find courage, to sleep, to not feel the never-ending firing pain from my damaged nerves. I was afraid of what drugs would mean. I didn’t want to take them. So she found another way. She led me through the hard way, and she didn’t stop until I came out the other side.”
“I train others with disabilities. I’m not sure if Paige mentioned this either. I train them because I like to see what happens when someone believes in themself. That’s how I got to know your daughter. I trained her. I trained her right into believing in herself. And you know what happened? She started to want things again. She started to dream.
“My god, Mr. Owens. Your daughter—when she’s running, pushing herself…when she’s in her sport, competing—she’s fearsome. I have never seen anything or anyone like her. And I love her. I haven’t even told her yet, but I do. I love her for everything she is, and I love her for how much she makes me believe in the possible. She’s defiance, in all of its glory. And I don’t really care that it isn’t my place to tell you this, but if you’re too focused on taking the easy route to stop, just for a second, and watch her…and see her as she is? I’m not so sure you deserve to be the one she runs to in the first place.”
I wasn’t expecting applause. Though, the slow-clap does pass through my mind and briefly amuses me. I’m pretty impressed with my own speech, and even if Cass’s father isn’t, I feel pretty good about everything I said. I’d say it all to Cass and mean every word. The silence lasts for a few long seconds, and eventually, I hear him swallow—perhaps his pride.
“If you could tell her that I called,” he says.
“I can do that, sir. You have a good night now,” I say, one more little cherry on top.
I put the phone down and grab the remote from Cass’s desk, flipping the television to Sports Center, and I wait for her to feel strong enough to come in and join me. By the end of the show, she’s here.
“Your father called,” I say. She rolls her eyes and crawls into her bed, patting the space next to her. I don’t elaborate, because I don’t want to freak her out. It’s not a lie. It’s omitting, a little. A lot. But I think this calls for an exception.
Chapter 26
Cass
Rowe’s coming back.
Paige left early.
The Cotterman issue is now a non-issue.
I have to admit, the positives are starting to add up. I was even almost looking forward to the holidays. Mom has been calling me every day. It was annoying at first, because I knew it was all about making her feel better. But I find I’m starting to actually look forward to her calls. We still talk about nothing. She doesn’t ask about Ty. I don’t talk about Ty. She doesn’t ask about practice. I don’t talk about practice. And maybe that’s okay—maybe I get to live my life separate from her knowing about it, and we get to meet in the middle, in the land of make-believe where I’m interested in the bead and textile expo.