He brushes a strand of hair from her face, and kisses her cheek. I know he hadn’t wanted to bring up sad things, in the midst of their newfound joy. She smiles back at him, obviously understanding this fact as well.
Mom says nothing.
“Yeah, I was wondering what you guys wanted to do?” I ask.
“I think we should go to his gravesite as usual,” Jensen says.
“Definitely,” Ramsey agrees. “I’ve been kind of re-learning how to play the guitar, and I’d like to play something in his memory.”
“Wow!” I’m impressed. “That’s great. Since when?”
Ramsey just shrugs, with a look in his eyes that’s hard to read.
“And maybe we can take him to dinner afterwards,” he continues. “Trombino’s, maybe? Since he loved Italian?”
“Remember that time he took us there and convinced the waiter we were visiting from Italy?” I say.
“I do,” says Ramsey. “But I can’t believe you do. You were just a little kid.”
“He was even talking to him in fake Italian,” says Jensen, laughing. “And asking him in a horrible Italian accent how authentic the food was, whether it was like his mama’s cooking back in the Old Country.”
“Dad always was a hoot,” Jensen says. “I miss him so much.”
“Well, I need to piss,” Mom says, getting up from the table and walking away while the rest of us sit there speechless.
“Good ole’ mom. Running away at the sign of any serious conversation,” I say.
“Harlow,” Ramsey says sternly. “Be nice.”
“Why should I? It’s always more of the same old same old with her. She left us and Dad a long time ago, to run off with some loser. And she’s never really been committed to trying to fix anything since.”
Ramsey’s face turns beet red. He looks angry. I’ve never seen him like this. He’s usually the cool, calm, collected one among the three of us.
“Harlow, you make good points but I don’t want to talk about it right now,” he says. “I just can’t.”
He clenches and unclenches his fists several times.
Jensen, Riley and I exchange concerned glances.
“Okay. Sorry. I won’t say another word,” I say.
I feel bad but I don’t really know what I did to make him so mad.
“We’ll just have a nice time at lunch,” Jensen says, reaching out to touch Ramsey on his shoulder.
This gesture seems to calm him down. He nods.
“Sounds great.”
The waitress comes to take our order, but Mom still isn’t back. She refreshes our tortilla chips and salsa and waters, and says there’s no rush.
We sit in silence for a while.
“How’s your practice going, Riley?” I ask, finally thinking of something to say.
“Pretty good,” she says, with her infectious grin. “Working for myself and for clients I enjoy may not pay as well as I’m used to, but it sure beats working as a billable hour slave— I mean associate— for partners at a big firm.”
“Great,” I say, genuinely happy her career shift is working out for her.
When she met Jensen, she was a big shot at a nice law firm, but she gave that up to offer legal help to military service members like him.
It’s hard to stay upset when Riley’s around. Jensen may have wussed out and gotten himself a girlfriend, but at least he picked a good one.
Still. That’s not happening to me, ever.
After growing up with our mom and seeing how flaky and unstable people can be, and how a once-loving relationship can be destroyed once someone decides to throw it away, I don’t know how Jensen could ever commit to anyone. I’m determined to never be that stupid.
Mom finally comes back and says, “On my way to the bathroom, I passed a board that said their special today is the blue corn enchilada plate. I think I’ll try that.”
She sits down as if nothing is wrong, but she reeks of alcohol.
I want to ask her if reading the specials board is what took her so long. Or if she thinks we’re that stupid. It’s obvious she went to the bar and had a drink.
I look at Jensen and sigh, and he shrugs. For Ramsey’s sake, neither of us points out the obvious.
“I’m going to have the huevos with carne adovado,” I announce, playing my role in the Everything-is-Great game.
“Sounds good,” says Riley, as the waitress approaches us once again.
Time to have a big fake happy family meal, I think, as we order. And to get the hell out of here as soon as I can. That’s the one thing I’m always good at doing.
Chapter 12 – Harlow
At eight o’clock on Monday morning, I report to Dr. Davis’ office as instructed. He’s not here yet, and I’m annoyed. All weekend I’ve been waiting to talk to him and find out more about my status.
I head to my own “office” which is makeshift at best: a large, windowless supply closet that Dr. Davis set up with a desk and computer chair when I first started working for him. Neither he nor I have felt inspired to do anything else to improve it since then.
I look at the clock hanging rather haphazardly from the drab wall of my office and tap my foot impatiently. He’s late for our scheduled meeting.
While the rest of Dr. Davis’ offices are modern and elegant, my office is the only one lacking any kind of curb appeal. No one except Dr. Davis and I have to see it, though, because my job is to assist him and to talk to the patients who are scared of upcoming procedures, just as I once was.
He doesn’t pay me that well for the work, but it gives me something to do besides sit at home brooding over the fact that I can’t be back serving with the SEALs yet. Dr. Davis keeps telling me that my work will pay off tenfold once his patented technology is bought out and the stocks go public. At that point, he is going to give me a large share of the sale. He’s even mentioned the possibility of making me a partner in his business.
