time. She had read somewhere that it took longer for boys’ brains to mature than girls’ brains, which explained a lot. Still, knowing why he acted that way didn’t mean it was any easier to tolerate him.
“But, Frank,” Mama said. “What about Delia’s leg? How long can she really walk? It’s hundreds of miles.”
“Don’t talk about me like I’m not in the room, Mama,” Red said. “Anyway, I can make the walk better than you can, probably. I’ve been training.”
“But perhaps we should take the car part of the way—don’t interrupt me, Delia—so that you don’t have to go as far on your leg. Yes, I know you’ve been training and walking around with that crazy backpack for weeks, but you just don’t know what kind of effect all that exertion will have on you.”
“It’s my leg,” Red said. “It’s attached to my body and I know better than you what I’m capable of.”
“Don’t be rude to your mother,” Dad said.
Red wasn’t trying to be rude, but this was the worst part of being an amputee. She could deal with the fatigue and the swelling and the stares and the unbelievably rude questions from strangers. What she couldn’t deal with was people who were not amputees acting like they knew what was best for her, and yes, that included her family.
Even though she’d lost part of her leg years and years ago, her mother would still sometimes look at the prosthetic leg with big welling eyes and wipe away a tear.
Red didn’t cry over her lost leg. What was the point? But Mama did, like crying might magically make her daughter whole.
The second worst thing was when people said dumb shit like, “You’re so brave.” Red didn’t think getting hit by an idiot who was looking at his cell phone instead of the road while he was driving made her more brave than anyone else.
Besides, what else was she supposed to do? Refuse her fake leg?
She’d chosen the leg because she thought (even at the age of eight) it gave her the most mobility, and the lowest possibility of sympathetic glances (when she wore pants the prosthesis was covered, and only her limp gave her away). Sympathy made her back teeth grind.
“I’m not trying to be rude to Mama. I am telling you that I am just as capable as you are,” Red said. “And after all these years you should know that.”
“I am not saying that you’re not capable, just that you might get tired. I don’t think you should dismiss my concerns just because they don’t fit your view of yourself,” Mama said, her eyes narrowed.
“Stop treating me like half a person,” Red said. “I am missing my leg below the knee. My brain is still functioning. I know what I can do and what I can’t.”
“I said, don’t talk to your mother that way,” Dad said, but it was like he wasn’t in the room because Red and Mama were in the Death Stare Zone and nothing and nobody came between them in that place.
“Delia, you persist in thinking you are normal—” Mama began.
“I am normal,” Red said.
“I don’t think reading that much science fiction makes you normal,” Adam said.
“Stay out of it, Adam,” Red said.
“Yes, Adam, stay out of it,” Mama said. “Delia knows everything already, so why should adults who care about her try to tell her anything?”
“I’m an adult, too.”
“Then act like one. What if your stump gets blisters from all that walking? What if you get an infection? I’m not talking about this terrible disease,” she said, gesturing toward the window and the nebulous millions. “I’m talking about a regular bacterial infection. The kind that can get in your body through an open wound and kill you. There won’t be any ambulances or emergency rooms out there.”
“You can get an infection, too, you know,” Red said. “You could trip over a rock and cut your hand open and get just as infected as your poor crippled daughter.”
Mama sucked in her breath between her teeth, because Red had used the C-word—the word