“But if I work on it! Physical therapy. Maybe I can strengthen it!”

He took her hand in his. “Winnie, the prognosis is not good. There are still a lot of mysteries about ALS, but there’s one thing we know—it’s not reversible. You can no longer depend on this leg. And soon, I’m afraid, it will be both legs. I think we’re going to have to make a few adjustments.”

“Like what? What more can we do?”

“For starters, you need to buy or rent the appropriate bed, one you can move up and down so you can be transferred to the wheelchair without a major accident. Grace wisely adjusted your bathroom—higher toilet, assistance bars, the right kind of chair to use in the walk-in shower...”

“I’m heading toward the end, then?”

“Winnie, you’ve experienced very slow progression so far. You’ve been dealing with this for years when many ALS patients have very little time. I’m counting on the progression remaining slow, but at this point all we can do is adjust to the symptoms and hope for the best.”

“What about my physical therapist?”

“If it brings you comfort, it can’t hurt anything. But I told you when you hired him—there is no rejuvenation of muscle. You’d get as much comfort from a good masseuse. Maybe more.”

She lowered the ice from her lip. Her eyes watered slightly. “I was counting on seeing my granddaughter take her first steps.

“Is that you giving up?” Scott asked. “Your ALS hasn’t followed the average progression so far. There’s absolutely no way to predict it. And there’s no medical evidence to support this but I believe your determination and stubbornness has bought you a good deal of time. It’s either that or just plain luck.”

“Did too much exertion bring this on?” Grace asked. “Was it the trip to the triathlon?”

“I’m sure that trip caused more than the usual fatigue, but it had nothing to do with her muscles. I’m afraid that’s out of our hands.”

“I’m glad I went on that trip!” she barked. “It was rejuvenating to my spirit if not my muscles! If I can’t be a participant, at least I can be a damn good spectator! Haven’t I proven that?”

“You have, Mother,” Grace said.

“Can’t I try to walk anymore?” she asked.

“Not a chance,” Scott said. “We should keep weight off that injured ankle until we see what’s up with that. I suspect a minor sprain. And if you decide to try walking, you need a strong person on each side. Let’s not break a bone or get a concussion.”

Charlie had his phone out and was texting.

“Who are you talking to?” Lin Su quietly demanded.

“I’ll skip my workout today,” he said. “I’ll just tell Blake I’m not coming over.”

“No,” Winnie said. “You go! It’s a commitment. In fact, all of you go! I want a few minutes alone.”

“I’ll stay, of course,” Lin Su said.

“Fine, but stay in another room! I need a few minutes to get my head wrapped around this. I’m not happy about this! I’m not ready for this!”

“Call me for any reason,” Scott said, getting ready to leave. “Call even if you only want to talk about it for a while.”

“I’ll go,” Charlie said. “But I won’t work out as long...”

Grace kissed her forehead. “I’ll check on the shop, close early and be back soon.”

“I’ll go with. We’ll bring dinner home,” Troy said.

Lin Su straightened the throw that covered Winnie and drifted silently out of the room.

Mikhail was the last to remain. He looked at her without pity and said, “Ten minutes, then I am back.”

* * *

Winnie wept for a while, not making a sound until she blew her nose. She would not be pitied! She was too young to die but with some of the risks she’d taken in her life, she should be dead a hundred times. Some of the jumps she’d attempted back in the day were suicidal. When she was competing on the ice, there had not been so many regulations and rules. And of course they’d flown into unfriendly countries from time to time, because the competition was important. Hell, they’d flown and driven through dangerous weather; she’d never missed a competition. She even skated with bronchitis once and landed in the hospital. Then, with a champion daughter in tow, though she’d taken more precautions than with just herself, there had been risks. She’d been in two car accidents and one of her privately rented jets had gone off the runway in a snowstorm.

But she was too young to die. And too proud to die this way. Weak and crippled.

Mikhail walked into the room carrying his newspaper. He might be one of the last people in the state to read an actual paper rather than getting all his news online or on TV. He moved the throw from his chair and sat without saying a word. He shook out his paper, put his reading specs on his nose and looked at the paper.

“I said I wanted to be alone for a while,” Winnie said.

“Makes no sense,” he returned, not looking at her.

“Go away. I’m having a little cry.”

“You do better with audience,” he said. “I won’t leave you.”

“Leave for an hour,” she said.

Seemingly exasperated, he put down the paper. He folded and put away his glasses and went to sit on the side of her bed. “I said, I will not leave you.”

“You keep saying you’re leaving soon,” she reminded him with a sniff. She blew her nose again.

“What can I say? I am terrible liar. I will stay.”

“Till the end?”

“I don’t know if I have that much time,” he said. “When is end?”

“That’s the problem, Mikhail. We don’t know.”

“Then I stay,” he said. He leaned forward and placed a kiss on her head. “I stay to remind you how lucky you are. To live in house built around you.”

“I’ll think about that when I’m done here.”

“Is possible you could have forced Grace to San Francisco to sit about and wait for you to die. Is possible. But you could not bring all these good people to San Francisco to watch you die. Every day is party here. The little nurse, the boy, the new son, the neighbors, the baby is almost here. We didn’t think to see baby! When I go, I hope there is someone.”

“If you stay here, I will leave them to you,” she said.

“Is generous offer,” he admitted. “I will think on it. But today, I will stay with you. You need me. I am the only sense you have some days.”

She laughed at him. “And some days you’re my only trip to the bathroom.”

“I am man of many skills.”

“It’s not going to get better, you know.”

He shrugged. “I won’t get better also,” he said. “I am old Russian. There is no cure.”

She laughed again. She blew her nose. “I wanted to just cry.”

“You are lousy at it,” he said. He lifted her hand and kissed it. “You are better as queen. Matriarch. Dominatrix.”

She roared with laughter. “Dominatrix?” she asked. “Have you been watching cable again?”