Finally, at quarter after eight, I hear him come through the front lobby. I give him a minute, thinking he will head back to my office, but he doesn’t. So, I walk back over to his.
“Harlow,” he says, as if he’s surprised to see me. “You make it home okay on Friday night?”
“Yes sir. I just…”
“Oh yes, you wanted to talk about your certification status.”
His eyes widen in recognition although it’s clear he had completely forgotten.
“Yes sir.”
“Have a seat.”
I sit down at the chair in front of his desk, trying to appear as patient as possible. He walks over to his locked filing cabinet and then retrieves my file, first having to search for a few seconds to find it. He had clearly forgotten about meeting with me, even though he was the one who had set it up.
“Now, I have some good news and some bad news.”
“Sure.”
My palms are sweaty and I can feel my own heartbeat racing. I don’t like the phrase “bad news.”
“The good news is that you are progressing remarkably well. As you know, you were at death’s door step and had significant physical injuries and brain trauma. But now you have come so far. I believe that you are ready to return to combat, but the Powers That Be don’t agree.”
“The Powers That Be?”
“Oh yes. You know, those in the military who look over your file and decide whether you’re fit to fight. They don’t think enough time has passed from your accident until now in order to be assured of your recovery, and they want to see and assess your continued improvement. So, that’s the bad news.”
“But you’ve worked with me this whole time, and everything is back on track,” I tell him. “What else could there possibly be to improve?”
“That’s what I told them,” he says, his hands up and his face showing a look of amazement. “But they don’t believe little old me. Probably because I’m not in the military.”
He holds his hands up and shrugs his shoulders, to double reinforce that it’s complete
ly out of his control.
“So, I’ve decided to refer you out for physical therapy, so that another person will be on board and will be able to give you tests and assessments to independently verify that you’re fit to fight,” he says. “The physical therapy program is through one of the military’s own clinics— right here on the Air Force base— so I’m thinking they’ll have to give that person’s opinion more merit than they’re giving mine.”
“Okay. So where do I go for this treatment? I’d like to get it done as quickly as possible, to show them that you’re right, that I’m good to go back.”
I sigh, feeling completely defeated. I was hoping I might be able to join the rest of the SEALs on their next deployment but apparently, I’m not going back anytime soon. I guess I have no choice but to jump through the hoops they’re setting up for me.
“Of course. One second and I’ll give you that information,” Dr. Davis says.
He types something into his computer and then writes down the name and address that comes up on Google.
“I’ve already set you up for an appointment there at 2 o’clock tomorrow,” he says. “They already know all about you because of the presentation last week, and they’re looking forward to meeting you.”
I think about saying, I wish I could say the feeling was mutual, but I decide against it.
“Now, let me fill you in on the patients we have coming in today,” Dr. Davis says, switching the subject of the conversation as if it was no big deal.
Except that to me, my world has ended, again. Without the SEALs, I’m nothing. Or worse— I’m stuck here being Dr. Davis’ pet project and trying to reassure other guys who are way worse off than I am that Dr. Davis can work miracles for them too.
It’s beginning to feel like I’ll never be back to my comfort zone. This set up with Dr. Davis might just be my new fate.
Chapter 13 – Whitney
It may be Tuesday, but to me the day is dragging as if it’s a Monday. I’m at work helping Max. He’s an airman who is learning to adjust to walking with a prosthetic leg. But his progress has been slow-going and I can’t stop thinking about that Harlow guy. Of course, I think about his banging body and handsome face, but mostly I’m lost in thoughts that are a bit more negative in nature.
I wish all my patients had access to the kind of treatment that Harlow is receiving. I’m glad that Dr. Davis will be working with more military members, but we’re so overloaded with those who need physical therapy services that I’m not sure how one doctor could possibly see all of them. And I can’t stop wondering why Dr. Davis chose Harlow instead of many others I have seen come and go.
Sure, he’s sexy and rugged and looks perfect as the actor in Dr. Davis’ demonstrations. But the same could be said for many of the veterans and current service members. Maybe it’s the fact that his story is so powerful— one minute he was rescuing people and the next minute Dr. Davis was rescuing him.
I’m still lost in thought, but trying to concentrate on Max’s balancing exercises, when Lance rushes into the training room.
“Girl, have I got some news for you.”
I look up at him and smile. He always cheers me up no matter my mood, and I’m reminded once against how lucky I am to have a boss like him.
“What is it?”
“Can’t say now, but come to my office when you’re done.”
“Sure,” I say, since I was planning to anyway, with the notes from Max’s session, to go over with and then give to Lance.
Maybe Lance will have some ideas for how to speed up Max’s recovery.
But once the session ends and I’m in Lance’s office, he doesn’t give me time to discuss Max.
“Guess what, guess what, guess what?”
“What? Geez, Lance, did you win the lottery or something?”
“You know I’d be in Ibiza right now if I did!” Lance responds. “This is work-related, which can never be as good as winning the lottery. But still. Do you remember that guy from the presentation last week? And that doctor you grilled?”
