Chapter 1

Song accompaniment: The Visit, Regina Spektor

Daniel expected Rose to stop and pause, perhaps look at his leg—or lack thereof—for a brief moment, to register some surprise or discomfort, but she didn't. She came bounding down the hospital corridor, onto the ward, and didn't break stride until she was bending down to hug him. She had told him she was coming days before, so he had been prepared and dressed in his uniform, instead of the blue and white pajamas they had issued him and that he wore most days—the itchy wool of the uniform rubbed against the still tender skin on his right leg so he only wore it on special occasions, like seeing the little girl from next door for the first time in three years. She wasn't a little girl anymore, and hadn't been for a while, but this was the first time Daniel had truly noticed. He supposed that watching her grow up over the years had helped him adjust to her age incrementally. After a three year gap, it was all hitting him at once. She looked like a peer now. Almost.

"Hang on," he said. "Let me stand up and greet you properly."

She nodded and backed up. Now she was going to look at him strangely, he knew it. He pushed himself up from the chair slowly, hanging onto the arms for support. Standing on one leg wasn't so hard when you still had two and could use the other one as a counterbalance. Before he lost his right leg, Daniel hadn't realized the important function of a leg even when it was not in use. He felt himself starting to tip to the left and sat back down before he could fall over.

"Thanks for not helping me," he said, leaning forward to try again.

"I'm sorry," Rose said, beginning towards him.

"No," he said quickly. "I meant it. I have to do these things for myself. I appreciate when people don't just assume. When they wait to be asked." Daniel sat down again as he began to lean dangerously to the right. "I am going to need a little help, though."

Rose nodded. "How?" she asked in a shockingly matter-of-fact way.

"If you could just hold my shoulders," Daniel said. "Keep me steady. I can get up on my own. It's making sure I get up without going to the side as well that's the problem."

Rose nodded again and put her hands on either side of his shoulders. Daniel was surprised by the firmness of her grip. With this grip providing balance, he successfully rose to his feet.

"Hi, Rosie," he said, smiling. As he wrapped his arms around her, she slowly let go of the sides of his shoulders and returned the hug, squeezing tightly.

"It's been so long," Daniel said.

"It has," Rose said.

Daniel could feel her nodding as she rested her head on his shoulder. Then he felt himself losing his balance, beginning to fall backward. Rose reacted immediately, moving her hands back to the sides of his shoulders and helping him back into the chair. With this assistance, Daniel was able to lower himself to the seat with something approaching gracefulness. For the first time ever, he felt grateful for the one-legged squats they made him do in physical therapy. When he looked up at Rose, he saw that she was beaming at him. This was not what he had expected, but he supposed his surprise at her behavior was becoming a pattern. He gestured for her to take a seat on the edge of his hospital bed.

"I hope this isn't too weird for you," he said.

"No," she said quickly. "Well, I mean, it is. I'm so sorry that you've had to go through this, Daniel. You look pretty normal, though. I think you probably are normal. Do you feel normal?"

Daniel smiled but shook his head. "Not especially."

"I guess I'll let you tell me, then."

"I feel fine, though, Rosie. I feel really good seeing you."

Rose continued to smile at him. Daniel was waiting for her to tell him off for calling her Rosie, like she had started to when she first began high school and he had come home on college break still calling her that.

"If you think I've gone all soft and am going to let you start calling me Rosie again just because you're back home and we haven't seen each other in ages," she said, as if reading his mind. "You're absolutely right."

Rose beamed at him again and Daniel realized that she must not have been smiling at him consistently or he wouldn't have noticed each time she strapped on a new grin. Now she was beaming and then closing her mouth tightly like she was trying to hide her smile. Then she was beaming again with tears running down her cheeks.

"I'm feeling very emotional right now so don't take advantage of me," she said.

"I won't," Daniel said, feeling water gather in his own eyes. The sight of Rose crying had always made him want to cry too, ever since she was eight and he was twelve and she had run to his house crying that her father was going to kill her mother. His father had telephoned the police and then rushed to Rose's house, leaving Daniel alone with Rose. Rose's father had hit Rose too and she had a split lip that was bleeding down the side of her chin and that she cared nothing about.

"Let me clean that up for you," Daniel had said, but Rose had shaken her head.

"Come on. It won't hurt."

"No."

"Why not?" he had asked.

"Because I'm scared for my mother."

It hadn't really made sense—the idea that Rose couldn't somehow be thinking of her mother and getting taken care of at the same time—but Daniel had accepted it. Maybe it was because he was practically still a kid himself or maybe it was the little girl's emphatic nature. And maybe it was because the little girl was so pitiful looking or maybe it was that his own mother was ill, but, as Daniel watched Rose cry, standing on the rug in the middle of his living room, he had choked back tears too. Rose had even refused to wipe the blood off her face with the back of her hand and Daniel had watched as she let it drip off her chin and onto the rug. He hadn't mopped it up either or done anything to try to stop the blood from creating a stain. It seemed disrespectful somehow and the rug and the stain were still there in his father's house today.

