Page 6 of Extended Bridge

While she’s preparing the tea, I wander around to the various photos. My sister and me playing in the sand on a beach when I was five and she was fifteen, two weeks before our parents announced their divorce. I move to the next one, of the three of us sitting in front of a tent in the backyard. In the stands when Kara graduated high school. Me waving to Ma from the stage holding up my physical therapy degree. Simpler times. Before the media twisted me into some sort of villain. And now, a killer arachnid.

I collapse into “my” chair. How did my life get this messed up? Ma comes into the room and passes me my tea. I blow on it while she drags her chair closer to me.

“Talk to me, Sweet Pea.”

Her use of my childhood nickname calms me. “I really hate that my original diagnosis of Bennett was wrong.”

“As I told you before, you didn’t have any machines or anything to verify your instincts. Plus, it’s a low-grade stage three, right? Almost a two.”

Gotta love Ma. She always sees the best for me. “You’re right. Still, it eats at me that I got it wrong.”

She places her teacup into its saucer. “I wouldn’t know you were my daughter if you weren’t a perfectionist.” She smiles to take away the sting of her truth.

I grab a throw pillow with a gerbera daisy embroidered on it and place it over my lap. “I’ve been Bennett’s physical therapist for almost two weeks now.”

She nods. “He seems nice enough.”

I rush in. “He is. He works really hard at his therapy and hascome so far in such a short time. Then something catches him off guard and he reinjures himself.”

“Again. Not your fault.”

“You’re right, but I hate seeing his progress upended. It’s like one step forward and three back sometimes.”

“That’s the nature of therapy, right? Healing the issues and offering coping mechanisms for the unexpected.”

I take another sip of my tea. “I’ve taught you well.” Staring into the hot liquid, I add, “I made a commitment to him when I took on his case. I promised he’d be stage ready.”

“I’d say you’ve upheld your end of the bargain. Doesn’t he have his opening concert tonight in the City?”

“He does.” I toss the pillow onto the sofa. “However, he’s not even seventy percent healed, no matter what the stubborn man would tell you.”

“What are you saying, Sweet Pea?”

I glance at a framed photo of Ma and me smelling flowers in a local botanical garden. “Bennett’s asked me to go on tour with him to continue his PT.”

“Oh.” She picks up her tea and puts it back down. “His idea?”

I rush in. “His doctor prescribed physical therapy for the next three months, and Bennett says he wants me to do it.” In more ways than one, but I’m not going to share this with her.

“How do you feel about this? What about your clinics here?”

I switch the cross of my feet. “I’m the one who started his therapy, and I should continue it. Especially since I misdiagnosed him at the beginning.”

Ma gives me a pointed look. “You know what I think of that crap.”

“Fine.” I recross my legs. “I still began his therapy.”

“You did. Another therapist could read your notes and start up with him.”

I flick my fingers but don’t respond. After all, she’s not wrong.

Since this truth remains unchallenged, she prods in a different direction. “Your clinics?”

“Are stable at the moment. Court has a handle on one and Felipe the other. I got the bank’s go-ahead for the third, so it needs to be built out, which will take a minimum of four months. With my pay for working with Bennett, I can open a fourth clinic.” I point to my purse. “While I was waiting for you to pick me up, I met with Angie Hunte of Russo Real Estate and she gave me a few different options to check out.”

“You’ve been working really hard ever since...well, since Darren died. You haven’t taken any time away, you just threw yourself into creating and expanding your PT empire.”

My cheeks inflate at her descriptor.

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