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“Still nothing?”
Rhonda looks up from the computer at the front desk and gives me a shrug. “Sorry, Victoria. Do you want me to try again?”
I drum my fingers on the top of the desk. It’s a quarter past three, and Ethan still hasn’t shown up for his appointment. Fifteen minutes ago, when I walked into the waiting room to get him, I was surprised to not see him there, but I figured maybe he was just running late. So I told Rhonda to just let me know when he arrived and headed back to my office to catch up on some things and go over my notes from Ethan’s last session.
After a while, when I still hadn’t heard anything, I asked Rhonda to try calling the number that we had on file for Ethan. There was no answer. I went back to my office again, but I couldn’t concentrate. Now I’m back out at the front desk again, and Rhonda is asking me if I want her to try calling Ethan again.
“Would you mind?” I say.
“Of course not.” Rhonda picks up the phone, quickly dials, and smiles at me while she presses the receiver against her ear.
Ethan doesn’t answer this time, either.
“Maybe he forgot,” says Rhonda, hanging up the phone. “It happens.”
She’s right. It does happen. But my gut tells me that Ethan isn’t the sort of guy to forget things he has committed to.
“Oh, I remember him from last week,” Rhonda says suddenly. “Tall, handsome? Really built for an older guy?”
I clear my throat. “Uh huh. Just let me know if you hear anything, okay?”
Rhonda grins. “Will do.”
As I walk back to my office, I decide that I’ll give Ethan a call myself after my last appointment of the day. But hours later, when the end of the day comes, I feel strangely compelled to do more than just call. I pull up his file, and instead of copying down his phone number, I type his address into my phone. Before I know it, I’m in my car, driving across town, letting my navigation app direct me to where he lives.
I’m just concerned about him, I tell myself.He’s my patient, after all. Someone with an injury that severe shouldn’t stop physical therapy after a week.
Deep down, though, I know that’s not the entire reason I’m visiting Ethan instead of calling him. There’s something…personalabout my concern, too.
I cut the thought off before it becomes any more damning.
I’m a little surprised when I reach Ethan’s house. I guess I expected a middle-aged bachelor like him to have a functional, no-nonsense type of house and yard. Instead, I’m delighted to see a lovely, colorful garden full of orderly but romantic-looking shrubs and flowers. There’s even an attractive stone bench under a shady, ivy-draped awning.
Intrigued, I walk up to the house and knock on his door.
When Ethan answers, I try to read his face, but it’s difficult to interpret his expression.
“Victoria,” he says.
“Hi,” I say brightly. “You missed our appointment today. I just wanted to check in on you.”
“I see.”
“You have such a lovely garden.”
He gives me a half-smile. “Thank you.”
“Can I come in?”
He hesitates, then takes a few steps back, opening the door wider in the process. I know it’s forward of me to invite myself in, but I don’t really care. As Ethan’s physical therapist, I feel responsible for making sure his injury heals properly, and if that means I have to be a little forward, so be it.
I notice he’s not wearing shoes, so I kick mine off at the door, then bend over to line them up neatly so no one will trip over them. When I straighten up, Ethan is looking at me with a vaguely mystified expression.
“How’s the arm?” I ask.
He frowns at the question. I see that defensive instinct in him rearing up.
“Fine,” he says.
