4. Chapter 4
Chapter four
Rowan
“Shoot,” Mom said as we drove down Sullivan Street the next morning. “I meant to wrap up some pie for Cal to thank him for fitting you in. Should we go back?”
She stopped in the middle of the road in front of the Hilberts’s Cape Cod, which sat on the corner of Sullivan and Broad. It had fresh blue paint that echoed the distant mountains and a new porch swing. The lawn was well tended, the sidewalk swept. I couldn’t imagine Brad maintaining an entire house with such care by himself. It’d taken me a year to convince him to put his dirty clothes in the hamper and carry his dishes to the sink. I eventually gave up any expectations that he’d toss in a load of laundry or run the dishwasher.
“Does he live alone?” I asked before I could stop myself.
Mom glanced at me.
“I just meant that’s a big house for one person.”
“It is a lot of space for just him and Skye.”
“Who’s Skye?”
Mom smiled. “The dog.”
“Oh,” I said, clearing my throat. “If Chris walks Skye today, he could drop off the pie.”
“You’re right,” Mom said, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. “No sense lugging pie all over town. I’ll send your brother a text later. Do you think Cal would like apple, cherry, or pecan?”
I wish I knew the man well enough to say. “I’ll put together a Tupperware with a couple slices of each when I get home,” I said.
Mom made a low humming sound in her throat and turned onto Broad Street for a couple blocks, then Church, which some locals called Saints and Sinners Street. The street began at the Lutheran church and passed by the Baptist, Methodist, Presbyterian, and Episcopal churches until it ended at Main Street where Church Street Brews occupied the corner lot. The bar was quiet as we passed, but every night it came alive with “sinners going to Church.”
When we turned onto Main, the sidewalks were empty since most shops hadn’t open yet, but all along the street, store owners prepared for the day. Mr. Wilson stopped sweeping the pharmacy entrance to wave. The small tables outside Karma, Lauren’s café and bookshop, overflowed with women in running gear. Mom’s floral shop, Red Blossoms, was located across the street with its cheery striped awning and twinkle lights. Unlike my life, nothing much had changed in Peace Falls.
Mom’s shoulders crept closer to her ears, and her grip on the steering wheel tightened as we continued down Main. Just past Centennial Park, a four-story brick building rose above all the other businesses and shops. Everyone in town referred to it as “the Main doctors.” There were other medical offices scattered across town, but the large building housed suites for different specialists. You could have your eyes examined, your in-grown toenail removed, and a Pap smear all without leaving the building.
Mom pulled up to the curb and shut off the engine. The color drained from her face, and her fingers shook as she fumbled for her purse.
I reached across the car and laid my hand on her arm. “Mom, if it’s ok with you, I’d rather go in alone.”
“Rowan—”
“No,” I said, talking over her. “This is embarrassing enough without bringing my mom along.”
Newsflash: Mom wouldn’t make it any more embarrassing. Truth be told, I’d rather she come with me since I was a complete physical, emotional, and mental mess, but ever since Dad lost his battle with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma, Mom avoided medical offices. The only good thing I can say about Brad was he listened when I came to on the sidewalk and begged him not to call my family unless I died. I know now that was a little dramatic, but at the time, I didn’t know the extent of my injuries. Whether he didn’t call because he was afraid to confess what an asshole he’d been or because he respected my request didn’t matter. Either way, I was thankful Mom hadn’t gone to the hospital because of me.
Her fear had gotten so bad that Dr. Evers, our family doctor, started making house calls whenever she needed him.
“Are you sure?” Mom asked, her death grip on her purse loosening. “You could barely walk into the house yesterday.”
“Positive. I was sore from the drive. I’m moving much better today.”
“You are,” Mom said, tugging at her thumbnail. “I’ll just wait in the car then.”
“Aren’t you prepping for a wedding this weekend? I’ll call Chris or Poppy when I’m done.”
“How’d you know?”
I smiled. “It’s the middle of June. I just assumed someone was getting married.”
“Ok, but I’m waiting until you get inside. I don’t want you standing by yourself if it’s locked.”
The biggest crime to go down in Peace Falls in my lifetime involved a fence dispute between two neighbors that resulted in an all-out prank war. But if watching me walk ten steps through the front door made Mom feel better, I wouldn’t argue.
I did my best to cross the sidewalk without gritting my teeth. Mom drove off with a wave as soon as I pulled the door open. Despite looking like the lobby of an old-fashioned hotel, the whole place reeked with that antiseptic smell that nauseated Mom. I was glad to see a few comfy-looking chairs against the wall beside the front window where I could wait for a ride later. A large sign on the back wall listed each practice by name and location. My stomach fell when I saw Peace Falls Physical Therapy was on the top floor. A wide marble staircase twisted around the lobby.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said grabbing hold of the brass railing. What kind of sadist put a physical therapy office on the fourth floor in a building without an elevator? I hefted myself up a flight of stairs and paused on the landing between the first and second floors to catch my breath. The front door banged closed in the lobby below and a young woman raced up the stairs with a to-go cup from Karma. She ran past me but paused halfway up the next flight of steps and turned.
“You wouldn’t be Rowan by chance?” she asked.
