Christmas Therapy

She sniffled and turned to her side to sit up. Allen helped her, and this time she didn’t pull away. He handed her a tissue from the box on her coffee table.

Heather took it and wiped her nose. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

She rolled her eyes. “No, I shouldn’t be emotional about this.”

“Why not? It’s part of the process,” he said.

Her eyes met his. “So all your patients are like this?”

“A few. Some have been through some trauma with their injuries. It takes time to heal from things like that.”

“I slipped on an ice patch.” She tilted her head to the side.

Allen’s lips quirked into a grin. “I had an eleven-year-old boy who was a patient of mine. He broke his arm after falling from a tree.”

Heather’s eyes widened. “Why in the world was—”

“He was trying to save his cat. Didn’t go so well. He wasn’t too happy about therapy, but I reminded him that his arm would heal. It did with time.” His eye contact with her grew firmer. “Heather, your knee will heal. You can’t rush it.”

Heather groaned. “You sound like me when I talk to my students.”

“What do you tell them?”

“A lot of them feel that if they don’t lose the weight fast, that it’s not working for them. I remind them healthiness is a lifestyle. It takes time to break in new habits.”

“So you get it,” Allen said.

Heather wiped her nose again. “I guess, but I think I’m finished for the day.”

He bobbed his head and stood to his feet. Then he held out his hand to her. “No problem. We can pick it up next time.”

Heather exhaled and placed her hand in his. Her mouth became moist, but she held his hands to steady herself on her good leg. Allen’s lips parted but that didn’t mean anything, right? Then why did his touch bring a chill to her body like a breath of winter?

“You cold?” he asked.

She shook her head.

Allen cleared his throat and released her hands. “So… I’ll see you at our next appointment.”

She shrugged. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He smiled. “Have a good one.”

Heather pressed a hand to her chest, as if it would suppress the flutters inside. “You too.”

***

Shuffling carefully through her room, Heather retrieved the black shoe box and sat on her bed. What did her father want to say? How did Sonia feel about him reaching out? They never talked about it. Then again, Sonia didn’t seem moved by the possibility. Was she willing to forgive the man?

Hearing shrieks of laughter outside made her body jerk. She pushed the box under the foot of the bed and walked to the front window. Layers of white accumulated on the roofs across the street, along with the cars, and walkways. Her next-door neighbors’ children, the Coleman’s, were having a snowball fight. She didn’t blame them since Christmas was a few weeks away.

Then Heather spotted Allen’s truck across the street at the Gomez’s home. She wouldn’t see him until tomorrow. Even at a distance, she watched as he loaded his bag in his truck.

He waved to the kids. They waved back as he got inside to leave, but when he pulled out the driveway, a snowball hit his truck. Heather covered her mouth to stifle her laugh, surprised when Allen parked at the curb and got out.

He folded his arms over his chest. “Any idea who threw that?”