Chapter 9
Harlow sat across the table from her father early the next morning, toying with her cream cheese bagel.
“You look like you’re on the way to the dentist for a root canal,” he joked.
“It feels about the same. Being in a wheelchair, going out in public, having to deal with people staring at me.”
“Which is something they’ve been doing for years,” David pointed out. “Being the center of attention, that is.”
Mort trotted over and nudged Harlow’s hand. “Can I give him a bite?”
“Not the bagel, but feel free to share some of the scrambled eggs you haven’t touched. ”
“I’m not hungry.” Harlow scooped a handful and offered them to the pup, who promptly gobbled them up. Mort licked her hand to show his appreciation.
“I thought you wanted to get on your feet as soon as possible.”
“I do, but I had hoped to do it away from gawkers, cameras and reporters.” Harlow nibbled the edge of the bagel. “Not counting the flights here, this will be the first time I’ve been out in public since my accident.”
“You can always cancel and wait until the doctor is able to schedule a home visit.”
“Which isn’t much of a choice, is it?” Harlow sipped her orange juice and pushed her plate away. “I might as well go get ready.”
After helping clear the table, she “scooter’d” her way to the bedroom, making a quick stop by the bathroom. Although it wasn’t necessarily quick. Dressing, brushing her teeth, and doing almost anything was a major undertaking, which only solidified her resolve to get back on her feet as quickly as possible. And every leg muscle still hurt.
Finally, she finished and returned to the living room. David stood patiently waiting by the door. “Eryn is out front with the buggy. We’ll be on our way as soon as we swap out the scooter for the wheelchair.”
Making good time, Harlow and her father reached the front gate and found Eryn standing on the sidewalk, pacing.
“There you are. I was getting ready to send an SOS to make sure you were okay.”
“I had to go to the bathroom.” Harlow waited for her dad to lift her onto the bench seat. He placed the wheelchair behind them and slid in next to it.
A couple were seated near the front, and Harlow could feel the woman watching her. Tourists. She slipped her sunglasses on and turned her head .
While they rode, their driver described points of interest, confirming Harlow’s suspicions they were visitors and not locals.
Reaching the downtown area’s ferry dock, David hopped off first, grabbed Harlow’s wheelchair and had a quick word with the carriage driver. In less than a minute, the trio were on their way.
Because of the early hour, only a handful of passengers were returning to the mainland, which meant the three of them had most of the seating area to themselves.
Harlow stared out the window, watching the island become smaller and the mainland grow larger. As soon as they docked, her father tracked down the driver he’d hired who was waiting at the end of the pier. Within minutes they were out of the harbor and had pulled up in front of a large brick medical center.
Back in the wheelchair. Through the doors. Down the hall. In the elevator. Harlow went through the motions, mentally shifting into autopilot.
She thought about Robert. He’d sent her a text the previous evening, asking how she was doing. Harlow’s return reply was equally brief.
He sent a second text, reminding her she still had several days before needing to be on the set, which meant the contract was still intact. The realization he was holding out hope for a miracle…that Harlow would be back on her feet and back at work struck her full force.
It was almost as if he didn’t care about her. His concern now centered on the job, her career, his reputation and, most of all, the money.
Harlow didn’t bother replying. Maybe the physical therapist could give her a glimmer of hope…a firm timeline. An attainable goal. Her gut told her it wasn’t going to happen before her scheduled arrival in Vancouver .
Robert could continue living in his fantasy world, believing his wife would somehow make a miraculous recovery for as long as he wanted.
“We’re here.” Eryn held the hall door while David pushed his daughter into the waiting room. She checked in at the front desk and then waited off to the side to be called to the back.
Lowering her head, Harlow furtively studied the others in the room. She was the only one in a wheelchair. Maybe this was a good sign. The therapist was the best in the area, a leader in her field, according to Doctor Ashton.
The door opened. A woman with a clipboard appeared. “Harlow Wynn?”
“I’ll wait out here.” Eryn gave her a thumbs up. “It’s all downhill from here.”
“Hopefully, there isn’t a brick wall at the bottom of the hill,” Harlow joked.
Following the woman, father and daughter passed by several doors. Some opened. Some closed. They entered a room at the end of the hall. It was large. Larger than the others and filled with an array of equipment.
“Doctor Maddox will be with you shortly.” The woman exited the room and left the door ajar.
Harlow waited until they were alone. “I guess this is where the rubber meets the road.”
“At least we’ll have a better idea what we’re up against.” David slipped his reading glasses on and inspected the equipment. “Do your best. Let her assess your condition and we’ll go from there.”
Harlow nodded. Please God. Let me walk soon, so I don’t have to be a burden to my dad and Eryn.
She continued pleading with God, promising to do whatever it took with zero complaints. She could feel her armpits grow damp. What if the doctor discovered her injuries were worse than first diagnosed and she might never walk again?
Harlow quickly pushed the thought from her mind. She would walk again. Her pain was only temporary. It had to be. What she wouldn’t give to go back in time, to leave the cell phone until she could safely pull off the road.
But it was too late. What was her mother’s favorite saying? There was no use crying over spilled milk. The damage was done. She needed to move forward, to dig deep and get back on her feet.
A movement caught Harlow’s eye. A woman with short black hair and traces of gray framing her face entered the room. Their eyes met. Hers a hazel brown, and she smiled. Not a wide smile that filled her entire face, but more of a guarded smile, as if she was assessing Harlow, already forming her first impression.
She extended her hand. “Harlow Wynn?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Doctor Maddox.”
Harlow took her hand. Although slender, her grasp was firm. “Thank you for fitting me in on such short notice. This is my father, David Wynn. ”
David shook her hand. “I’ll echo Harlow’s thanks. We appreciate your time.”
“You’re welcome.” The doctor grabbed Harlow’s chart and briefly confirmed the pertinent information. Her accident. The records Harlow had forwarded from the hospital in Malibu.
She asked a few questions, gauging Harlow’s level of pain and discomfort, specifically asking about her mobility from her hips on down. She completed a general assessment of her condition, jotted some notes, and then set the file aside. “We can talk all day, but the best way to find our starting point is for you to show me what you can do.”
“Now?” Harlow asked.
“Now.” The doctor wheeled her over to the equipment. “We’re going to find out exactly what you can and cannot do.”