214 Palmer Street(20)

“Might be a good idea.” He nodded. “Be prepared to sweat. Believe me, it’s not going to get any easier.”

On the drive home, Kirk said, “I’m not sure I like that guy.”

“Why do you say that?” Her gaze was on the printouts Phil had given her—diagrams showing exercises for her to do at home. She stared at the rudimentary drawings of people demonstrating each exercise with arrows indicating movement. Her earlier self would have remembered the exercises, but now she was grateful to have the visual reminders. Phil’s email and phone number were printed across the top.

“He seemed to take a perverse pleasure in making you work so hard. I wanted to step in several times, but admirably, I held back.”

Sarah tilted her head and thought about what he’d said. Kirk wasn’t completely wrong. At the time she’d felt as if Phil had pushed her to do more than she was capable of, and yet, that hadn’t been the case at all. To avoid embarrassment, she’d soldiered through, doing each exercise a few more times than she would have thought possible, impressing herself with her own fortitude. “I took it as encouragement. I mean, it’s his job.”

“I have to tell you, Sarah, I’m not fond of someone who considers it his job to torture my wife.”

“Torture?” She laughed. “That’s a bit of an overstatement, don’t you think?”

He ignored her question and went on. “There are other physical therapists in the world. It doesn’t have to be that guy. Maybe we should hire someone to come out to the house? You could hand pick the therapist and we could let them know that you need to work at your own pace.”

Intuitively she knew that given the opportunity to work at her own pace she’d never recover. Left by herself, she’d take naps and watch Netflix. No, she needed Phil or someone like him, and why not him? The doctor had set it up, so apparently he felt Phil was competent. “No, I want to keep doing this.” She held up the sheaf of papers. “I think he really knows what he’s doing and for the first time I feel like I’m on track to eventually getting back to normal.”

Kirk shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

“I will. Thanks.”





THIRTEEN





Over the weeks of Sarah’s recovery, Kirk transitioned to going back to work, and Sarah began to use a ride service to get to her doctors’ appointments. This small degree of autonomy made her feel like she was getting her life back.

One gray day, on a whim, she had the driver drop her off at a local coffee shop for a latte and a dose of normalcy. When she got into line, she was pleasantly surprised to see Phil up at the counter. As he walked past, cup in hand, she pinched his sleeve, making him pause. When he turned, she said, “Imagine meeting you here.”

“Sarah! What a nice surprise,” he said, his smile widening. Sarah had just finished the last of her physical therapy sessions the week before. She’d actually been sad to have it come to an end, but she’d regained her sense of balance, and she was more than capable of doing the exercises at home. He asked, “How have you been?”

“Doing well,” she said, which was only partly true. She rarely had vertigo anymore, but the headaches had persisted and there were some afternoons when a nap was the only thing that got her through the day. The doctor had said her symptoms would be resolved now, so she felt embarrassed to still be struggling.

A young woman with a baby on her hip got in line behind her, and Phil stepped away to make room. “Good to see you, Sarah.”

After she’d gotten her drink, he waved her over to his table and she pulled out a chair to join him. “No work today?” she asked.

“No, I have Thursday off because I work Saturdays.” He took a sip and then smiled at her over the rim of the cup.

Behind them, one of the employees, a young woman with purple hair, called out, “An iced white-chocolate mocha for Charlie!” Out of the corner of her eye, Sarah saw the woman push the cup toward the edge of the counter. Charlie, a thirtysomething with glasses and a scruffy beard, came to claim his drink. She noticed he was wearing faded gray sweatpants. Charlie apparently valued comfort over style.

“An iced white-chocolate mocha,” Sarah repeated. “That sounds good.”

Phil shook his head. “Too sweet for me, but it sounds like something my husband would like.”

“I didn’t know you were married!” Sarah said with delight. In all the hours they’d spent together, he’d never mentioned anything about his personal life. For some reason, she’d pictured him going home alone to a lonely apartment. She was glad to be wrong.

“That’s because my husband doesn’t hover over me every second like yours does,” Phil said, a twinkle in his eye.

“Kirk is a bit overprotective,” she acknowledged. “It’s because I was attacked. He’ll loosen up in time.”

“I hope you’re right.”

With all the hours they’d spent together there was an ease in being in Phil’s presence. Still, she realized she didn’t know much about him. “So did you always want to be a physical therapist?”

He grinned. “Not really. My original major was art history.”

“So was mine!” Sarah couldn’t believe it. “I switched when I realized how impractical it was.”