I turned toward him, thinking I must have misunderstood. On the television, hundreds of runners were pushing through the final stretch of a five-mile charity event while the crowd cheered loudly around them. The idea of running in something like that had never crossed my mind before, and certainly not with a wheelchair involved.
“You mean… us?” I asked carefully.
Michael nodded.
His fingers moved across the keyboard again.
“If you push me.”
I stared at the screen for a moment, trying to process what he was asking. I wasn’t a runner. I didn’t train, I didn’t compete, and the last time I had run more than a mile was probably back in high school gym class. Yet Michael kept looking at me with quiet anticipation, the kind of hope that children carry when they believe their parents can make impossible things happen.
“That race is five miles,” I said slowly.
