Anne grabbed hold and lifted her right leg to the square cushion she always kept to the side of her easy-chair. She needed to lift the leg. As a child she had been in a car accident, and after countless operations, she had been left with a leg that just didn't work the way her other one did. She was fine with all of that; had been for years. It had been something to manage through school, with limitations on what activities she could get involved in. There had been the sideways glances and grimaces of horror to come to terms with. The operations had included skin grafts and scarring that were quite shocking for the other kids to look at. She still got the looks sometimes, but the worst of it now was that her stupid leg dragged a bit in a limp and needed to be lifted up onto its cushion.
Anne expelled a breath of exhaustion. It was so hot out that day, and she had just finished cleaning her car and lugging all the junk she had accumulated up the four flights of concrete stairs to her apartment. That last trip had been torture and now her leg was telling her about it more than usual. And she'd done it all on her own. She shook her head, looking at her brother sitting there watching television.
This was why Anne was pleased she didn't have a man in her life. No, not just pleased; it was a relief that she lived alone.
"Graham!" she scolded, rolling her eyes at him and glaring at his foot with the dirty sock sitting in the middle of her coffee table. He had pushed the brass candle holder aside so that it was about to fall on the floor, and scrunched up the hand crocheted lace doily. The set was antique and very delicate. His sock was un-fresh from football training or something, and smelled. He looked back to the television and picked his nose.
Anne's apartment was immaculate. Everything was spotlessly clean and precisely where she wanted it. The thought of driving to her old girlfriend's wedding and leaving Graham there for the weekend was frightening. I could just call Kelly and tell her sorry-can't make it, she thought for the hundredth time. The irksome picture in her mind of Graham sleeping in her bed with his football socks on was compelling. Up until then she had been coming up with lots of whiny little excuses: The car might break down. What if mum has another blood pressure scare and I'm out of town? What if Kelser frets?