At my use of her favorite of my many names for her, Mom’s expression softened. “I know you do, and I love you, too. You know that, right? I don’t think you’re weak or incompetent or incapable of taking care of yourself. But you’re my daughter. My baby. That’s why I ... well, as your dad says, I do the crazy when it comes to you. When I think—” Her voice broke off. “When you have kids, you’ll understand.”
I picked up my purse, my sweater and a worn brown briefcase. “Is this your way of saying you hope I’m cursed with kids just like me?”
“Not at all.” She shook her head. “You were never a curse, Tasha. You’ve been a blessing to Daddy and me from the minute we knew you were on your way.” She paused as I opened the front door and let her go out ahead of me onto the miniscule front stoop. “But when I think about ... before ... and how helpless I felt, something just grips me inside, and I feel like I have to see you. I have to make sure you’re okay now.”
“And I am.” I hugged her tight. “I really am, Mom. I love my life. And most days, I’m glad that I decided to do my clinical here, even when you show up unexpectedly without calling. I want to believe that you can see me as a responsible, strong adult now.”
“Of course, I do.” She sighed and closed her eyes for a minute and then stepped back. “Okay. So no more coming by without checking. But I’m afraid I can’t go cold turkey yet on the texting you first thing in the morning and last thing at night. And maybe once or twice in the middle of the day.”
“And that’s perfectly all right.” It was, because I could handle texts at my convenience. “Just don’t freak out if I don’t respond the minute you hit send. I might be busy or asleep or something.”
“Understood.” She gave me a mock salute, and this time I did roll my eyes. “Off you go. Oh, by the way, the Crandalls are going to be in town this weekend. We have official dinners on Friday and Saturday night, but would you like to join us for lunch on Sunday after church?”
I bit my lip, considering. While there wasn’t any doubt that maintaining my boundaries in a firm yet loving way was very important, I had to be careful that I didn’t go too far in the opposite direction. Inviting me for a weekend lunch was actually normal parental behavior, especially since old friends were going to be visiting. This was a time when I could say yes, knowing I was compromising, not surrendering.
The fact that the mention of church might have been a not-so-subtle reminder to attend Mass was another story, but then, Rome wasn’t built in a day.Baby steps, I told myself.
“Sure.” I answered her with a smile. “Need me to bring anything?”
“Just your pretty face.” She grinned at me over her shoulder. “Have a good day, honey. Talk to you later.”
“You, too, Mom. Love to Daddy.” I watched her climb into the dark gray sedan and back out of her spot before I opened my own car door and headed to work. I felt good about our conversation; it wasn’t easy for me to stand up to my parents, even after years of counseling, both separately and together. But today, I’d made some headway.
* * *
Making the decision to do my clinical here in Petersburg hadn’t been an easy choice. One of the appealing factors had been that the practice where I’d applied and been chosen was a holistic clinic, with a strong emphasis on treating the entire person, not just one physical aspect that was causing pain or distress. My own experience had taught me that nothing happens in a vacuum, particularly within the human body. I loved that here, at the Probert Clinic for Wholeness and Health, I was not only allowed but encouraged to look for solutions that went beyond alleviating one symptom.
“Hey, Tasha.” Lidia, one of my co-workers and fellow residents stepped out of the massage room, rubbing lotion on her hands as she smiled at me. “Did you just get here?”
I nodded, scanning the tablet I was holding. “Yeah, and it actually looks like I could’ve taken my time. I thought I had a ten o’clock patient.”
Lidia frowned. “But you don’t?”
I set the tablet on the counter that separated the hallway from the reception area. “Technically, I do. But this guy’s a perpetual no-show. I always end up sitting here, twiddling my thumbs, waiting to see if he’ll actually come here.” I shrugged. “I shouldn’t complain. It’s like having a little unexpected break in the middle of the day. Or in this case, at the start.”
“I wouldn’t get used to it.” Corinne, the head of the PT department here at the clinic, came around the corner in time to hear my last words. “You’re talking about Captain McTavis, right? I had a call from his battalion commander this morning. Her patience with this situation is running out, and if he misses today, the Army is going to begin the process of a medical discharge.”
“Oh. Huh.” Even though I didn’t know this guy at all, and even though all evidence pointed to the fact that he was avoiding his PT, I felt a pang of regret. I knew what it was like for a soldier to face losing the only career, the only life, he’d ever known. I’d heard my father talk about men and women whose unplanned departures he’d overseen. He had a reputation for giving second and even third chances if he could, but sometimes, discharge was the only option. It always made him sad, though. Growing up as an Army brat, the daughter of first a colonel and then a general, I was well-acquainted with the repercussions of difficult decisions.
“Colonel Debbings did say she had one more trick up her sleeve, though. Apparently, the company commanders over there are a tight-knit group. She let a few of them know that it’s basically do or die time for McTavis, and she’s hoping that they can persuade him to keep his appointment. So let’s keep our fingers crossed.”
“I will.” I twisted my mouth, thinking, and tapped the tip of my finger on the counter. “I’ve had plenty of time to go over Captain McTavis’s files and history while I’ve waited for him during all these weeks of missed appointments. The frustrating thing is, he’s in pretty good shape, physically speaking. I know the notes say he continues to complain of chronic pain and the inability to function as he did before the accident, but given everything he’s gone through, his condition now is frankly amazing.”
“Could he be dealing with some complications from PTSD?’ Lidia tilted her head, her brows drawing together.
“I doubt it. The incident that caused his injury wasn’t during any danger or conflict. It was just ... bad luck. The D-clip malfunctioned when he was making his final rappel in Air Assault school. He wasn’t being shot at or dealing with explosions.”
Corinne shook her head. “You know better than that, Tasha. War isn’t the only setting where post-traumatic stress can develop. Not only that, if I’m not mistaken, didn’t Captain McTavis complete several tours of duty in Afghanistan? If he was already coping with some level of anxiety after that, it’s possible that this event brought it back to the forefront again.”
“Hmmm.” I hadn’t considered that. “So, we might have to dig a little to find the source of his stress before we can really alleviate the pain.”
“It’s possible,” my boss agreed. “And trying some alternative remedies isn’t a bad idea, either.”
“Of course, all of this is a moot point if he won’t show up.” I ran my fingers over my short hair. “You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink ... but unless someone gets the mule-headed horse here, I can’t even figure out if I’m offering him the right kind of water.”
“Maybe you should work on your making-him-drink skills.” Corinne’s eyes were focused out the window behind me. “Because unless I’m mistaken, the guy who just got out of that Jeep is Captain McTavis.” She squinted. “There’s another man who’s basically hauling him toward the door, and neither of them look too happy.”
I turned around to stare outside, too. Corinne was right. A black Jeep idled at the curb in front of the office, and two men were walking up our front sidewalk. One was in the fatigues and boots that I was used to seeing on soldiers. He had his hand wrapped around the arm of the second man, who was in sweatpants, a T-shirt and sneakers. The first thing I noticed was the way he moved. His shoulders were rounded and slumped, in sharp contrast to the posture of his friend. He was definitely favoring his left side, almost dragging that leg.
