Page 113 of Monk

I kissed her again, harder this time, and she melted into me when the sound of tires on gravel broke the moment. I pulled back, frowning, and looked toward the window. “You expecting someone?” I asked.

Lina shook her head, standing from her chair. “No. Dad’s at physical therapy. Tatum’s at school.”

I walked to the window and looked out as a truck was pulling up in front of the house—an old Ford, faded blue paint, with a dent in the passenger-side door. I recognized it immediately.

Mrs. Patterson. David’s neighbor. The woman who’d been helping out since he got hurt.

The truck came to a stop, and the passenger door opened. David climbed out slowly, grumbling under his breath, while Mrs. Patterson hurried around the front of the truck to help him. And between them, bouncing excitedly in the back seat, was Tatum. She spotted me through the window and waved enthusiastically, her face lighting up.

I couldn’t help it. I smiled.

“Looks like they’re back,” I said, glancing at Lina, who sighed, closing her laptop.

“Great. That means PT didn’t go well.”

I chuckled and headed for the front door.

By the time I stepped outside, Mrs. Patterson was already wrestling David’s wheelchair out of the truck bed. “Let me get that,” I said, jogging down the porch steps.

Mrs. Patterson looked up, her weathered face breaking into a smile. “Well, good afternoon, John,” she said warmly. “Didn’t know you were here.”

“Afternoon, Mrs. Patterson,” I said, taking the wheelchair from her hands. “Let me help.”

I unfolded the chair and locked the wheels in place, then turned to David. He was standing by the truck, leaning heavilyon the door, his expression sour. “You good, old man?” I asked, grinning.

David shot me a look. “Don’t start with me, boy.”

I laughed and moved to his side, offering my arm. “Come on. Let’s get you inside.”

David grumbled but took my arm, letting me guide him into the wheelchair. Once he was settled, I pushed him toward the house. Behind me, I heard Tatum scramble out of the truck.

“Dad!” she shouted, running toward me.

I stopped and turned, crouching down just in time to catch her as she launched herself into my arms. “Hey, kiddo,” I said, lifting her up. “Why are you not in school?”

“Half day!” she answered, her words tumbling out in a rush. “We did art today, and I made a painting, and Mrs. Henderson said it was really good and I got a gold star and?—”

“Whoa, whoa,” I said, laughing. “Slow down. One thing at a time.”

She giggled, wrapping her arms around my neck as I carried her up the porch steps, pushing David’s wheelchair with one hand. Mrs. Patterson followed behind, shaking her head. “That man is the most stubborn fool I’ve ever met,” she muttered.

“I heard that, Kathy,” David called from the wheelchair.

“Good,” Mrs. Patterson shot back. “Maybe it’ll sink in this time.”

I bit back a grin and pushed David through the front door. Lina was waiting in the entryway, her arms crossed, her expression a mix of amusement and exasperation. “How’d it go?” she asked.

“Terrible,” Mrs. Patterson said before David could answer. “He refused to do half of the exercises. Told the therapist he knew his own body better than some ‘young punk with a degree.’”

David scowled. “Idoknow my own body.”

“You’re also a stubborn old fool,” I said, parking his wheelchair in the living room.

David glared at me. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I’m on the side of you not being a jackass,” I said, crossing my arms. “Mrs. Patterson’s right. You need to listen to the therapist.”

“Thank you, John,” Mrs. Patterson said, shooting David a triumphant look.