Page 30 of Stay this Christmas
As though I needed to point out that yawning gap between us. I’d never given a lot of thought to my haphazard work history—Obviously, as Georgia would say—but sitting across from Harper put it in a new, unflattering light. A few certifications here and there, other work I’d learned on the job—all just grains of sand compared to the mountain of her accomplishments. Having done most of my jobs in beautiful locations didn’t make them sound any more significant.
“I’m not a physician,” she said.
“Sure, downplay it.” I gave her a slow, sarcastic nod. “You have a doctorate though, right? I can legally and technically refer to you as Doctor?”
Her true smile peeked out again, spearing me straight through the ribs.
“This is all true, but I can’t diagnose illnesses or anything.”
“No, but you can help people improve their day-to-day lives. You help people like my grandpa recover from their injuries. That’s pretty big, too.”
Her expression brightened, but landed somewhere between pleasure and confusion. “You know about that?”
Grandpa Glen had taken a pretty bad fall in his apartment at the Village last year. No broken bones, thank God, but the resulting injuries and muscle strains had made simple activities like walking or getting dressed painful productions. Sessions with Harper had seen him through his recovery to the other side. Still an eighty-five-year-old man, but able to get around on his own without pain meds—I called that a landslide win.
“He never stopped singing your praises. He’s been talking you up ever since you started working at Fiesta Village.”
“Really?”
“Believe me. He was always giving me updates on how you made everybody’s day. You’re everybody’s favorite PT.”
“That can’t possibly be true. Have you seen how crabby some people can get when they’re injured?”
“He never mentioned them, only how thoughtful and encouraging you were. How much all the ladies dote on you, and all the men try to hit on you.”
She made a face. “That happened one time. I didn’t think Glen even knew about that.”
“My grandad’s a pretty big gossip. Anyway, after a couple of years of Harper reports, I had to come check it out for myself.”
She pursed her lips, doubt written across her face. Probably not the time to tell her just how true that was. Grandpa had peppered stories about her into every conversation, sprinkling bits of Harper trivia around like fairy dust. Even a thousand miles away in Colorado, I’d become not just interested, but invested, needing to hear his next tale about what Harper had said to him in the hallway, or who else raved about how much their resident physical therapist had helped them. My mentor’s accident had cemented my decision to come back to Magnolia Ridge, but Grandpa’s non-stop sharing about Harper had laid the foundation.
“That’s sweet of him.”
“He’s not the only one. You’ve got a lot of admirers over there.”
She flashed that skeptical look again as if I were talking crazy.
“Hey, you’ve got an admirer right here.” Too much? Maybe. But one hundred percent true.
She made a face and forked up another bite of pasta, thoroughly unimpressed.
“I mean it, Harps. I admire the hell out of you. How many people have the kind of dedication you do? Not just college, but a whole doctorate program? That’s huge. And now look at you, going above and beyond every day for patients who don’t always appreciate just how much you do for them.”
No need to call out Arthur specifically, he of the crabby attitude and dismissive waves, but I’d seen a couple of others with similar responses to her never-ending sweet nature. She could bend over backwards for those folks, and they’d only complain she hadn’t gone far enough. Most of the residents seemed to love her, but those few I’d seen who didn’t made me want to shake some sense into them.
She fidgeted in her seat like she was about five seconds away from bolting. From me? From the way I’d shoved her amazing qualities in her face? Couldn’t say.
“I’m not a saint or something. I just do my job.”
I relaxed my posture and leaned in over the table, wanting to grab her hand and comfort her from—well, my overzealous appreciation of her, I guess—but knowing I couldn’t do it. Pretty clear she wouldn’t let me yet.
“I’m sorry I’m making this weird. I just—” I ran my fingers through my hair, tugging at the curls to try to get my tangled thoughts straight. “Moving around the way I have, working the jobs I have, I’ve met a lot of people who did exactly and only what they wanted. People who worked as little as possible, just enough to support their climbing or skiing habit. People who would never in their life say they chose to do something based on how much they could give back to others. Good people, most of them, but nowhere near what I’d call selfless.
“You’re not like that. You’re special, Harper. That’s all I’m trying to say.”
She seemed to process that, her eyes sharp on me. “Do you include yourself in that description? Someone who does exactly and only what he wants?”
Her question twisted like a knife in my ribs. From breaking up with her the way I did, to abandoning my college plans and taking off after high school graduation, to every single one of my travels, I’d been pretty well focused on what I wanted. What I thought would be the most fun or offer the most opportunities. Looking back now, I had a lot of great stories to tell about a lot of great places, but I wasn’t proud of the way I’d lived.
