It had been a week since Richie had gone home to Conner's. Buddy was waiting for him as a surprise when he got there. Buddy was a loyal companion and stayed by Richie's side nearly the entire time. Buddy was so excited when he first saw Richie in his wheelchair that he jumped into his lap. Buddy quickly learned that the left side of Richie's body was off limits.

"Hi, Mr. MacLeod," Nathan grunted, struggling under the weight of all of Richie's schoolbooks.

"I've told you, Nathan, call me Conner," he said stepping aside to let the boy in. "Need some help with that?"

"Please." Nathan allowed Conner to take the top half of the books and papers.

"I guess this is what he gets for missing a week of school. Thank you for taking care of all this for him."

"Thank Ginger," the teen said dropping the books on the kitchen table. "I just brought it all here, she got all his notes, went through and highlighted and organized it all. Everything is in order and separated by class."

Conner smiled. "How thoughtful of her." It seemed that Richie and Ginger had a mutual liking for each other. And mutual shyness.

"Is Richie okay?"

"He's doing fine. He's getting bored, but that won't be a problem anymore." He patted the pile of books.

"Is he awake?"

"I'm sorry. He'll be out for another hour or so. I'll time his medication better so he'll be awake next time you come by."

"Is there anything I can do for you? Walk Buddy or run errands?"

"That's very kind of you to offer, but we're okay for now."

"Okay, I'll be back same time tomorrow," Nathan said, heading for the door. "Oh, and his teacher's are being pretty cool about due dates. Just so long as he has most of it done by the time he comes back they'll be happy."

. . . . . .

"How you doing, tough guy?" Conner asked, looking in on Richie.

"I'm okay. Actually, can you help me with this worksheet?" he asked, looking up from the paper he was working on on the bed tray above his lap.

"Sure, what's wrong?"

"I know the answer, but I can't think of how to say it."

They worked on the paper until Tessa came over to make dinner. Conner helped Richie into his wheelchair and took him into the kitchen for dinner. Tessa made chicken rice casserole.

"Next week, when you're out and about, I thought we could go to the children's museum and see where they put your piece," Tessa mentioned as they ate. One of Richie's paintings had been bought by a private collector and the other by the state children's museum at the auction last week.

"If I have time. This work is killing me. I'm never gonna catch up."

"Sure you will. You're doing just fine," Conner assured him.

"Yes, Conner says you're doing very well."

"I don't get the new math sections. They're too hard."

"I'll help you with it after dinner. Conner can do the dishes."

"Sure. You help our young student and I will take care of the cleaning. Math was never my subject anyway."

After dinner, Tessa brought his books to the table to give him some change of scenery. It took them two hours, but Richie mastered one more section in his book. One down, four to go. Tessa stayed until it was time for Richie to go to bed. She tucked him in, kissed him goodnight, and made sure he didn't need anything before she left him for sleep.

After two weeks in a stiff brace and confined to Conner's townhouse, Richie's doctors approved him for crutches, a brace that allowed minimal movement, physical therapy and school. Tessa picked him up at Conner's and took him to school every morning and Conner picked him up and took him home.

"Good to see you, Richie," his English teacher smiled at him as he hobbled into the room. "How is your leg?"

"Attached."

"We saved you a seat up front; we thought it might be easier."

"Thanks." He lowered himself into the seat.

"Everyone get out your homework from the weekend; Richie, get out all of yours, and pass it up to the front."

Richie got to leave class five minutes early, along with a classmate to carry his books. By the end of the day, word got around that if you caught up with the kid on crutches, you could get a ride on the elevator to the next floor.

"How did the first day go?" Conner asked helping Richie into the car after classes.

"It was okay."

"Did you get tired?"

"Nope?"

"Any pain?"

"Nope."

"Did you take your medicine after lunch?"

"Yes. This new stuff tastes horrible though." The doctors had given him a new pain pill to keep him awake while he was at school. "How was your day?"

"Talked to Duncan." Duncan had called and they had gotten into a fight.

"What did Mac want?"

"He's worried about you."

"You don't say."

"Rich, I know you don't like him. And I don't blame you. But you have to admit, he is starting to try."

"I haven't seen him."

"He's come by to check on you. He's even insisted on watching you for a few hours while I run errands."