“That’s me.”
“Halleluiah,” she said, hurrying down the steps to me. “Dr. Cohen gets so mad when I’m not at the desk when the first patient arrives, no matter how early they are. His eight o’clock is always late, so I stopped for coffee, and then I remembered adding you to Dr. Cardoso’s schedule. Not often we get patients from DC, and your mom was so sweet on the phone. I’m Cammie,” she said, sticking out her free hand.
She looked to be Poppy’s age, but the similarities ended there. Cammie was tall with long blonde hair and a sweet smile. She wore bright pink scrubs and neon-yellow sneakers that should have looked ridiculous but somehow worked on her.
“Nice to meet you.”
“Are you taking the stairs because you want the exercise?”
“No, I’ve just forgotten how to teleport,” I said. Cammie’s smile dimmed. “Sorry, that was bitchy. My back is killing me.”
“No, I get it. Being in pain makes me snappy too. The building has a small elevator. I think they added it a couple years back when they moved the PT office from the ground floor. I keep telling the super to put up a sign. I’m about ready to tack up a piece of posterboard. Is it easier going up the stairs or down?”
“Both hurt. Might as well go up.”
“Here,” she said, moving her large floral bag to her other arm. “If you don’t mind, I’ll help you. It’ll keep me out of trouble with Dr. Cohen.”
“Thank you,” I said, letting her take my elbow. “Are you new to town? I grew up here, and I don’t remember you.”
“I moved here a year ago. I love Peace Falls. You must be so happy to be back.”
I forced a smile as we slowly climbed to the next floor. Peace Falls was a great town, and I could understand why people moved here and why most locals never left. But as much as I appreciated people like Dr. Evers who made up the fabric of the community, I couldn’t wait to leave. I told Lauren and my family I wanted an impressive job at a big firm and a colorful city life. The truth was more depressing: Apart from my little family and singular friend, I didn’t fit in. Not just in Peace Falls, but anywhere. I always found it difficult to begin friendships, and I was so awkward with men, I’d never dated anyone before Brad. In a large city, I could blend with the crowd and didn’t have to make small talk every time I stepped outside. My return to Peace Falls was temporary. I’d be moving wherever my next job took me. When we reached the second floor, Cammie led me to a small elevator tucked in the back corner of the building.
“Hope you’re not claustrophobic,” she said when the car arrived. We squished in together, and I was hit with the warm smell of cinnamon and coffee.
“Is that a cinnamon toast latte?” I asked.
“Yes,” Cammie beamed. “It’s one of my favorites from Karma. The other is the Rowan. It’s this mix of Nutella and caramel and coconut milk, and oh my word, you’re that Rowan, aren’t you?”
I laughed. “Lauren is my best friend.”
“She’s an angel. Really, I can’t tell you how much she’s helped me. I’m not sure what I’d have done without her this year.” Something dark crossed Cammie’s face. I’d seen the same look on Lauren’s more times than I could count, and I knew I wouldn’t be asking questions about Cammie’s life before Peace Falls.
“She’s the best,” I said, smiling.
The elevator lurched to a stop, and the doors slid open onto the fourth floor.
“This way,” Cammie said, guiding me toward a large glass door.
The office was not what I expected. Several padded tables lined one wall, but the rest of the large space looked like a gym. There were treadmills, ellipticals, and weight machines facing several windows overlooking Main Street. A large mat covered most of the floor with a collection of balance balls, bands, and free weights. Cammie set her purse and coffee at the reception desk by the entrance and turned on her computer. “Your mom told me your insurance info so I could get approval, but let me grab—”
One of the two doors by the desk opened and a balding man who looked in his early sixties stormed out. “Miss Gibson,” he said, glaring at Cammie.
He stopped when he saw me. “I hope you weren’t waiting long.”
“I haven’t been waiting at all,” I said, my voice tight. “Cammie helped me find the elevator. I apologize if I made her late. I’m slow moving.”
Just then, the second door opened and out walked Caleb Cardoso in a pair of slate gray scrubs. Years of watching him swagger down school hallways and sprint across football fields did nothing to prepare me. He’d added more muscle to his lean frame, his broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist. His dark, tousled hair looked styled to suggest he’d just climbed out of bed after an all-night sexfest. His jaw was sharper, his cheek bones more chiseled. When he looked at me with those rich chocolate eyes, all the air left my lungs.
“Mrs. Norris,” he said, glancing at the tablet in his hands.
The sound of my married name lifted the lust fog from my brain. “Please call me Rowan,” I said, relieved I’d finally managed to speak in his presence.
He studied my face, frowned, and looked back at his tablet. “Nice to meet you,” he said, studying my face again. “I’m Cal. Take a seat on the first table.”
Lauren would have politely told him that we were two years apart in school. Poppy would have flipped the embarrassment of being forgotten back onto Cal with a snide comment about his observation skills. Not that anyone ever forgot Poppy. I just turned my back to him and hoped he hadn’t seen my cheeks burn. People often didn’t remember me, but it still stung, especially when it was someone I’d spent so much time fantasizing about in my teens. As I crossed the room, I could feel him behind me, watching my every movement.
