"I really could. Thank you." I reply apologetically. I just wish I could help her, I know it's difficult for her, or must be to move me about like a r...g doll, dead weight in her hands, yet somehow she seems to manage without much difficulty. I can't picture her as some beefy Amazon. That soft sensual sounding voice just wouldn't match. Not exactly sure what she'd look like, certainly no Barbie, a Pamela Anderson perhaps, or even a Dolly Parton, though a Catherine Zeta-Jones look-a-like would be. Her medical treatments had ended. Her hair regrew to reach her narrow shoulders. Instead of cookies she brought advice. “You’re a man now, Andrew. Your mother and father have raised a fine son. I’m proud of you. They’re proud of you.” She held out her hand. I heard metal tinkle. “It’s not new, but it’s not a junker. I wanted to give you one you have to work for. It’ll need a lot of care and money, until you can afford to buy your own. If I hear that you’ve weaseled your parents into fixing it,. More

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