Now Rose was biting her lip so hard, Daniel was worried she might draw blood. He wondered if it was a means to stop herself from crying. If it was, it wasn't working.

"I did all my sad crying about you getting hurt and all that at home before coming here, to get it out of the way. So, these are all happy tears," she said. "There are a lot of them, though."

"That's okay," Daniel said.

"I know it is. I wasn't apologizing. If they were sad tears, I'd be apologizing."

"How would I know the difference?"

"If I'm apologizing, they're sad tears."

"Ah, that makes sense," Daniel said. "So, Rosie I'm glad that college didn't teach you to talk any less."

Rose shook her head. "Disappointed?"

"The opposite."

"You know what college did teach me?" Rose asked, wiping at her eyes. "That men often perceive women as talking much more than they actually do."

"What do you mean by that?"

"They've done studies that when a man and a woman talk almost equal amounts, men report that the woman talked more."

"I don't know if I believe that."

"Well, Daniel, it doesn't matter whether you believe it or not."

Daniel smiled. He could see Rose toughening up in front of him. Soon, he would have to stop calling her Rosie—a habit he had tried to break out of respect for her wishes, but that he still found hard to get rid of.

"I guess college teaches you a lot," he said. "Oh god, Rosie—I mean Rose. You graduated from college. And I missed it. I'm so sorry."

"It's fine."

"I should have at least written."

"You were busy."

Daniel had been in France, preparing for Bastogne, the battle in which he had lost his leg.

"But after that," he said.

"You were still busy."

Daniel appreciated this. After his injury, Daniel spent two months in a French medical zone, before beginning his current stay at the New York VA hospital. Most people who came to visit seemed to look at him like some idle, pajama-clad loafer. They understood of course. He had been through a lot. He was an invalid. He needed to rest. But Daniel didn't do much resting in the hospital. Every morning, at 5:30 am, he got out of bed—a task that used to take considerable effort and was still not easy. Then he sat down in his chair. Then he had physical therapy, which was hard and painful and theoretically helpful. Then, after the exhaustion of a therapy session, he had to make his way back to his chair where he read about the war in the newspaper—the general consensus was that it was going well, but Daniel knew from experience that much could be hidden within the word "well." Sometimes, he even had to go to a second therapy session later in the day. By the evening, he was exhausted. Busy was the perfect word to describe it.

"Still, I should have gotten you something. I'll get you something. A graduation present sometime after I get out."

Rose brushed the suggestion off.

"I want to," Daniel insisted.

"All right, then. I'll be looking forward to it," she said. Then she reached into the bag she had brought with her and pulled out a small rectangular object, wrapped in brown paper and a green ribbon. "I got you something, actually. A welcome home gift."

"Now I feel even worse," Daniel said, taking the package. "But thank you, Rose. Really. Should I open it now?"

Rose nodded.

Daniel unwrapped the object, careful not to rip the paper. When he uncovered it, he realized it was a book, which he had expected. The cover was green with small, black letters on it, reading, "A.E. Housman, Assorted Poems."

"He writes a lot about coming home from war," Rose said. "That's not all he writes about of course, but that's some of it. I thought it might be useful to you. Maybe that's a corny notion."

"It's not."

Rose smiled again but her smile quickly dissipated. Her eyes darted around the room uncomfortably. Was she just now realizing the enormity of his physical alteration? Daniel tried to remind himself that, compared to other guys at the VA, what had happened to him was not so enormous, but it certainly felt that way. The difference in how people looked at him—even his father at times—was enormous.

"If you ever want to talk about anything that happened or about how you're coping now," Rose said. "Just let me know. You can call me at my mom's place and I'll come in if you want, or we can talk over the phone."

Rose was crying again and the difference between happy tears and sad tears was readily apparent, even before Rose apologized.

"It's fine," Daniel said, feeling a little disappointed, but knowing he shouldn't blame her. It was a lot to process, seeing him like this. "So," he said. "You're living with your mom again?"

"Yeah." Rose sniffled and swallowed the shakiness in her voice. "I was working in the city but got a job back home so I could be near her."

"What job?" Daniel asked with two parts real excitement—the fact that Rose was old enough to have a real, post-college job was still novel to him—and one part feigned excitement—he wanted to talk about something other than how he was "coping."

"As a teacher at Beverly," Rose said, perking up a little. "I'm replacing a woman who's having a baby."

"At Beverly?" Daniel repeated. This was the elementary school they had both attended, although not at the same time. Rose had moved into town in third grade and by that time, Daniel was already in middle school. "What grade?"

"Second."

"That's great, Rose."

"Yeah, I'm happy about it," Rose said, not sounding very happy. "I start in a week actually."

"You're all grown up now," Daniel said with false cheeriness.

"I have been for quite some time, Daniel."