When I reached the table, I stared at it, wondering how I was going to hoist myself up. Cal pulled a stool from underneath the table, standing so close I could smell him. Thank goodness teenage me never got near enough to sniff the unholy concoction of cedar and pheromones. I would have panted like a cartoon character. I was more experienced now. I could control myself, barely. Cal held out his hand, and I took it. Then I blushed again, thinking maybe he was just motioning for me to climb onto the table.
“Can you manage stairs?” he asked as I stepped onto the stool.
“She climbed to the second floor before we got the elevator,” Cammie shouted.
“That’s great,” Cal said with an encouraging smile. He squeezed my hand ever so slightly, and I did my best not to hyperventilate. Nope, zero self-control still. The second my butt hit the table, he let go of my hand and grabbed a rolling stool for himself. He was so tall, we were eye to eye, despite the table being a foot higher than his stool.
“Your orthopedic surgeon sent over your X-rays and your prescription, but his chart notes weren’t compatible with our system. I’ll try to get them before our next session. For now, it’d be helpful if I had more information about how the injury occurred and where you’re in pain.”
“Um, it was a stupid accident. I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Most nonsurgical recoveries are,” he said with a lopsided smile that made my core clench. “Trust me, Rowan. You have no reason to be embarrassed. I’m here to help you. I’ve heard it all, and I don’t judge.”
I doubt he’d had a patient get plowed over by a tourist on a Segway after catching her husband getting a blow job from her boss. I opened my mouth and closed it again.
“We could start with where you’re feeling pain. What hurts the most?”
My heart. My pride.
“My back. I had a nasty bruise on my hip and a concussion, but the bruise is fading, and my head hasn’t hurt for a while.”
He glanced at the tablet again and nodded. “I can see by your X-ray you didn’t fracture your spine. Hopefully, we’re just dealing with muscular pain. If you haven’t made sufficient progress after our sessions, you should have an MRI to check for bulging or excised spinal discs. Unfortunately, that’s something we can’t fix with PT.”
“Should I get the MRI now?”
“Ready to get rid of me so soon,” he said, flashing another smile.
My stomach flipped, and my face grew hot. “I don’t want to waste your time.”
“You can call your insurance company, but most won’t approve an MRI until after you complete the physical therapy your orthopedic surgeon prescribed. Your script is for two sessions a week for the next six weeks. Even if you have an issue with your discs, the work we’ll do here should improve your mobility and reduce your pain. Knowing how you got hurt would really help me design your treatment plan.”
He waited. And waited.
I blew out a breath and let the words rush like water from a broken pipe. “I was texting and collided with a vehicle. And a tree.” It was mostly true. A Segway is a type of vehicle and it did pin me against a tree. I wasn’t texting, but the lack of attention was real since I was crying so hard I couldn’t see anything. But telling him all that would only lead to questions I didn’t want to answer.
“Was anyone else injured?” he asked, his voice cold.
“Um, I don’t think so,” I said. “I passed out for a bit, but it wasn’t mentioned in the police report. See, stupid accident. I shouldn’t have been texting.”
“No, you shouldn’t have. You’re lucky your injuries aren’t worse.”
So much for not judging.
He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “Let’s test your range of motion,” he said. Unlike before, the warmth in his voice sounded forced.
I nodded and followed his curt directions. I felt a jolt the first time he put his hands on my legs, but the pain that followed when he tested how far I could move zapped any pleasant tingle. It hurt. Bad. I knew he was just doing his job, but he pushed me as far as he could until the pain became too much for me to handle. He always stopped when I told him, but then he’d move on to another stretch that left me breathless with pain.
Neither of us made small talk. I wouldn’t have minded a little distraction from the agony that sliced through me with increasing intensity as the hour dragged on, but as usual, I felt too awkward to start a conversation. Apart from instructing me how to do each exercise, he remained silent while he studied every movement and grimace I made.
When the session ended, he smiled like someone who’d just received a backhanded compliment. “Great work today, Rowan. Before you leave, have Cammie make you an appointment for Thursday or Friday.” He walked ahead into the office he’d left earlier and closed the door before I could reply.
“You must have a complex injury,” Cammie said with a small smile. “I’ve never seen Dr. Cardoso so focused.”
Great. Apparently, I’m the only one who turns Cal Cardoso into an automaton. “I don’t suppose Dr. Cohen has any openings for Thursday or Friday?”
“Between us,” she said lowering her voice, “You want to stay with Dr. Cardoso. He’s a sweetheart and really good at his job. Not to mention, I’d much rather have him stretching my body than Dr. Cohen.”
Her eyes widened, and she slapped her hand over her mouth.
I laughed and Dr. Cohen stopped working with his elderly patient to glare at Cammie again.
“I see what you mean,” I said. “What does Dr. Cardoso have available?”
“How about this time on Thursday? Does that work?” she asked, clicking her mouse.
“It does.”
“Great, the address we have in our records is in DC. Would you like to update it?”
“Sure,” I said, giving her my mom’s address on Sullivan Street.
“We’ll see you on Thursday. It was great meeting you.”
And unlike Cal, I could tell she really meant it.