She was still crying, up in our bedroom, five hours after my call. She looked up and tried to smile. On the way home I’d figured out that she wouldn’t give him up, even if he did lose the leg, because sympathy would just be thrown in on top of everything else she felt for him. I probably would have to talk to Miller about a piece of the business, just to keep up the house payments. She’d go live with him, but maybe they’d outgrow each other after a time. Maybe she’d want to come back. I’d probably want her. But maybe I wouldn’t by then. Or maybe, if I was growing a brain tumor, I’d be dead. One day at a time. Maybe I could learn to live in a world turned on its side.
“Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks a lot for asking,” I said, standing firm in case the floor became the wall.