Page 129 of Share with Me

Vittorio swiped through Ivan’s records on his Galaxy tablet and pressed a few things that Ivan couldn’t see. “Not going to lie to you, Ivan. In your case, maybe two to six months, four if you work hard.”

“Four months!”

“If you work very hard. No one can guarantee you complete recovery, not even God.” Vittorio picked up a printout from the printer nearby and placed it on the table in front of Ivan. “This is our schedule for the next two weeks. We’re going to take it one session at a time. Baby steps.”

Ivan stared at the schedule.Lord Jesus, help me.

“Do you have something you can work toward?” Vittorio asked.

“Like what?”

“A more defined goal. I know you want to get back to work, but is there something specific you want so badly that you’ll do anything to get better so you can pick up that violin again?”

All Ivan could see was Brinley’s face.

I want to playAirfor Brin again even if she never recovers her 1698 Strad.

“Think about that carrot on a stick, and make your way toward it.” Vittorio stood up from his desk.

Ivan folded the schedule of death, and pocketed it in his barn jacket.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Ivan.” Vittorio stood up. “Keep that splint on there so nobody touches your wrist.”

“I will. Say, don’t I have a thirty-dollar copay?” Ivan wasn’t sure if he should ask, but it was done.

“Nope. All taken care of. We’ll bill your insurance. You’re good to go.”

“All right. Fair enough.” Yet it bothered him as he walked out of the East Beach Therapy Center where the cold January bit down on his head under an overcast sky.

All taken care of.

Again.

* * *

Against his better judgment, Ivan called Brinley when he got into his truck. He knew that his heart and mind were not in equilibrium right now, but he needed to hear her voice. He cranked up the Chevy.

Outside his window, he could see the parking meter. He had ten minutes before he had to put more quarters in, but that wasn’t going to happen. He had no more coins in his pocket.

“Four months, huh?” Brinley said on the phone.

“Yeah. Long road ahead.”

“We’ll do it together, Ivan.”

“This pain is mine alone to bear.”

“Not true. I’ll be back soon, and I’ll go with you to therapy.”

“What can you do?” Ivan backed the truck out of the parking spot.

“I’ll pray. Keep you company.”

Ivan would like that but… “I don’t want you to see me in therapy.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Pain all the way. Dr. Rao said the new bones are in, but the OT gave me some exercises and it about killed me. And we haven’t even started. Torture begins at seven o’clock tomorrow morning.”

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