Good.
I’m ready to pay my penance.
Chapter two
Laiken
“Dr. Whitaker wants to see you before you go,” Bonnie says over her shoulder as she digs around in the fridge.
I have just finished with my last patient. Ralph Riddles is the kind of man who doesn’t like to be told what to do, so forcing him to follow his therapy plan was about as easy as giving a raccoon a bath. But it’s finally Friday. The week is wrapping up, which means I’ll be preparing to send my mother off with her best friend, Sasha, on their month-long road trip across the US. They’ve been planning this voyage for the last three years, and to be honest, she deserves this trip more than anyone I know. Myfather died in a tragic car accident when I was just out of high school, thrusting her into the role of single mom to three kids in a matter of seconds. The mere seconds it took for a drunk driver to cross the highway, leaving her a widow at the age of forty-five.
She is home with Trace today—my six-year-old pride and joy—collecting all the cuddles to last her the duration of the trip. Being a grandma is her entire personality these days and the fact I signed the papers on my very own home two weeks ago means she is feeling the absence already. She isn’t thrilled about having an empty nest again, but it’s time for Trace and me to spread our wings. Owning my own home is something I’ve worked hard for. Hours of college courses while running on two hours of sleep with a newborn wasn’t easy but so worth it. We don’t have a lot, but I managed to save enough for a down payment on a cute little farmhouse at the edge of town. It needs some TLC, but the important thing is that it’sours.
“Sure thing. Have a good weekend!” I call back as I shove Ralph’s file folder into the cabinet.
Doctor Whitaker has an unhealthy aversion to technology. Mainly computer programs, so we run this physical therapy office old-school. Pencils and paper files.
“Have a good weekend, Laiken.”
Matthew, the other PT tech, dips his chin as he passes, his black backpack strapped to his shoulders. He’s a good guy. Young and eager to learn. I’m glad he started here six months ago. I was drowning, being the only tech in the office. Dr. Whitaker did the consults and formed a therapy plan, but Matthew and I did the day-to-day. Which can be the most rewarding and challenging job in the world.
“You too.” I flip the closed sign into view as he leaves through the front, then turn the lock.
My eyes scan the waiting area, making note that the chairs are in place and the magazines are neatly stacked.
After careful assessment, my sneakers carry me down the hall, stopping at the last door on the right. I knock twice before a voice calls me to come in.
“Hey, Laiken.” Dr. Whitaker motions to the chair across from her.
“Bonnie said you needed to see me?” I drop down in the seat and cross one scrub-covered leg over the other.
The ones I’m wearing today are purple, with small cowboy boots plastered wherever the space will allow. They’re adorable and comfy.
“Yes. I have something to discuss with you.” She clears her throat before pulling off her readers.
Elaine Whitaker is in her late fifties and drop dead gorgeous. Her blonde hair is neatly pulled back in a clip, and her ruby red lips quirk as she prepares to share her news.
“For the next six weeks, you will no longer be working full time in this office.”
Her words hit me like a semi-truck. My throat tightens as I blink rapidly. “I’m sorry.” My hand snakes up the front of my scrub top and pauses on my chest. The weight of her words feels like an elephant just planted its foot right in the center.“Are you firing me?”
Panic slides through my core, the lump in my throat forming as I think about how I’m going to pay for our new home. The first payment hasn’t even been drafted yet and I promised Trace he could play T-ball this spring.
“Oh, no!” Dr. Whitaker lifts her palms, her face morphing into an apology. “I should have worded that better. Of course you aren’t being fired. You’re my best employee. Think of this as a promotion.”
Relief washes through me, and I slouch back into the chair. “I almost passed out.”
A genuine smile graces her face as she lowers her hands. “I mean that. You have a way with patients. They love you.”
“Thank you.” Heat creeps up my neck.
I’m not sure I’ve ever learned how to take a compliment.
“An opportunity has come along.” She sits back in her chair, crossing her arms. “I’ve always dealt with patients in-house and haven’t dabbled in-home health much. It seemed risky.”
“Okay.” I nod.
“Recent developments have caused me to consider broadening our horizons.” Her lips work into a smile. “I have agreed to specialized care with a new patient. This patient requires a six-week rehabilitation plan that is customized to his field of work.”
