Page 3 of Spring Break With A Gold Medalist

“Have you had a knee injury?”

I nod. “Hmm. In high school. Damn near made me stop gymnastics. But somewhere I found my determination. Full recovery, except now sometimes when the weather changes it gets achy. Could be age, too, I suppose.”

Silent, I wait for her to make her decision. I want to help her. Almost feels like I need to help her. Need with a capital ‘N’. To protect her from further harm. To make sure she’s safe and comfortable. And most of all, just to be near her.

Is this warped or what?

“Um, okay. I’d appreciate the help. If you really don’t mind.”

“I have nowhere else to be—” I stop myself before calling her baby doll again.

She hands me her stack of mail and uses the handrail to pull herself to her feet. She grabs her cane and once I’ve risen, she turns and peers up the flight of stairs. “Here we go.”

Cane first. Then she lifts her uninjured leg. After making sure she’s steady, she lifts the repaired leg. Stepping with her, I keep the palm of my hand against the small of her back, supporting without being obtrusive. I glare at the steps as we climb. I’m guessing she’s far enough out from the surgery she should have more mobility and strength. I’ve known athletes who don’t consider themselves as talented as they are who self-sabotage their recovery by not doing the work.

I was completely focused and single-minded after my first injury, I never would have even considered not doing the exercises the physical therapist prescribed. In fact, they had to tell me to slow down. That I could do more damage by doing too much too soon. I listened.

I don’t know what Maya needs to hear or the best way to help her. I’ll figure it out as I get to know her better. Because nowthatis my focus.

We’re three quarters of the way to the landing when she stops with a whispered, “Shit, shit, shit.”

“Maya?”

“I’m sorry. I need to stop for a minute. To rest. I’ve done too much today. You can go ahead and leave. I’ll make it the rest of the way after a breather.”

Yeah, no. Not going to happen. This woman will be safely in her apartment, feet up with an ice pack on her knee before I’ll even consider leaving. I hand her back the mail. “Hang on.”

Mindful of her knee, I slip one arm behind her thighs, the other around her shoulders to lift and hold her against my chest.

“Wait. What the heck are you doing?” She drops the cane and wiggles to be put down.

“Getting you safely into your apartment.”

“You can’t lift me. Or carry me.”

I climb the last steps. “Really? Then what am I doing?”

“I’m too heavy. Too big.”

“Obviously not, baby doll. Now unlock the door and we can get you inside.”

“You’ll have to put me down so I can get the keys out of my pocket.”

The thought of slipping my hand into the pocket of her lightweight slacks is tempting but instead I carefully set her on her feet. “Open the door. I’ll get your cane.”

She’s pushed the door open and limped inside by the time I’ve rescued the cane from its tumble down most of the stairs. When I return to the apartment she’s made it as far as the kitchen island. “Thanks. I’m good now.”

Her face is pale and she’s standing so there’s no weight on her injured leg. She’s not okay. I take the cane to her then stand a mere twelve inches in front of her and cross my arms. She’s a couple inches taller than my five nine so I tip my chin up to stare into her eyes. “I am not leaving until you’re settled and comfortable. I do understand what you’re going through. And everyone needs a little help occasionally. When’s the last time you allowed anyone to do something for you?”

“Fine. What’s it going to take for you to go?” There’s a slight upturn of her tone at the end of the question she tried to make a demand. Deep inside she wants someone to take care of her but probably doesn’t want to appear weak or needy.

“You with your feet up. Water and snacks nearby. Something pleasurable to do while you’re resting. I see you have a cold therapy machine and it needs to be doing its job. Think we can handle that?”

Her shoulders slump. “Yes. That’s what I was planning. I’ve got some writing I need to work on. I’ll get everything set up and?—”

“I’ll take care of whatever you need. You go find your comfortable spot.” I wait until she’s settled into a large recliner with the cold therapy wrap in place and the machine running. “What would you like to snack on?”

“I don’t really need anything. Just some water.”

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