The rest of my therapy for the week is a breeze. I'm growing accustomed to my new leg very quickly, probably because my stump has already been conditioned to some extent by the temporary prosthetic limb. At the end of my session on Friday, I make a comment to Fern, and to Ethan, who always pops his head in when I'm there. "This has been a really good week. I feel almost like I could run a marathon!"

"Are you a runner?" Fern asks.

"I ran track in high school," I answer. "And I run on occasion to stay in shape. But I doubt I'll ever really run again."

Ethan, in his characteristic encouragement mode, puts his hands on my shoulders and makes me look him in the eye. "You will be able to run again, I have no doubt."

I sigh, acting like I'm feeling discouraged. I whisper back to him, loudly enough for Fern to hear, "No, Ethan I will never run again...because I really, really hate running!" Then I dissolve in laughter, and they join me. It gives me a strange thrill to make Ethan laugh so hard.

"You seem to be in better spirits this week," Fern observes after we've stopped laughing.

I shrug. "I have a good cheerleader," I say, nudging Ethan with my elbow.

Fern smiles and says, "Awww, that's nice." I wonder what she really knows about Ethan and me, if there is anything to know about us. I just wonder what he's told her.

On the weekend, I'm surprised by a text from Ethan: Can I stop by?

I chuckle because he can't just "stop by" when I live twenty miles from Lansing. I'm eager to see him, but I'm actually afraid I might send mixed signals, like when I kissed him when I was really trying to tell him that I wanted him to take a step back. But since our coffee outing, I've become more comfortable with the idea of spending time with him. And maybe, possibly, being open to more.

I text him back: Sure, when?

His reply is quick: 12:30, after lunch

"Hi!" I greet him with a huge smile when he arrives at promptly 12:30. In some ways, it feels like I'm sabotaging myself. I was the one who wanted space. I was the one who was confused. But I'm slowly finding myself wanting that space to become smaller and smaller and to spend every waking moment with this man at my door.

He smiles back, accentuating his bright blue eyes. The bright April sunshine pouring in from behind him makes him seem all the more handsome for some reason. He steps in, sets down a large leather portfolio, and folds me into his arms. He kisses the top of my head during his extended embrace. Where once not long ago, I wasn't sure whether he was invading my personal space, now I welcome being close to him like this.

"Would you like some coffee or hot chocolate?" I offer.

"Ooh, hot chocolate," he says, grinning like a little kid. "Do you have marshmallows?"

"Sure," I laugh. "You'd think you had never drunk hot cocoa before."

"I buy it often in the winter time, but it always seem to disappear before I get any. I guess we're all chocoholics in my house."

"So you do the shopping for your family?" I ask, putting the tea kettle on the burner to boil.

"Yeah, I started doing it right after Mom died because Dad could hardly function. I found out I really liked doing it, so I just stuck with it, I guess."

"That must have been really hard time for you," I say sympathetically.

"Indeed," he responds, biting his lip just a little. "I was finishing my second year in college, so I moved home, stepped up and took on a lot of responsibilities. It was kind of like I became automated, I didn't think about anything, I just did what had to be done, made lunches, got the kids to school, signed papers, got the groceries, made doctors' appointments."

"Sounds like you didn't have time to grieve," I remark.

He takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly, nodding his head just slightly. "Yeah. I took a year off of school to help my family. I got really depressed after a while. When my dad had gotten past some of his grief, he noticed that I needed help. He told me to let go of some of the responsibilities. He took some things over and he hired a housekeeper for a while, just to give me a break." He's looking down the whole time he's speaking. I notice that his voice is getting weaker."That's when I really started to grieve, to really grasp that she was gone." He looks up at me and his eyes are a bit red. "Maybe I'd been pushing myself too hard to take care of everything so I wouldn't have to come to terms with her death."

"Were you angry?" I hope it's not too personal to ask such a thing.

"Hell yeah, I was angry," he says, shaking his head. "I was so mad at God for taking her away from us. It didn't make any sense to me. Sometimes it still doesn't, to be honest. We needed her!"

That shocks me, to be honest, that he was angry with God. I mix up the hot cocoa and hand it to Ethan to carry into the living room. I'm getting better at walking, but I don't want to take my chances with hot cocoa. He sets the mugs down on the coffee table and keeps talking and I sit close to him on the sofa.

"I wasted two years being mad at God when I could have been going to him and asking him to help me through it. I went back to school and threw myself into my studies, sometimes feeling angry and sometimes feeling numb. I can't explain it, but it was like I turned part of myself off, or maybe part of me died when she did."

He sniffles and I don't dare look him in the eye because I'm afraid I'll start crying, too. Instead, I take his hand in mine and hold it firmly. "Of course," I say quietly. "That makes sense. You told me that God didn't create us to be solitary. Your life was connected to hers in a deep and powerful way. She was a part of you, she gave you life. So a part of you really did die." In spite of my best efforts, I start crying along with Ethan. I can't imagine the kind of pain that comes from losing a parent.

"Now you're the one who seems to have all the answers," he finally says, wiping his face with the back of his hand.

"Unexpected wisdom," I guess. "It makes my problem seem kind of small in comparison."

He shifts so that he's sitting facing me instead of beside me, so I shift towards him, too. "I don't think of it that way. I went through grief counseling with my siblings, and there were other kids who had lost either a parent or a sibling, or maybe someone in their family had a long-term illness. That was one thing that stuck in my mind – I can't ever compare my sadness with someone else's. We just need to do our best to be there for each other."

