“I need to tell you something. It’s about something I’ve done. Something I’ve never spoken about before. Not with anyone, not ever.”

Even though their carriage was tiny and the gap between them was only a few inches, Amy acted on impulse and wriggled closer, laying her hand on his knee.

“Go on,” she said. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

24

24

On the way here,” Ryan started, “back in the truck, when we were talking about my father’s stroke, do you remember when I spoke about his stay in the hospital? His rehabilitation?”

“Yes,” Amy said, “but you didn’t say much. All I remember you saying was that it was mostly a blur but that he managed to pull through?”

“That’s right. That’s what I said. That’s what I always say whenever someone asks me about it, because until now I’ve never been able to say what really happened.”

Amy held his gaze. “Okay, what did really happen?”

Ryan blinked hard and ran both hands down the length of his face. Exhaling heavily into his palms, he closed his eyes, gathered his thoughts, and began.

“After the stroke, my father was in a bad way. The damage to his brain left him needing around-the-clock medical care. Rehabilitation was his only chance at a future, but the six weeks he spent in that hospital were a complete disaster. He didn’t respond to any of the treatments. He had the best physical therapists, the best equipment, yet by the end of the program he was no better than he was when he started. The toll of the experience left him severely depressed.”

As he spoke, Ryan’s eyes drifted west across the dark horizon. “On the inside, mentally, I knew what agony he must have been in. Here was a physical man who had loved the outdoors and spent every day riding horses—and now he was suddenly confined to a hospital, stuck in a small room, incapable of standing up by himself or even tying his own shoelaces or reciting the alphabet. His whole world had been turned upside down.”

“That must have been awful, having to watch him go through that.”