Bridge to a Distant Star - Carolyn Williford [75]
When Fran shot Charles an astonished, pleading look, Charles interjected, “I was just kidding.” He lifted his hands from the steering wheel, feigning innocence, staring into the rearview mirror to get Charlie’s attention. “You knew I was teasing, didn’t you, Charlie? Just your dad’s way of letting you know I’m on your team. Always on your team, right son?”
“Uh-huh.”
“And hey, this part I wasn’t teasing about. I know you’ll make me proud, Charlie. Because you’re going to do your best, aren’t you?”
“Yeah. Sure, Dad.”
But the lilt of excitement in Charlie’s voice had diminished. Replaced with an edge that pressed against Fran’s heart and caused her to search her son for signs of stress. She took in the line of worry creasing between his brows. The slumped shoulders—a posture Charlie had never exhibited before his surgery. The tension revealed in his clenched fists. She bit her lip to keep from lashing out at Charles right then, but resolved: This has got to stop. For Charlie’s sake, Charles and I will have this out. She leaned back into her seat. And begged God to help Charlie today, no matter what challenges he faced. Whether it be physical pain … or his father’s unrelenting pressure.
Once they’d stepped into the office, the lead prosthetist welcomed them, reaching out to shake Charlie’s hand first. “I wasn’t here the last time you came in. Sorry to have missed you,” he said with a strong British accent. “Name’s George Beckham.” To Charlie’s immediate spark of interest, he responded, “No, sorry to say that I’m no relation to that Beckham. The famous David. You a fan of his, Charlie?”
“Oh, yeah. He’s the best.”
“Maybe someday Beckham himself will come watch the famous Charlie Thomason play—on the world’s first bionic leg.”
Fran cringed inwardly; out of the corner of her eye she noted Charles’s smug look.
“Cool.”
From the table behind him, George produced the prosthetic leg, complete with special ankle and computerized knee. Presented it to Charlie as though he were a doctor placing a newborn into its mother’s arms for the first time. “Here it is, Charlie. State-of-the-art. Made especially for you.
“Now, understand our first priority is getting the inner workings to fit and work perfectly. That’s just a temporary covering on the outside. The cosmesis component will come later. Did they teach you that word from your last visit here—cosmesis?”
Charlie nodded. “It’s like the skin, right?”
“Exactly. We’ll do our best to make it look like your other leg. But that comes later. For now, let’s see how this gizmo’s gonna work. You up to that?”
Before Charlie could answer, Charles interjected, “Of course he is. Charlie’s never been one to back off a challenge.”
It was all Fran could do to bite back a reprimand, but she realized it wasn’t necessary; Charlie’s complete attention was on the marvel in his arms. Like others had done during their last visit, George explained how the leg would allow Charlie to walk nearly effortlessly and with stability, due to the computer sensors taking measurements and making adjustments fifty times per second.
“Wow. Fifty times a second?” Charlie asked, to George’s enthusiastic nod.
“The knee’s got a hydraulic piston. Which means you can do complicated movements like stepping off a curb. Go up and down stairs. Climb in and out of a car.
“See this battery? That provides your power. You’ll have to charge it every single day, so when you get ready for bed, just pop the battery in its charger for the night.” Demonstrating the charger and where the battery fit, he said, “Easy as that.” George paused a moment, assessing Charlie’s mental and emotional readiness. Deciding in the affirmative, he asked, “I’ll have you practice doing that later. For now … think you’re ready to give this high-tech leg a go?”
Charlie’s eyes flicked to his dad, communicating a desperate need for approval. A belief that he, Charlie, could do this.
But instead, Charles—compelled by a voice deep within his soul—kept his face blank, deciding at this critical moment to communicate