I turned on him.
“Later?”
“Yes.”
The water reached the bottom of his wheelchair.
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Noah took a breath.
Then released a buckle across his chest.
“Elena, you are going to hate me for approximately the next decade.”
“What are you talking about?”
He put both hands on the armrests.
Then stood.
For several seconds, the river disappeared.
Adrian disappeared.
Vanessa disappeared.
My brother, who had spent fifteen years in a wheelchair, was standing behind me.
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Not shaking.
Not struggling.
Standing.
“Noah.”
“Later.”
“You can walk?”
“Yes.”
I screamed it.
“You can WALK?”
“Elena!”
“How long?”
“Long enough that this is going to become a very unpleasant family conversation.”
He reached into a waterproof pouch attached beneath the chair and pulled out a compact rescue cutter.
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