Page 70 of Callow

Then, sure enough, there was Daph.

She was standing a few feet away with a bowl of cereal in her hand, wearing an oversized New York sweatshirt and a pair of bright pink fluffy pajama pants with little cat faces all over them.

“Does that hurt?” she asked, looking at where my prosthetic was leaning against the coffee table.

“Not usually,” I said, sitting up. “Only if I do too much for too long.

“Do you get that phantom leg thing?” she asked as I reached toward the floor where I had my liner and ‘sock’ waiting to slip onto my remaining leg.

Daphne watched, interested in the process.

“I used to,” I admitted. “Not so much anymore,” I added as I reached for the prosthetic and slipped it on, making sure the air slipped out, then getting to my feet.

“Were you blown up?” she asked.

“Daphne!” Sabrina hissed as she came out of her room, still wrapping a robe around herself to fight off the morning chill. “You can’t ask that.”

“Yeah, she can,” I said. “I wasn’t, personally, blown up. There was a bomb that went off. The building I was in came down. My leg was crushed for too long. They had no choice but to amputate.”

“Did it hurt?”

“Well, I was asleep when they cut it off,” I said, getting a laugh out of Daph.

“I meant the crushing.”

“Yeah, it hurt like hell. But then shock set in, and I didn’t feel much of anything.”

“How long were you pinned?”

“Seven and a half hours.”

“Jesus,” Sabrina said, her hand going to her heart.

“Was no one looking for you?” Daph asked.

“It was… war, kid,” I said, shrugging. “A very remote mission. It took a long time for anyone to make their way out to us to begin recovery efforts.”

“Did you lose people?” Daph wondered.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Thanks, kid. What are you eating?”

“Cocoa Puffs,” she said.

“That’s not breakfast,” I said, moving into the kitchen. “I’m gonna make something,” I told them.

“He cooks?” Daph asked Sabrina. “You cook?” she asked, following me into the kitchen to sit at the counter, eating her cereal as she watched me.

“Some basic shit. Anyone can make eggs and…” I said, looking through their fridge and freezer. “Sausage.”

“There’s English muffins too,” Daph said. “Breakfast sandwiches.”

“Sounds like a plan. Do you like cheese on yours?”

“And ketchup,” she said, taking her bowl to the sink. “I’m getting the shower first.”