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her hands and then the other. They were limp and clammy, like octopus tendrils. “Heave ho, Jen.” Without the lower parts of her legs, she had to be a little more careful in finding her balance. But I knew, from long practice, that she was perfectly capable.
    She moaned again, except I could tell it was just for show. “I hate you,” she muttered.
    The color was already coming back into her cheeks.
    “You want a toasted bagel dripping with butter?”
    “Yeah.” Jenny gave me a disgusted look.
    The pristine kitchen had a wall cutout so that I could see straight through the dining room, living room, and to the view of sky beyond. Up close to the window, looking down, you could see the harbor.
    Jen yelled, “I don’t want to go on this date!”
    I yelled back. “Could’ve fooled me!”
    “What am I going to do?”
    I cut the bagels and popped two halves into the toaster. As I turned to open the ’fridge, searching for orange juice, I shouted, “You’re going on the date, falling in love with him, and getting married so that I can finally be your bridesmaid instead of it always being the other way around.”
    Total silence greeted what I’d thought was quite the inspired speech. I peeked through the kitchen’s cutout. Her face was averted and I couldn’t see her reaction. “I’m just joshing,” I said.
    Still no answer.
    Two minutes later, I brought out the plate of buttered bagels. She finally turned to face me, obviously embarrassed by the tears spilling down her cheeks.
    I rushed to sit next to her, plunking the plate down on the coffee table. “I’m really sorry,” I said.
    “That’s not why I’m crying.”
    I put my arm around her thin shoulders. We’ve never been much for a lot of touching. Maybe it had to do with her disability, but I’d been wary of coming too close, though, at the same time, there had been countless occasions when I’d had to physically help her. Still, that was different from expressing solicitude. Jenny hated the idea that people—including me—were sorry for her.
    “I’m going to ask you a funny question,” Jen said.
    “Okay.”
    “If you met a really good-looking guy, let’s say he was sitting at a table, and after you noticed him, only then did you see he was in a wheelchair—”
    I interrupted, “I can guess where this is going, and it did happen to me once.”
    “You never told me.” She swiped at the tears drying on her face.
    “I was in Widener library, doing some research for one of my novels, and there was this totally handsome guy at one of the reading tables. I thought later maybe he was a vet because he was dressed like a hippie and had a ponytail.”
    I picked up the plate and offered Jen a bagel. She grabbed a half and immediately took a huge bite. I took the second half and nibbled. She waved at me, obviously saying, Keep going with the story.
    “So he must have become aware of my noticing him.”
    “Yeah?”
    “And he followed me.”
    She stared at me. I knew what she wanted. She wanted me to have hooked up with this guy in a wheelchair, and somehow that fact would magically make her date tonight go well. Trouble was, I had to tell her the truth.
    “I kind of freaked out,” I said. “It wasn’t because he was in a wheelchair, but more his extreme interest. I felt like he was stalking me.”
    I glanced at Jen, who was still aggressively chomping on the last of the bagel. “You’ve had tons of guys attracted to you, Jen. The cripple thing really isn’t an issue, and you know it.”
    “I’d never be attracted to someone in a wheelchair,” she said abruptly.
    “Under the circumstances, I think that makes sense, but it doesn’t mean you can assume your feelings are the only possible feelings out there.”
    “How can I figure a man is truly attracted to me if I don’t see myself as attractive?”
    “You know you’re beautiful.”
    She nodded. “I do … I know I’m beautiful.” Jen’s face was somber as she agreed with me.
    So