Daniel stared at his lap, trying not to react to Rose's sudden coldness.

"Sorry, that was rude," she said after a long silence.

"Is there something you want to say, Rose?"

"My mom's sick."

"Oh."

Daniel raised his head to look at Rose. Her face had finally crumpled, but her posture was perfect. A new thing. The Rose Daniel knew had always slouched. Rose bowed her head and buried her face in her hands, her spine still straight. Daniel immediately felt self-centered and childish for assuming her sadness had anything to do with him. Perhaps it did, but that was not all. Life went on around him. People had their sadness, their sickness, completely separate from him.

"I'm so sorry, Rose. Is she going to be okay?"

Rose shook her head without moving her hands.

Daniel sighed deeply. "Come over here," he said. "When you're ready."

Rose finally looked up and came to sit on the arm of the chair—the right arm, next to the missing leg. Daniel tried not to think about it too much. He had just decided, just realized, that this wasn't about him, but he couldn't help feeling self-conscious.

"What do you want me to do?" Rose asked, looking at the spot where his leg should have been.

"I don't," Daniel began. "What do you mean?"

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"Don't worry about it right now. Tell me about your m—"

Rose interrupted Daniel. "Does it hurt?"

"A little."

"Okay. I'll come on the other side then."

She moved to his left side and let herself down forcefully, her posture finally collapsing as she fell against Daniel. He could see why she had felt the need to move. If she were leaning against his right side, his leg would have hurt something awful. Daniel extended his left arm, wrapping it around her shoulders.

"When it happens… if it happens…"

"When," Rose corrected.

"When it happens, you call me," Daniel said. "If you want. Or you call me when it's going to happen. I want to be there. If you want me. I can get out of here for the day."

"That's very kind of you."

"Of course, I wouldn't want to intrude. I'll only come if you want me to be there."

"Of course I want you to be there," Rose said almost angrily. Then, more calmly, "It just feels like too much to ask of you."

"It's not."

Daniel moved his hand to reach for a strand of Rose's hair that was falling in her face and tucked it behind her ear. When they were younger, after they had gotten to know each other better, Daniel used to reach for Rose's hair and tuck it behind her ears on either side frequently. He had seen a man do this to a woman in a drive-in movie once. In the film, it was a romantic gesture but it had also struck him as a gentle, protective thing to do to a woman, sort of like something an older brother might do for a sister. Rose hated it, though. The first time Daniel did it, she immediately pulled the strand of hair back out from behind her ear and then proceeded to push all her hair forward and into her face until she looked wild. It became a little game between them, this annoying thing that Daniel would do and Rose would react to, almost performatively. This more irritating version of the act was certainly a big brother thing to do. They had continued this tradition all the way through Rose's high school years. One time Daniel had asked Rose why she insisted on messing her hair up every time he put it into place and she had answered, "You don't get to decide what my hair looks like."

"It's just to get it out of your face," he had said, incredulously.

"And I'm some helpless damsel who doesn't know how to brush her hair out of her face?"

After that, Daniel had stopped messing with Rose's hair and had decided that she was a singularly peculiar woman. This time, though, he hadn't even thought about it. It had just seemed like a nice thing to do and he had only remembered its relative significance afterward.

"Am I some helpless damsel who can't brush her own hair out of her face?" Rose asked, without moving to untuck her hair.

Daniel laughed, hoping this was the right response. It must have been, because Rose laughed as well, ever so slightly. Daniel was glad to hear it, because, true to form, he had been on the verge of tears watching Rose cry. He still felt somewhat in danger, knowing Rose's mother was dying, but he didn't think his crying would be very helpful to Rose so he was grateful for the distraction.

"I'm glad you're home," Rose said. "I'm sorry everything's so shitty. And I'm sorry I said shit. I couldn't see any way around it."

"I'm so sorry about your mom," Daniel said. "That really is…"

"Shit."

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry about your leg. That's shit too, isn't it?"

"It's okay," Daniel said, more because it was something people expected him to say than because he meant it.

"No, it's not," Rose said. "You're okay. You'll be okay. But it's not okay."

Daniel agreed. No one so far had articulated that so well. People had either been pitying, looking at him like he was irrevocably and irredeemably damaged, or nonchalant, as if the loss of a limb was just an ordinary bump in the road that everyone had to go through.

"What about you?" he asked. "Are you okay?"

"Sometimes I think I shouldn't be. That it would be disloyal."

"It's not. You'll be okay. You won't be the same, but you'll be okay."

"You would know, wouldn't you?" Rose said.

"I would."

Just as Rose's father's violence was escalating—ultimately ending with a showdown between him and a then ten-year-old Rose in which he left and never came back—Daniel's mother's illness was also escalating. Within a year of Daniel and Rose's first meeting, Daniel's mother would be dead.

"We've been through shit together before, haven't we?" Rose said.

"We have."

"We'll be okay then."

Daniel nodded, believing this sentiment for the first time in months.