“We’re both going to pretend you still have your whole leg. I’m going to touch and kiss the right leg first. Pay attention to how it feels. And then I’ll going to touch and kiss the left one. You’re going to imagine it feels exactly the same. And your toes and your foot will begin to relax.”

“This is not an accepted therapy.”

“Of course not. I’m making it up. But we might hit the jackpot.”

I stroked his intact leg, slowly working my way down. Then I followed the path with my lips. My fingertips and my lips remembered the feel of his skin, the heat, the resilience.

“If you think that’s relaxing, you have another think coming,” he said.

I stopped kissing and pressed a little harder with my fingertips, massaging gently as I went. “Work in progress.”

I fell silent, slowly moving toward his knee, taking my time. Once I got there, I started to hum softly, something tuneless and, I hoped, soothing. I kissed his knee, and then below, circling his leg with my fingers and thumbs, brushing gently but not too gently. By the time I got to his foot, I thought he might be relaxing a little. He seemed more pliant, more willing to let me slip a hand under his heel and gently massage his toes.

Minutes had passed. I’d taken my time, and now I started with the other leg. Instantly he tensed. I hummed louder, and slowly massaged above the knee. His thigh was as hard as concrete, and I worked slowly, digging in with my fingertips. Even though I couldn’t tell if he was relaxing, I pretended he was and told him so.

“You’re letting go. That’s great. You can feel your leg relaxing all the way down to your toes.” I moved my hands lower, and then bent and brushed kisses along his knee, and lower until I was kissing the stump. He didn’t stop me, and that was powerful incentive. No matter what else happened, we had crossed that line and we’d never have to look back.

“You can feel my hands moving lower,” I said softly. “My fingertips are stroking your calf and it’s so relaxing. I can feel every fiber relaxing. Your muscles are letting go, the skin is softening, like jelly.” I imitated the therapist who had worked with me on my nightmares.

Finally I graduated to his toes. “Your toes are tense, nearly cramped, but as I massage them, they begin to relax. Before, the big toe was as rigid as a fence post, but now, it’s beginning to bend. In fact you can bend it a little yourself, and then more. And now? Now you can easily bend it without my help. Slowly, ever so slowly, all your toes are beginning to straighten and align, and the tension is easing. The pain you feel is easing, too.”

Finally I’d run out of things to say and do. I sighed, slid the imaginary foot—which almost felt real to me—back to the bed, and wiggled up until I was lying beside him.