Living Out Loud (Austen, #3)(31)

“I dunno. I think Mama was worried about my heart, and I have a suspicion she banned Daddy from teaching me.”

I frowned.

“If it makes you feel better, he didn’t teach my sisters either. Out of solidarity, I guess.”

“Are you sure it’s okay for your heart?” I asked for maybe the fifteenth time over the last few days.

“Yes, I’m sure. And I’m sure all the walking will be fine, as long as you don’t mind me needing to stop to rest.”

“I don’t mind.”

“You say that now,” she said lightly, “but let me know how you feel after we’ve hit every bench in Central Park.”

“Well, lucky for me, I’ve got great company. You scared? About the bike?”

“A little,” she admitted.

“The good news is, once you learn, you’re apparently set for life.”

And with a laugh, she stood, hands in her pockets and sun on her face, blonde hair caught in the wind and her cheeks alight with untarnished joy.

The moment made an impression on me that wasn’t likely to be forgotten.

We chatted as we walked down Fifth to the bike rental station and unlocked one of the blue bicycles. And a little while and one park bench later, we were walking through the park in search of a grassy stretch off the beaten path.

We found what we had been looking for—a space lined with trees, somewhat shielded from the rolling, open knoll by boulders jutting up out of the grass.

“This looks good,” I said, lowering the kickstand before taking off my backpack.

She pulled off her bag, looking nervously at the bike as she took a seat in the grass. A thin sheen of sweat glistened on her cheeks and forehead, her face a little pale.

“You sure you’re okay?” I asked, eyeing her.

She smiled—her favorite way to answer. “It looks worse than it is. Promise.”

I frowned. “Really, maybe the bike is too much. Maybe we can do this after your surgery.”

“Greg, I’m fine. Come sit by me for a minute.”

I kept my arguments to myself and sat next to her.

“The cool air feels so nice,” she said, gathering up her hair and pulling it over one shoulder, exposing her neck.

“When they fix your heart, will you still feel like this?”

“No. I should be able to do anything physical I want within a few weeks of the surgery.”

My brows drew together. “Really? After open-heart surgery?”

“Really. It’s not like a heart transplant or anything. The hardest part of my recovery will be the incision and the fusing of my sternum back together.”

A shudder tickled its way down my spine at the thought of a bone saw opening her rib cage. “What all will they do to your heart?”

“Close the hole, repair my valve. I’ve had open-heart surgery before, but I was too little to remember anything about it. The scar is the only proof that it happened. Well, that and my mother’s stories. But this shouldn’t be too hard on the muscle itself, just some sutures when it’s all said and done. My body will work a lot more efficiently once the surgery is complete—like, immediately. I just have to get through the whole split-ribs thing,” she said with a little smirk. “All right, I feel better. Are you ready?”

She looked better. Her cheeks and lips were tinged with color, and the waxy quality her skin had taken on was gone.

“Ready when you are.”

We got to our feet, and I stepped to the bike to lower the seat. Once it was down, I waved her over.

“Come here and see if this works.”

She climbed on cautiously, her feet on the ground and her hands gripping the handlebars. The seat was probably too low, but I figured it’d be better for her center of gravity—plus she could stop herself easier if she tipped.

“Okay,” I started, one hand on the back seat and my other on the handlebar next to her hand, “I’m gonna hang on and hold you steady while you pedal.”

She shot me a worried glance. “And if I fall?”

“You get up and try again.”

She laughed, not looking convinced.

“Don’t worry; you’re not going to hurt yourself on the grass, but I’m not going to let you fall. I’ve got you, okay?”

With a deep breath, she nodded once. “Okay.”

“All right. Put your feet on the pedals.” My grip tightened when the balance was all on me. “Ready?”

“Ready,” she echoed with determination.

“Now, pedal.”

She did, moving us both forward, the bike only wobbling a little bit under her.

“Good, let’s go to that tree. Just keep it slow like this.”

Her tongue poked out of her lips, her hands white-knuckled on the handlebars until she got to the tree. And when she smiled, it was with more confidence.

“I did it!”

I laughed. “You did. Come on, let’s go back. Ready?”

She nodded, and we took off again. This time, she wobbled a little less, speeding up until I had to trot next to her to keep up.

When we stopped at our backpacks, she cheered. “Again!”

“All right,” I said on a chuckle. “I’m just gonna hang on to the back this time. And…go.”