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"I know, and I appreciate that."
He leaves, and I chew on my lip. I didn't agree to work with Will, but why do I feel like I may have just sold my soul to the devil?
Mr. Matthews comes in, and we begin his session.
After finishing my morning appointments, I tell Sharon, "I'm going to meet with a potential new client. I'll let you know what I decide.”
"Sounds good. See you when you get back," she tells me as she answers the ringing phone.
I get in my car and make the drive to the Anderson house, which of course is next to my father's house. I get out and look next door, knowing I'm going to need to deal with everything that was thrown at me on Friday evening, but first, I have something else less pleasing to do.
I walk up to the door, and before I can knock, the door opens, and Mr. Anderson is standing there.
"Krista, I'm so glad you came," he says, opening the door wider to allow me access.
"I’m here to assess and speak to him. Remember, I'm not agreeing to anything, yet."
"I know, but I'm still glad you came."
I nod as he leads me to the living room, where Will is watching ESPN. I see his leg is elevated, and he currently has an ice pack on it.
"Who's at the..." he begins to ask, until he sees me standing there.
I suck in a deep breath, trying to control my racing heart and the anger that seems to be simmering below the surface.
"Krista is kind enough to come look you over and talk to you, Son," Mr. Anderson says as we both keep looking at each other.
"Okay," he says, drawing it out.
I stiffen my shoulders, walk over to where he is laying and lift the ice pack off his knee. I can see the redness around the stitches, and I take in the swelling.
"What have you done?" I ask.
"I tried to do some exercises that I found online, but I think I did too much."
"No, you did something you are not ready for yet."
He shrugs his shoulders, like it's no big deal, but I can tell he's in pain.
"Let's hope you didn't set back your recovery," I tell him, taking his knee into my hands and feeling around it.
I can feel some inflammation within the back of the knee. "Where are your crutches?" I ask. Looking around the room.
"They are in the bedroom," he says, sounding disgusted.
"You need them for two weeks, at least. You are not to move around the house without them. You are straining your ligaments in the back of your knee, and if you keep it up, you will injure yourself permanently."
"Mr. Anderson, do you have a few more pillows?"
"Yes, I'll be right back."
I grab my tablet out of my bag and make some notes on what I've noticed so far. Mr. Anderson brings in four more pillows, and I put them underneath Will's knee and on top of the other pillows, lifting his knee higher.
"Mr. Anderson, could you also get his crutches and put them nearby?"
"Sure," he answers, and I watch him walk away, before turning to Will.
"This should help to alleviate the swelling, keep the ice pack on it for another twenty minutes, then ice it again this evening for thirty minutes. Use the crutches when you need to get up and move around. This is all you should do for the next week. The goal is to get that swelling down before you can do anything else," I say, putting my stuff in my bag.
