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that was possible.  She asked, "Do you have examples of what you've done in the past?"
    "Naw.  No one keeps notes on this stuff.  But if you talk to people, they'll tell you."
    "I can help her out with that," Clay offered.
    "Great!  So I'll put you two on the games committee."
    "I didn't mean--"
    Ron cut Clay off.  "And I'll take care of the fireworks.  Sounds like a whopper of a day to me.  Okay, everybody, that's it.  There's drinks and chips on the back porch."
    Paige looked at Clay; Clay looked at Paige.  They both laughed.  Clay said, "It looks like we have a job to do.  I'm tied up Thursday.  Will you be free Sunday afternoon?"
    "Around one."
    "Do you want to ride with me to Lineboro?  We can discuss games.  Maybe when we get back we can take that canoe ride."
    "If it's not too late."
    "If it's not too late.  I know you doctors need your beauty sleep."
    She blushed and pushed her hair behind her ear.
    He frowned.  She acted as if she wasn't used to receiving compliments.  "How old are you, Paige?"
    Her blue eyes widened.  "Twenty-nine.  Why?"
    "Just curious."
    He stood.  She rose, too. "Don't you know a woman's age is a secret?"
    As she came around the coffee table, he could smell perfume and delicate woman.
    "Before we go out with the others," she said, changing the subject, "I wanted to tell you I found a counselor for Ben."
    Clay breathed an inaudible sigh of relief.  "That's great.  I know that's the right way to go."
    "I hope so."
    She seemed unsure, as if he would still be better suited to talking to the teenager than a professional.  Clay couldn't understand why.  He was relieved she'd found help for the boy.  He was also relieved there was a group of people socializing on the back porch.  As much as he'd like to be alone with Paige, he knew a group atmosphere would be safer.
    Now, Sunday...
    ****
    Friday afternoon, Paige settled in the chair behind her desk and read Ben Hockensmith's chart, though she didn't need to.  She had it memorized.  He'd seen his counselor yesterday.  Paige had talked to her this morning and wasn't encouraged by what she'd heard.  "Physically, you're doing superbly, Ben.  Your grip strength in your left hand is normal."
    Ben's brown eyes were defiant.  "But my leg isn't.  And it's never going to be, is it, Dr. Conrad?"
    The car had hit Ben on the left, broken his left arm, but had done much more damage to the left leg.  The surgeon had inserted a pin.  "I can't tell you what will happen.  A large part depends on you.  Look how far you've come.  By the end of the summer, you probably won't need the cane."
    "But I'll never play pro football now; I'll never get that athletic scholarship."
    "There are loans, grants--"
    Ben's chin jutted out as he banged his fist on the chair arm while his other tightened on his cane.  "Don't you get it, Dr. Conrad?  I don't want to do anything but play football."
    "Ben..."
    He threw his cane on the floor in disgust.  "And I don't want to use a damn cane one more day.  Everyone stares at me!"
    "Everyone?"
    With a sullen glance, he muttered, "You know what I mean.  They look at me like I'm a...cripple."  He lowered his head, his chin practically touching his chest.  "Maybe I am."
    Paige hated the hopelessness in the teenager's tone.  She grasped at anything to say to make him feel better.  "Franklin Delano Roosevelt was President of the United States and he was in a wheelchair."
    Ben looked at her as if she'd suddenly grown three noses.  "I don't want to be President of the United States.  I want to play football."
    Ben's major problem was he didn't want to change his view of his future, let alone his life.  "Your parents tell me you get good grades.  Doesn't anything else interest you?"
    Ben's eyes were no longer defiant but dull and lifeless.  "I started playing football with friends when I was eight years old.  In junior high, I could run faster than anybody else on the team.  I've practiced and played in