4. Avery
4
AVERY
I lead Ed down the corridor and into consulting room one, which has become my space. As he follows me down the hall, I feel his eyes on my back. My ponytail sways as I walk like a high school cheerleader, and I suddenly wish I’d pulled it into a bun.
Not that I should care what Ed thinks. He probably doesn’t even remember meeting me all those years ago. I wonder if he even remembers me from the sausage roll incident at the wake. The feel of his hands on me is etched into my skin.
Why did my first patient on my own have to be the man I’ve been crushing on since I was fourteen years old?
I take a deep breath and push the door open to the consulting room.
“We’re going to be in here today.”
He brushes past me, and I catch the scent of masculine body wash and pine. I clutch the door harder to keep from buckling.
This is unprofessional, and I should let Maria know. She said to tell her if there were any concerns about my first solo patient, and the fact that I’m lifting my nose in the air to follow his scent should be a major red flag.
But dammed if I’m giving up my chance to prove myself with a patient of my own. I’ll have to bury these stupid school-girl feelings and be professional. Ed is a veteran who needs help, and I am the speech therapist who’s going to help him.
I haven’t read the file. I was aware Ed was living in the area, but I haven’t seen him since the funeral three months ago.
Now here he is in my consulting room, making me wish I’d put on makeup this morning. Or lip gloss, at the very least.
This is professional, I remind myself.
“I’m Avery Monroe.” I don’t know if he knows who I am at all. “I’ll be your speech therapist while we’re treating you.” He keeps regarding me, and I resist the urge to shift in my seat.
“I’m Jake’s sister.”
His eyes remain on me, no flicker of recognition.
I swallow and open the file Maria gave me.
The last time I saw Ed, he had his jaw wired together. I heard he broke it in the same incident that killed Jake. Not that we’ve been told anything about what happened. The details of Jake’s death remain classified.
I take a moment to glance over Ed’s file, which gives me an opportunity to regain my composure.
The entire time I feel his eyes on me. The skin on the back of my neck prickles, and when l look up, Ed is still watching me.
“I understand there have been some speech issues since…” I don’t even know what to call it. The accident? A mission gone wrong? The Navy calls it an incident, but that seems too light for something that took my brother’s life and left two men wounded. “…the accident.”
Ed grunts, a deep throaty sound that sends a shiver down my spine.
My pulse quickens, and I don’t know if it’s the nerves from having a patient of my own or the presence of this particular patient.
“What I’m going to do is assess where you are, and then we’ll work on some exercises. With regular sessions and practice at home, we can hope for a full recovery of your speech.”
He’s just staring at me, and I keep talking to hide the awkwardness.
His doctor’s notes, x-rays, and scans show me where his jaw was broken and how it has healed since the injury.
I read from the file. “You’ve got axonotmesis of the lingual nerve.”
He crosses his arms and keeps staring at me.
“And that’s impeding your ability to speak.”
I should be used to patients who can’t speak. When I was on placement, I dealt with all sorts of speech impediments. But it’s disconcerting talking to Ed and not getting anything back. Not even a raised eyebrow.
I stand up, needing to get away from his penetrating gaze.
I walk across the room to a poster on the wall. “This is a cross section of the mouth and jaw. Every organ and cavity work together to produce sound, from the position of the jaw to the shape of your teeth.”
This is familiar territory, and I give him a run down on how humans produce speech and why his isn’t working.
When I glance over at Ed, he’s staring at me as intently as before, and he has his arms crossed over his chest.
He doesn’t want to be here.
Or maybe it’s me. Maybe he thinks I’m too young, or too blonde, to know what I’m doing.
I fix him with a stare that matches his own, determined to get through to him.
“We’re going to start with basic exercises so I can assess where you are and make a treatment plan from there.”
I walk back to my desk, and his gaze follows me.
“I’m going to make some sounds, and I want you to copy me the best you can. It’s not about getting them right, just try your best.”
I start with a hum in my chest. According to Ed’s file, there’s no thoracic damage. He should be able to produce a hum.
“Your turn.” I watch him expectantly.
Ed just stares at me with his piercing gaze.
I place a hand on my chest, and his eyes dart to it. It’s the only recognition I’ve had that he’s even listening to anything I’m saying.
“It’s a low hum. In your chest. Your injuries shouldn’t have affected your chest cavity.”
His gaze flicks back to mine, and he remains stubbornly silent.
I lower my arms in frustration. Maybe he’s more injured than the doctor realizes. Or maybe he’s being an ass.
“Let’s try this one.”
I move the hum into my throat and push my tongue back in my mouth to make a sound like I’m about to gargle.
Ed watches me for a good long moment but doesn’t try to replicate the sound. My frustration bubbles over.
“Are you incapable of making any sound, or are you deliberately not trying?”
His eyebrow twitches upward and I let out a breath, trying to find calm. This is not going well for my first patient.
“Can you make these sounds?”
He shrugs.
“Can you try for me?”
He shakes his head.
Great. He’s been uncooperative, and all the good feelings of my teenage crush are fast dissolving. Ed’s deliberately not trying.
Maybe it’s more than his speech that the incident has affected. These guys come back and we treat the wounds we can see, but no one knows what’s going on inside.
I take a deep breath and draw on every ounce of compassion I can muster.
“I want to help you, Ed. I believe you can speak again. But that won’t happen unless you help yourself.”
He gazes at me intently, and I wish I could read his expression. But right now, all he’s giving me is Navy SEAL badass who doesn’t want to be here.
I glare back at him. He’s determined, but so am I. Ed is my first actual patient, and I’m not giving up on him because he’s a stubborn ass. I may not be able to heal whatever wounds he’s hiding on the inside, but I will help him speak again.
He was Jake’s best friend. It’s the least I can do.
If I end the session now, Maria will wonder why we’ve finished early. I need to keep him here for the full forty-five minutes. If it gets back to the VA that he’s not participating, they might cut his funding.
I spend the rest of the session going through simple exercises he can do at home. I have no idea if he’ll do them or not.
“Do you have the VA app?” He shakes his head.
“You should get it. It’s easy to keep up with your appointments, and I can load the exercises onto the app for you.”
He keeps staring at me the way he has for the entire session, intense and unwavering and giving away nothing.
I fire up the printer and print off a page of exercises for him. I’m not giving him any excuses for not practicing.
My eyes dart to the clock on the wall. It’s five minutes until the session is supposed to finish, but I can’t stand this any longer. I can’t stand him watching me but not participating.
“I’ll see you next week.”
My smile isn’t as bright as when he first arrived, but I plaster it on. Ed grunts as he leaves, which is the most sound he’s made since he came in.
I don’t walk him to the reception desk. That grumpy ass can see himself out.
I close the door behind me and lean on it, taking in a deep breath. My gaze goes to the table, and the printed exercises he left there. The man doesn’t even want to get better.
I squeeze my eyes shut and lean my head against the door. That was the worst first patient ever.