“Wait,” I said slowly. “Are you my physical therapist?”
Tara nodded and moved around to the side of my bed.
“You knew Tara moved back to town,” Mom said softly. “Remember?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Sure.”
“I’m doing my last clinical rotation here,” Tara explained.
“How is that possible?” I asked.
I felt hot and confused. My face was still flushed, and every word that poured from my mouth felt wrong and awkward. I knew I had to pull myself together.
“Well, I went to school,” Tara said, a snarky tone in her voice. “Now I’m here. Not exactly complicated.”
“No, I know. I just meant…” I trailed off, clearing my throat and starting over. Tara did always have a way of throwing me off my game. “It’s good to see you, Tara.”
“You too,” Tara said, though her eyes betrayed the truth. “All right, let’s talk about your injuries.”
“Sure,” I nodded and tried to sit up, but Tara put one hand on my shoulder and held me back. I looked at her fingers, just inches from my face and felt myself burn even hotter. Her touch was more than I could take. She cleared her throat and moved her hand quickly.
“You shouldn’t move,” she said. “Your injuries are quite substantial.”
“I can tell,” I said, wincing at the pain.
“Dr. McGee will discuss things with you when he arrives,” Tara said. “But for now, let’s talk about your leg.”
“Okay.” I nodded.
“Long story short, it’s basically torn to shit,” she said, not bothering to sugarcoat things. I smiled. “You landed on it, and it crumbled, then debris crashed on top of it. Your ligaments are a mess, and you’re going to need some serious physical therapy after you’re discharged to build up the muscles again from disuse. Dr. McGee already did what he could surgically, and that was a success, which is a positive. Still, I won’t lie to you, PT is going to be a bitch.”
“Is that how you talk to your other patients?” Darren asked, disapproval in his voice.
“The grown men?” Tara asked. “Yes. The sweet little eight-year-old girls? No.”
I smiled again. Tara’s wit had always been sharp and hearing her shut down Darren’s insult was a breath of fresh air.
“We’re going to get you through it,” Tara said, turnin
g back to me. “You’re strong. You’re young. You’re healthy. It’ll be hard, but I don’t see any reason why you can’t make a full recovery.”
“What kind of PT are we talking about?” I asked. “Weights? Jogs? That sort of thing?”
Tara shook her head. “No. Not for a while. The first thing we’ll do is some mild stretching and range of motion exercises.”
“Stretching?” I asked, my eyebrows raised. “That’s bullshit.”
Tara’s eyes narrowed. “I’m happy to bring in another therapist if you’d like a second opinion.”
“That’s not what I meant,” I said quickly. “But you don’t have to baby me.”
“Baby you?” Tara scoffed. “The first time you try to stretch that leg, it’s going to feel like a thousand knives are piercing through you. It’s going to be more painful than anything you’ve ever felt. After that, you can tell me if you still want to go on a few jogs.”
“I’m glad to see you haven’t changed much,” I said softly.
Tara’s eyes met mine, and for a second, she softened. It didn’t last long. She got to her feet and walked back around to where Mom and Darren were standing.
“I should get going,” she said. “I have a session downstairs in half an hour. Caleb, I’ll see you tomorrow.”