The story begins with him pushing me into the restaurant. People turn to look at us, because he’s so cute and I’m crippled, and crippled people aren’t typically part of the in-crowd in fancy restaurants. When we order, the waitress doesn’t understand me. He translates. The steaming plates of food arrive. He cuts up my meat and feeds me the first bite. He wipes my chin with the cloth napkin.

“It’s nice to see you and your sister out, having a nice time,” the old lady at the next table says.

His eyes spark with amusement. “Some people!” he whispers. Our true relationship is our special secret.

He makes witty conversation. I try not to snort my food. When he gives me the ring, I almost have a spaz attack. He pulls my fingers straight to get the ring on. We wrap our fingers together, and I squeeze tight. It’s like when we dance the shag. His hand is warm and strong. So is mine. The old lady is looking at us again. Surprised.

The champagne comes. He puts a straw in my glass, but the glass is too shallow and the straw falls out. He anchors it with a tea spoon. We drink to a long and happy life together.

The fantasy doesn’t work. Obviously, this handsome guy can have his pick of the girls at Chapel Hill or Wrightsville Beach. He can have any of the camp counselors, with their perfect bodies and miraculous fingers and toes. What’s he doing with a camper? Is he kinky?

No, I tell myself, he loves me for myself. He must.

We’re on our honeymoon. He has to help me on the toilet, but his wonderful sense of humor makes everything fine.

We get in bed. He wraps his arms around me.

Lying flat on my army cot, I can almost feel his warmth, the pressure of his body against mine. Under my mattress the springs groan. My legs are jerking; an early sign of a spaz attack. I’m afraid I might wake the campers sleeping around me—or even Carole and Sue in their cubicle. I need to divert my mind, but I can’t. Somehow I manage to hold my body still, but my mind keeps going.

He is crawling over me. I want him with all my heart and soul, but my body tries to fight him off. I feel him recoil, but then he starts again, like someone determined to get a job done. He pushes himself between my legs. I kick and knock his wind out. Again. Just like in the canoe. I’m almost sick.

“I don’t want to force you,” he says. He does love me.