So life is changing, and I know it won’t be changing back. That’s the bastard of IPF—every time I lose a little lung function to the scars and fibers, it’s permanent. It sucks, but I don’t have time to waste feeling bitter. God! That’s the last thing I want to feel. Whenever I get scared, I just look at Josh, or think about how lucky I am that we found each other. Sappy, isn’t it? And you know what he thinks, Dad? He thinks he’s the lucky one. He really does. He adores me. He loves, honors and cherishes me, just like he promised on our wedding day.
Well, I should go. I love you, Dad. Watch over me, okay? I’m glad you’re there. It’s not that I didn’t love Gangy and Pop-Pop and Grammy and Gramps (please tell them hello from me). It’s just that you’re my dad, and I know you’ll be there for me when the time comes.
Love,
Lauren
Pebbles had learned to fetch the remote, the genius. If Lauren was on the couch, Pebbles was there, too, a ball of silken brown-and-white fur curled up right on Lauren’s perpetually cold feet. “What did we do before we had this dog?” Lauren asked Josh.
“You mean back when I was the love of your life,” he said, grinning as he cooked.
“Were you, though? Or was I just waiting for Pebbles?” she said, and he laughed. Getting him to laugh was akin to medaling in the Olympics, Lauren thought as she stroked Pebbles’s head. His kind of intellect didn’t have a lot of room for humor, so his laughter . . . the occasional joke, it meant the world. “Right, Pebbles?” she whispered. “You’ll need to brush up on your wisecracking, missy.”
“Before we eat,” he said, turning off the stove, “I got you a present.”
“Hooray! Is it a horse?”
“Um . . . no. But it’s really fun, and actually, you can ride it.”
She waited as he went into his study. A second later, he came out, pushing a . . .
A mobility scooter.
Her throat immediately clamped shut. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, she told herself, but her fists were clenched. She wasn’t supposed to need that! She wasn’t even thirty! He should’ve gotten her a damn horse. Or a motorcycle.
He was smiling, but she could see the echo of sadness in his dark eyes. He knew it was an awful present.
And he knew she needed it.
It was fine. It was smart. They could do more because of it.
So she flashed Josh a big smile, and after a second, it became genuine. “That is one damn sexy scooter,” she said.
“Please tell me you’ll wear leather when you use it.”
“Of course! Red leather, I think.” She got off the couch and walked around it. Unsurprisingly, it was top of the line and, for a mobility scooter, as sleek as it could be, looking almost like a motorcycle from the front. Which Josh would know would help with the indignity aspect. A surge of love for her husband brought tears to her eyes—and these tears, she would allow. She kissed Josh’s neck, then hugged him. “I love it. I’m calling it Godzilla. Every bike needs a name. Come on, let’s break it in.”
She climbed on it, hit the forward button, then laughed as it lurched. Pebbles leaped and barked, and Lauren turned in a tight circle. “Whee! This is fun, honey! Come on, you try it.”
He did. He went down the hall, tried to do a K-turn, got stuck, and the two of them laughed till it hurt.
From then on, it was a little easier to take walks and be outside. The reality of needing a scooter was outweighed by the ease of getting around. Sarah came over one night and bedazzled the back of the seat with hearts and gave her an air horn to scare the bejesus out of inconsiderate pedestrians.
Lauren and Josh combed through Providence for places with good paths—Blackstone Boulevard’s gravel paths, the Botanical Center at Roger Williams Park, India Point Park, or Providence College’s pretty campus. Being outside made Lauren feel less like an invalid, even if she was sucking oxygen and riding a scooter. She’d always loved the cold air (which was also easier to breathe). Godzilla let her spend more time outside, so it was a win. She loved going as fast as possible, then circling back to herd Josh or Jen and the kids, telling them to hurry up. Sebastian loved riding on her lap, and really, why had Lauren ever thought a scooter was an admission of defeat? Godzilla let her be even cooler in the eyes of her nephew, and that was everything.
One evening, with Lauren bundled in a pink wool coat, scarf, hat and mittens, they walked/rolled down Blackstone Boulevard, admiring the gorgeous houses and Christmas decorations. A familiar figure came running at them, blond ponytail swinging. “Sarah!” Lauren cried. “Hey, you!”
“Hey!” Sarah stopped. “How’s it going?”
“Great! You look very fit!” Sarah looked like Catwoman, dressed in tight all-black running clothes.
Sarah smiled. “How’s Godzilla?”
“Awesome. Want a turn?”
“Yes!”
Lauren climbed off and took her portable oxygen out of Godzilla’s basket. “Go for it. I’d love to walk for a little while.”
“See you later, losers!” Sarah said, and she waved and went full speed ahead. “This is awesome!” she yelled over her shoulder.
“Now we can walk like normal people,” Lauren said, taking Josh’s hand.
“Normal people are overrated,” he said. “But this is great.”
It had been a while since they’d held hands and meandered for no reason. The loveliness of the fall evening settled around them, the smell of wood smoke and crisp leaves, a hint of cold in the air.
“I love this house,” Josh said, stopping in front of a sprawling Victorian. The lights were on inside, and the yard was tastefully decorated for the holidays, strands of white fairy lights meticulously twined around a few trees. It looked like a Christmas card, so cozy and posh and welcoming. Lauren suspected her husband had stopped to give her a rest, and she was grateful. Slow and easy, slow and easy, fill those lungs as much as you can.
“What kind of house should we get?” she asked.
“Something like this would be nice.”
“In the city, though?”
“Wherever you want, honey.”
The thought that she wouldn’t live long enough to pick out a house flitted through her mind, as fast as a hummingbird, here and gone. “I do like this one,” she said. “Or the brick one up here. Very impressive, as my genius husband deserves.”
“That’s big, all right. We could have ten kids in that house.”
“Ten, huh? Spoken like a man. We might have to adopt a few.”