Lily glared.
“Mom.”
“I’m not saying anything.”
“You’re crying.”
“I can cry quietly.”
Marcus stood.
The hospital required gait assistance initially.
Physical therapist arrived.
Lily looked betrayed.
Marcus shrugged.
“I’m not doctor.”
“You’re giant.”
“Different certification.”
She laughed.
The walk began with twelve steps.
Lily held Emily’s hand.
Marcus walked on the opposite side but did not touch.
The hood covered most of her head.
At the nurses’ station, a little boy in dinosaur pajamas stared.
Lily stopped.
Her fingers crushed Emily’s.
Marcus stopped too.
The boy kept looking.
Lily whispered:
“See?”
Marcus looked at the boy.
“Kid.”
The boy blinked.
Marcus pointed toward his own pink hoodie.
“You like pink?”
The boy stared.
Then said:
“No.”
Marcus nodded.
“Correct answer.”
The boy’s father laughed.
The tension broke.
Lily kept walking.
Twenty feet.
Thirty.
Then back.
When she reached Room 304, she collapsed into bed exhausted.
But she had done it.
The next day, the hood remained up but not pulled over her face.
Saturday, Marcus could not visit.
He had promised to lead a charity motorcycle maintenance workshop months earlier.
Lily pretended not to care.
At 2:15, Ellen brought an envelope.
Inside was a photograph.
Marcus stood outside his garage with eleven bikers of different ages and builds.
Every one wore a pale-pink hoodie under a black vest.
Some looked deeply unhappy about the fashion choice.
A handwritten note:
LILY — YOU HAVE CAUSED A PROBLEM. — M
Lily laughed so hard her head hurt.
Emily took photo.
“Can I keep it?”
“No.”
“What?”
“It’s mine.”
“I meant after you’re done.”
“No.”
Emily smiled.
Fair.
On Sunday Marcus returned.
Lily had a question waiting.
“Why did all bikers wear pink?”
Marcus looked irritated.
“They are weak men vulnerable to peer pressure.”
Lily smiled.
“Did you make them?”
“No.”
“Leah did.”
“Your daughter?”
“Yes.”
“I like her.”
“You haven’t met.”
“Still.”
Marcus handed a small paper bag.
“From her.”
Inside was a pink fabric patch shaped like lightning bolt.
No words.
Lily touched.
“What do I do?”
“Anything.”
“Can I put on hoodie?”
“Probably.”
Emily found safety pin? Could be unsafe near child. Better they had iron-on patch, but hospital not iron. Leah could have made Velcro patch. Let's say fabric sticker patch.
Lily placed it on chest.
“Why lightning?”
Marcus shrugged.
“Leah said scars are where body had to do something loud.”
Lily considered.
“I like that.”
Marcus nodded.
Two days later came staple-removal day.
Lily barely slept.
At six in morning, Ellen found her awake.
Pink hoodie pulled tight.