"He has?"

"You've were asleep."

"How convenient."

"There's more. He's picking you up from therapy today."

"What?"

"He insisted. Tessa will be here when you get home."

"Why can't mom pick me up?"

"Give him a chance, Richie."

"I thought you were on my side."

"I am." Conner turned to look at him at a stoplight. "But don't you want to know what happened?"

"He lost interest. The novelty wore off. I've seen it happen before," Richie told him.

"Just talk to him, Rich. If you still don't like him around, we'll come up with something."

"Like what?"

"Something." The light changed and he continued the drive to the hospital.

"What about Mom?" Richie asked suddenly. "Is she gonna divorce him?"

"I don't know. And I don't think it's any of my business. If you want to know, ask Tessa."

"Mom won't tell me."

"I think they'd let you in on what they were thinking about. Especially something so serious."

"They got married and adopted me while I was asleep."

Conner smiled. "Good point." They pulled into a handicapped parking space near the therapy entrance. "You ready?"

"Guess so."

Conner helped him out of the car and to the receptionist. "Noel-MacLeod," he told the young man behind the desk.

"Yes, Maurine will be out for you in a minute. Just take a seat."

Richie and Conner sat down and talked some more. "Do you want me to go in with you?"

"I'll be fine."

"Okay. Don't make a scene when Duncan gets here. He'll take you home. I want you to go straight to bed."

"Why? It's only gonna be, like, six."

"Because this was your first full day back at school and now your first day of therapy. You're going to be beat."

"Fine."

"Okay."

A young nice looking woman approached them. "You must be Richie," she said putting out her hand. "I'm Maurine; I'm going to be your therapist."

"Hi, I'm gonna be your gimp," Richie said shaking her hand.

"Ah, a sense of humor; you're going to need that. This isn't going to be very fun."

"So I've been told." Everyone had warned Richie how difficult and painful physical therapy was going to be. It wasn't' something he had been looking forward to.

"Well, I suppose we should get started." Maurine said with a smile. "I see you're already dressed and ready to go." They had found that sweat pants were the easiest to get on and off while Richie couldn't bend his knee. "Is your father going to stay today?"

"Um, no," Richie answered.

"I'm his uncle," Conner added, noticing that Richie had made no move to correct the woman. "His father will be picking him up, though. I have some errands to run."

"Okay, who do we call in case we have a problem?"

"His mother is at my house and the number is in his file."

"That will work. You ready, Richie?"

"I guess so."

Ten minutes later, Richie was on his back on the floor in an amazing amount of pain all because he was sliding his heel across the floor which required him to bend his knee a fraction.

"You're doing great, Richie, just ten more," Maurine encouraged him as she closely watched him movements. "Okay. You're done."

"Thank God," Richie groaned straightening his leg.

"Okay, so how does your knee feel?"

"Hurts like hell."

"What kind of pain? Throbbing, pins and needles, shooting."

"I can take my pulse from here."

"Okay. We'll take a break and then try it again."

"Again?"

"The same as we just did. And we'll do that until you're ready to do more. The goal is to gradually build up your muscles to their original condition."

"Is it always going to hurt so much?"

"Just for a while. Then it will only hurt a little, then not at all."

"I'm holding you to that."

Twenty agonizing minutes later, a sweaty Richie was surprised to find Duncan waiting for him in the reception area as he hobbled out on his crutches.

"How did it go?" Duncan asked, standing up when he saw Richie come out.

"Fine. You ready?"

"Sure. I'll go get the car so you don't have to move around so much. I had to park pretty far away."

"Okay."

"You just sit and I'll come in and get you."

"Sure."

Once Duncan was sure Richie was comfortable, he went off to get the car. He returned a few minutes later and helped him in.

"Hey, Rich, I was wondering if you wanted to go out to dinner just the two of us," Duncan said as they pulled out of the parking lot. "Your choice."

"Mom's making dinner."

"We can call her and tell her we won't be there. I'm sure she hasn't started yet."

"I have a lot of homework to catch up on. And I'm pretty tired."

"Oh, okay then. Maybe when you're up to it, we'll go."

"Whatever." Richie slumped as well as he could in his seat. 'Too little too late,' he thought.