“Hello, my sweet boy,” I said, pulling a vinyl armchair up close to the side of his bed.

I sat down and leaned over to kiss his cheek, catching the clean, sharp smell of surgical soap.

“How does your arm feel?”

“It feels heavy,” he said, looking down at the white fiberglass.

“The doctor said I have to keep it still for a long time.”

“He’s right,” I said.

“We have to let the bone grow back strong.”

Toby shifted on his pillows and looked at the empty bedside table where his plastic tray usually sat during meals.