Page 15 of Wildflowers and Wide Receivers

“All right, then,” Sophie says, as she glances at Vivi and then turns to me. “Like I mentioned before, if anything changes or if she feels any discomfort past what you think is normal, just give the office a call.”

“Will do,” I say, standing. This move makes me much taller than her, and she has to look up. “Ryan from the team said he would help her, too.”

She gives me another small smile. “It wouldn’t hurt, and I firmly believe in never turning down free healthcare, therapy included.”

I smile back at her, and the heaviness of this goodbye moment weighs me down.

“Well, it was nice to see you both. Take care of yourself, Vivi,” she says, looking at her and gathering her iPad. “No more falling,” she teases as she reaches for the door and opens it.

My heart rate picks up to a gallop.

Our time is over.

“No more falling,” Vivi repeats, pushing the boot aside and putting on her regular shoes.

This is it.

Sophie’s eyes flick to mine and hold for a long second just before she walks out the door.

“Actually, Sophie”—I clear my throat and move to the doorway—“do you mind speaking with me for a moment?”

She stops in the hallway and pauses before she turns to look back at me. Her eyes flick down to Vivi before rising back to mine.

“Sure. Vivi, why don’t you head up to the checkout counter? I know there is some candy, and then you can wait for your uncle in the lobby.”

Uncle.

So she knows.

Of course she does. She probably did last time, too. Everyone knows about John’s death and Vivi coming to live with me.

“Okay. But just this once. Dancers don’t eat candy,” Vivi says as she turns to go to the lobby.

Sophie chuckles. “Got your hands full there, I see,” she tosses over her shoulder as she looks at me and proceeds down the hall.

“You have no idea,” I mumble behind her as I follow.

“How did she really do in the boot?” she asks as we enter an office. Her office.

“Well, it didn’t deter her.” A small smile escapes me. “She still went to her dance classes. Turns out there’s a lot she could still do, so she was happy.”

“Wow. Most kids rejoice when they get to take time off from their sports. Good for her for sticking with it.”

“She is committed, that’s for sure,” I say proudly.

Laying the iPad down on her desk, she turns to face me. “I was really sorry to hear about the loss of your brother,” she says as she leans against it, and I briefly take in her space. Her glass-topped desk has a computer, a coffee cup, and a few other things placed on it. She has two windows with standard business blinds, a bookshelf covered with books and items, a section of her wall dedicated to mail and art children have made for her, and her degrees. She completed her undergraduate degree at the University of Minnesota Twin Cities, her medical degree from the University of Florida, and completion certificates for orthopedic surgery residency and her pediatric fellowship from the University of South Florida. There are other certificates showing her accolades and whatnots, and I find I’m just so proud that I could burst.

Proud for a woman I don’t really know, but proud all the same.

I’d like to think that I’m a good judge of character, and while I knew she was sweet and funny the night we met, knowing now that she’s gentle and kind as a caregiver to children makes my esteem for her grow even more.

I press my lips together and tell her, “Thanks.”

“I found out way after the fact, and I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to be there for you,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. It’s defensive. She’s closing herself off.

I hear her words, and they sound sincere, but her body language lets me know how she feels about what happened and that I never reached out.

Guilt swamps me. She didn’t know. She thought I stood her up because I wasn’t interested.