"Still," I shrug. "You lost your mother. I lost a leg."

"Your loss is much more recent, so don't be too hard on yourself."

"So, how did you stop being mad at God?" I ask, genuinely wondering since I still battle with anger on a daily basis.

"I don't know. I guess I just realized that my life was empty without him, so I started going back to church and praying again, asking God to help me. I figured I'd have to fight my way back since I'd been gone for so long, but it really didn't take long at all when I realized that I needed him so much."

"So, you don't blame him for your mother's death?"

"No, not at all."

"But he could have stopped it."

"I know. I believe that God can do anything. But I don't know why he doesn't do miracles when we think he should. Like I told you, it's something that theologians have wrestled with for centuries. What it all boils down to is that we live in a fallen world. You know about Adam and Eve, right?" He asks.

"Of course," I say, pretending to be offended.

"Well, the way I understand it is that when Adam and Eve committed the first sin in the Garden of Eden, they damaged what God created to be a perfect relationship with us and a perfect world for us to live in. That's why there are diseases and natural disasters, even though they have nothing to do with human decisions. The world was broken, in a sense, and it kind of shows us how serious it is to sin against God."

"Wow," is all I can say. I'm shocked at how profound his reasoning is.

"But!" He says emphatically, holding up his index finger. "The good news is that God sent Jesus to us, to reverse the effects of sin that Adam brought on the world. The world is still broken, but our relationship with God isn't broken anymore. And that's simply because Jesus loved us enough to die on the cross to take the punishment that should have been ours. He repaired the relationship between us and God. So, when you asked about God punishing you a few weeks back, I had to tell you it's a resounding no! Jesus already took our punishment, so we don't have to suffer even more punishment for it."

"But we still have to face the consequences when we do something wrong," I reason.

"Sure, if you murder someone, you go to prison. But that's the law of the world, not God's law. If you repent and are truly sorry, God forgives you. He might ask you to make some changes in your life, or make up for what you've done, if possible. But he won't punish you again for that sin, since Jesus was already punished for it."

"Whoa," I breathe out in disbelief. "You just answered so many of my questions in such a short amount of time. Where were you when I was growing up and needed to hear all of this?" I laugh.

"I might not have been ready to tell you, and you might not have been ready to listen. But I'm glad you want to talk about it now."

For the first time, I ask about the portfolio. "What's that?"

Ethan smiles wider and tells me, "I wanted to show you this." He pulls out a large canvas and holds it up for me. At first, I'm not sure what I'm seeing. My eyes begin to focus on the girl in the painting. It looks like she's lying down on a white bed. Her skin is pale, but her eyes are open. Her eyes. I know them intimately.

They are my eyes.

Ethan has painted me. A portrait of me lying in the snow, fighting for life. Without blood, thankfully. Just my face and shoulders.

"Ethan, it's remarkable, really. But it's kind of...disturbing. It's not exactly the way I want people to see me."

"I named it Brave."

Words escape me. I continue to analyze the painting, to see myself through Ethan's eyes. I do look brave, much more so than I felt when I was lying in the snow. Does he really see me like that?

"Ethan?"

"Yes."

"What was it like for you when you found me after the accident?"

His face becomes somber and he swallows hard. I hope he doesn't start to cry again but it seems like he's still a bit emotional. "I was terrified," he finally admits. "My first aid training kicked in with a burst of adrenaline. I knew what to do, but I had to keep fighting back the fear. You'd already lost a lot of blood; I was afraid you were going to die."

"Why did you tell me I wasn't going to die?" I ask.

"Well, I didn't want you to panic. And I didn't want to lose you."

"Your mom was killed in a car crash...." I leave the sentence open-ended.

"Yeah. She was killed instantly, so that was the only comfort for my family and me, knowing she didn't suffer. When I found you, I knew I had to help you. Of course, I wouldn't leave anyone to die, but I didn't want anyone else to go through what our family did."

"Thank you, Ethan," I say with a sincerity that doesn't seem to cover the fact that he saved my life. "I might have died if you hadn't been there. Nothing can ever bring your mom back, but I know my family is grateful that you helped. Your mom would be very proud."

He nods and his gaze falls to the floor. "That was one of the other reasons I pulled myself together after those two years. I knew my mom wouldn't want me to be drowning in self-pity for the rest of my life. She raised me to be a man of strength and integrity, and I knew I was letting her down." When he looks back up at me, "I have a question to ask you. About the painting."

"Okay, sure."

"I want to enter it in a contest. I don't have to use your name, but people may recognize you." His expression is so hopeful that I can't say no.

"Yes, of course, you can. And I don't mind if you use my name." I lean over to hug him and he receives me warmly. I wouldn't mind just staying like this for a good long while. I'm growing more and more attached to Ethan. In spite of my best efforts to be level-headed and take it slow, I can't deny my growing feelings for him.

When I sit back after pulling away from the hug, I tell him honestly, "I really like you. I like being with you, I like talking with you, I like laughing with you."

"There's a but coming, isn't there?"

I wince a little, not wanting to keep hurting him. "Not really. I just want you to know how I feel. I'm still kind of confused, and I still don't know what I feel about Christianity, even though you just gave me some amazing answers. I just hope you'll be patient with me."

"Of course, I will," Ethan smiles and then plants a good-bye kiss on my cheek.

* * * * *

yay, double update! (yay, right?) :D