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In the ten years we’d been together, Laila and I had learned every little thing about each other—Laila liked her pancakes to be as big as her head. She always slept with socks on unless she’d just gotten her toenails polished. Laila had never had any pets as a child so she was always bringing home strays for us to foster. She liked her coffee black and her tea with cream. And so forth.
There were a myriad of my own quirks that she had similarly mastered, which would now have to be explained or silently understood by an entirely new woman. My footing as I got off the lift was steady, giving my brain a chance to cope with this unfortunate turn of events, and I took off, going faster than I had in the previous runs.
Dodging trees and rocks with practiced ease, I tried to reason with myself and find the positives. Maybe the woman I married next would share more of my interests? Maybe she would be a part of the publishing world like I was and could take part in my business when she wasn’t too busy with her own? Maybe she would chase me as much as I might chase her? Maybe I would remember what it felt like to be loved.
While I distracted myself with possibilities, another skier suddenly coasted in from the left, causing me to instinctively make a sharp right turn to avoid them. As my body twisted, joints creaking with the torque and muscles clamping to slow my approach, I heard a loud popping sound.
I was still moving as I tried to mentally assess the damage in between the bright flashes of pain from my right knee, and I narrowly avoided catapulting myself over a log by falling backward into the snow. Lying there, feeling every year of my age, I gingerly propped myself up on one elbow and looked behind me quickly to make sure I wasn’t about to be run over.
Luckily, the next few people were still at the top of the hill, which gave me enough time to try and straighten up to save myself some embarrassment. Rising from the freshly-fallen powder like a wobbly yeti, I attempted to put weight on my right knee, only for it to buckle and land me right back where I was. “Fuck,” I breathed into the soft fibers of my scarf, and tiredly leaned back onto my elbow to signal with my free hand for help.
“Whoa, dude, are you alright?” the first ski bum asked when he reached me, swiftly unbuckling his feet from his equipment to shamble over to me, his boots crunching in the snow which quickly adhered to the hem of his jeans.
“Think I tore something,” I grunted after tugging my scarf away. “Would you get the patrol up here, please?”
I’d started to sweat from the pain but kept it together long enough to take control of the situation until help arrived in the form of red snow-suited men with a sled to lay me on. Mumbling my thanks to the ski bum, I let my eyes drift closed in an effort to ignore my right knee. I slumbered faintly, imagining what Laila would call me now that I had injured myself—abroken, grumpy old man?
At the hospital, I languished in self-pity while doctors and nurses buzzed around me. They said I should be grateful that my “accident” hadn’t completely destroyed my knee, that a “man my age” needed to be more careful. And I accepted their advice with polite nods, keeping my rude retorts to myself.
They recommended surgery and I was in no place to argue, not after Laila had called them from Switzerland and informed them that they needed to give me the best care or we’d sue. So I was wheeled, with haste, into a room where a surgeon repaired my knee while I was blissfully knocked unconscious. Of course, my peace did not last, because along with that procedure came even more care than I’d already been receiving. It was emasculating, having all these people do everything for me, and every day I spent at the hospital the more frustrated I grew.
Finally, after a week, I was handed a folder by a nurse and told to choose who I wanted my physical therapist to be. “Do I really need one?” I inquired, tone more pleading and gruff than curious. “Isn’t this the sort of injury that fixes itself?”
The nurse stifled a giggle and told me, in a gentle voice, “No, Mr. Adams. Not if you want to be able to walk normally again.”
With a huff, I thanked her and started flipping through the files while enjoying my lime Jell-O. There were several that I passed by easily because of their age or experience and then I got toher.
Amelia Roberts stared up at me from her photograph and it was as though the universe was working in my favor for once. There she was, my dream girl, impossibly real, at least on first glance. My fingers gently slid the piece of paper bearing her information out of the folder so I could toss the rest of the candidates aside. Shifting to sit up in the baby-blue bed I’d been in for the past week and a half, I studied her.
She was young, but had been at the top of her class in each school she’d attended. There was a mischievous twinkle in her eye that even the camera caught and a warmth to her cheeks that made my own tinge pink. And she had enough accolades, experience, and recommendations to have a better job than the one she currently held.
I had already made my decision when I called the nurse back in and handed her Amelia’s profile with a curt smile. “She looks right for the job, if she’s available,” I said, crossing my arms with finality.
The nurse assured me that she would get in contact with the office Amelia worked in so that I could start physical therapy as soon as possible. I couldn’t decide whether I was more excited to get back to my life or to meet Amelia, but both opportunities gave me a glimmer of hope I hadn’t felt in a long time.
Amelia
“Amelia!” Natalie called from where she was spending her lunch with our secretary at the front desk, “someone’s on the phone for you!”
Fortunately, I was between patients, so I was able to pluck the phone from Natalie’s grasp with a grin and say, “hello? Amelia Roberts speaking.”
“Hi, Ms. Roberts. This is Nurse Muñoz from St. Luke’s Hospital in Denver, Colorado. We have a patient here who tore his ACL while skiing and has requested your services for his physical therapy. Are you interested and if so, what is your availability?”
Over the next five minutes, Nurse Muñoz and I talked about Mr. Joshua Adams and his care needs. When I found out he lived in the same city as me and was willing to pay top dollar, I immediately scanned my planner. “I could start working with him next week if that would be fine with Mr. Adams,” I offered, shooing Natalie away when she tried to quietly ask me what had gotten me so excited.
“I’ll let him know and call you back with details,” the nurse replied. “Thank you, Ms. Roberts. Goodbye.”
She hung up and I handed the phone back to our secretary before whispering conspiratorially to Natalie, “you know how I’ve been waiting to take a vacation? Well, if this new client pays me as much as he says he’s going to, I might be able to go somewhere in a couple months!”
My big sister threw her hands up in excitement and gave me a hug, murmuring, “you deserve a break, Ames, I’m so happy for you!”
We were interrupted by Dr. Morales who joined us at the front desk and cleared his throat before teasing, “Natalie, Amelia, what’s going on over here?”
I fixed him with my most cheerful smile and said, “I just got a call about a new client, Santiago. That’s all.” I left out the details on purpose and prayed that Natalie wouldn’t accidentally say something to give me away.
“That’s great news,” Dr. Morales agreed, a confused look on his face because we got new patients regularly. He looked at his watch and then declared, “well, I’m off to lunch. You ladies hold down the fort while I’m gone, okay?”
The three of us gave him mock salutes and I couldn’t help but notice how Dr. Morales’s eyes lingered on mine for a second longer than was professional. I felt my heart flutter at the attention but immediately refocused my attention on the floor.
