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“So tell me a little bit about what’s going on, Ethan,” I say, working the crank to lower my desk and settling into my office chair. Ethan watches my desk lower with a dubious expression on his face. “When you made your appointment, you said something about arm pain?”
He nods. “I fell.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that. How far would you say you fell?”
“Not sure,” he says, sighing. “I was on a ladder, coming down from cleaning my gutter. I was up maybe…four, five steps?”
“And you landed on your arm?”
He gives me a single nod.
“That must have been really painful,” I say.
He shrugs. He won’t quite meet my eyes. I wonder if I still look sweaty and red-faced from exercising with Carla, and that’s why he won’t make eye contact, or if he’s just one of those guys who doesn’t want to be in a place like this. I’m guessing it’s probably the latter.
It would probably be a good idea to do a little work to warm this guy up before we dive in.
“Are you married, Ethan?” I ask.
Well,thatgets him to look at me.
“No,” he says, almost defensive. “Why?”
I give him a gentle smile. “Just that, with some of the stretching and massage regimens I might recommend, it can be useful for me to know if there’s anyone at home who might be able to help you out with them or not. But if it’s just you, that’s completely fine, too. Usually there’s a piece of equipment that can approximate partnered stretches well enough.”
His mouth clamps down into an irritated frown. Okay, maybe I shouldn’t have reminded him that he’s alone.
“This says the injury took place over a week ago,” I say, flipping through my papers. “What got you to come in?”
“My son.”
“Oh, you have a son?” I ask, smiling again.
Ethan’s expression softens. Finally, the ice breaks. As we start to talk about his son—Dean, who works as a stuntman in L.A.—it’s obvious how much pride he brings Ethan.
As we’re talking, the mood more relaxed now, I’m struck again by how handsome Ethan is. And not just for a man of his age. He’s more handsome than menmyage. Which is saying a lot, to be better looking than guys twenty years younger than him.
But as my mind wanders in that direction—and as a subtle heat begins to build in my chest—I force myself to stop. It’s not appropriate to go crushing on patients, no matter how attractive they might be.
Anyway, right now, the most important thing is to earn his trust. And after several minutes of chatting about his son, it seems that I’ve finally made some headway. When I gently transition back to the intake process, Ethan is considerably more forthcoming. He even lets me show him a few stretches that I think might help him. I almost get him to promise to do them at home, too.
“I’ll try,” he says, and between that and getting him to schedule a follow-up appointment, I mark it up as a victory.
After work, I swing by the grocery store on my way home. In addition to my own groceries, I also pick up some things for Ida, and when I get back to the apartment complex, I stop by her place first. Ida is a little over eighty and can’t drive herself anymore; she used to get her groceries delivered, but their service charges went up six months ago and she wasn’t able to keep up. Sometimes I drive her to the store, but more often than not I just bring her what she needs.
“Oh, bless you, dear,” Ida says when she opens the door. She immediately waves me into her apartment and sits me down at her kitchen table so she can thank me in her customary way: with a fresh pasta dinner and some time together watching the soaps she taped during her afternoon nap. “Please, at least let me pay you this time.”
“Don’t worry about it, Ida,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s my treat.”
Besides, getting to eat a home-cooked meal with someone I care about instead of a microwaved dinner on my own?
Yeah, that makes it more than worth it.
Chapter Three
Ethan
When I get home from my first session with Victoria, I feel strangely agitated, though I can’t put my finger on the cause. Maybe it’s because my arm is feeling sore and overworked. Must have been those reps of what she’d called the armpit stretch, the one where she’d raised up her strange crank-desk for me to set my arm on and squat.
