Kramer leaned the crutches against the bedside table that sat between the twin beds in Nate’s room. Lucas was propped up in the bed closest to the door, and Mrs. Kramer gently slid another pillow under Lucas’s swollen left knee.“How’s that feel?” She smiled at him expectantly.“Fine.” Truthfully, it felt hideously painful, but no amount of pillows would change that.Nate stood by the window, watching his parents fuss over Lucas. Lucas felt another stab of guilt that he was invading Nate’s space. The room was virtually unchanged from when he’d first stayed there almost a year ago. The childish sailboat wallpaper remained, and clothing piled up around the room, since Nate had transformed his closet into a darkroom.“Now I’m going to make you some soup.” Mrs. Kramer glanced at her watch. “It’s almost dinnertime anyway. Do you want anything right now? Are you hungry?“No, I’m fine. Thank you.”“Okay, Nate can watch you.” She turned to her son. “Now remember he has a little concussion --”“Mom, I remember.