I try very hard to keep a straight face, knowing that Lance can read me very well. Of course I remember. But I try to remain nonchalant.
“More or less,” I say, shrugging.
“I knew you did, Girl. Stop playing coy with me.” He shakes his head at me, vigorously. “But anyway. Yes, this is the guy of which I speak. And, well, believe it or not…”
And then there’s a knock at the door, which is half-way open anyway. I turn around to see him. Harlow. The object of my thoughts— both good and bad— for the past few days.
He’s standing in my workplace, and he’s looking at me with eyes full of the same surprise that I feel. They’re also full of other things. Lust. Desire. Happiness.
I can’t help but smile back at him even though I have no idea what he’s doing here.
Chapter 14 – Harlow
I drove to Piñon Physical Therapy at 1:30 on Tuesday afternoon. It’s earlier than I need to be on the road, but I’ve never been to this facility and I hate being late.
The whole way to the clinic, I feel annoyed that I have to impress some medical nerds just to be cleared for active duty. I doubt they’ve ever been to war. They’re certainly not going to understand my desire to be back.
I walk through the office doors a bit early, but everyone I meet seems excited I’m here. Apparently I’m like a celebrity around here.
“I’m Dr. So-and-So and we’re excited to have you with us.”
“I’m Dr. Whoever and I look forward to helping you fully recover.”
The names and faces blur together.
I am fully recovered, I want to tell them. I’m just fine. I don’t even know why I’m here.
Instead, I smile and nod and look appreciative.
One doctor appears to be the head of the joint. After we shake hands and exchange the normal pleasantries, he takes me into his office and closes the door.
“Mr. Bradford, it is a pleasure to have you with us. The entire staff looks forward to working with you. Dr. Warren, whom you have already met, will be overseeing your treatment to make sure that everything is on course, but your initial sessions will actually be with our intern.”
I like the sound of that. They can’t think I’m that screwed up if they’ve assigned me to an intern. And it’ll be easy to impress a guy so new and low on the hierarchy.
“I’ll show you around and then I’ll take you to meet her. She’s our top and brightest intern right now. Her name is Whitney Reid.”
Her. A female intern. I can’t say that I expected that but I guess makes sense since some physical therapists are women. I’ll just flirt with her and it’ll be even easier to get her to sign off on my physical fitness.
“I’m looking forward to it,” I tell this doctor, whose name I already forget.
He takes me on a brief tour around the facilities, which do look to be rather state-of-the-art, and introduces me to more people I’m sure I’ll soon forget. Everyone seems to have been made aware that I’d be here, because they look impressed or even embarrassed, bowing slightly and saying things like “the pleasure is all mine” and “please let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.”
I feel like I’m fucking royalty or something. Sure, I’m used to being on stage and demonstrating my miraculous comeback, but it’s usually as Dr. Davis’ right-hand man. All the credit and glory usually goes to him. I guess I rather like this place.
“And now I’ll introduce you to Whitney,” says the doctor, rapping softly on a door that’s already open. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy working…”
But I’m not listening to him, or looking at him. The only thing taking up all my attention is the woman I’m looking at. The mystery woman.
Whitney.
The one with the ass.
The one with the tits.
The one with the tenacity to question Dr. Davis during an awards ceremony presentation.
It dawns on me that she might not be th
e best person to work with me. She seemed very skeptical of my progress.
But then she turns away from me, to whisper something to another physical therapist, and I catch a glimpse of her cleavage and then the shape of her ass. I guess maybe physical therapy with this intern won’t be that bad, after all.
Chapter 15 – Whitney
I blink when I see Harlow, as if it’s all in my imagination.
I turn to Lance and say, “Is that…?”
“I was in the middle of trying to tell you,” he whispers back.
“Harlow Bradford,” says my patient Max, taking a step forward with his good leg and stretching his arm out. “I’ve heard so much about you. Max Wishard. Senior Airman.”
“Nice to meet you too,” says Harlow, walking through the door and shaking hands with Max.
He’s mere inches away from me now, and I don’t know whether to feel excited or dreadful.
“Your story is so inspiring,” says Max. “It’s helped me get through so much worry and anxiety. I hope to be able to work with Dr. Davis too.”
Harlow bows his head in a grateful nod.
“And how are you doing?” he asks.
“It’s slow going, but I’ll get there. Right, Whitney?”
Max flashes a grin at me and I can’t bear it.
“Great, good to hear,” says Harlow. “Tell me about your story. What unit were you in?”
I’m kind of amazed at how sweet Harlow is being to Max. On stage he came across as some rough-and-tumble tough guy but now he’s being so gentle and encouraging.
And so damn hot. But I can’t let my hormones take over my rational thought process.
“Um, Lance, can I speak with you privately?” I ask, as Max launches into his story to Harlow.
We step into the hall and walk a few feet away.
“So that’s what I was trying to tell you, Whitney,” Lance says, his face an excited glow. “You know how during the conference they announced that we’d be working with Dr. Davis’ patients?”
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