Page 166 of Of Heartbreak and Harmony
“Thank you,” I whisper, and he smiles.
“I love you, Calla Lily Sunrise James. Anywhere you are is where I want to be.”
“I hear you’re being discharged tomorrow.”
A tall man with dark curly hair and a white coat stands at the door to my hospital room. He smiles at me with dazzling white teeth, and Torren hops up to shake his hand in one of those low-five type moves.
I smile between them, confused, and the man laughs.
“Apologies. I should introduce myself.”
He closes the space between the door and my bed in three strides, his long legs eating up the distance confidently. Something about him makes me relax and brings a smile to my face. If it weren’t for the factthat I know without a doubt that I would remember a face like his, I’d swear I knew him from somewhere.
“I’m Jesse.” He sticks out his hand to shake mine. “I’m supposed to introduce myself as Dr. Hernandez-Calligaris, but that’s a bit of a mouthful, so you can call me Jesse.”
I clear my throat as he releases my hand. “Um. Hi. I’m Callie.”
He laughs again and gives me another one of his magnetic smiles. “I’ve been the lead surgeon on your case. You’ll be seeing me again in a month for a follow-up, also.”
“Oh.” I widen my eyes and glance at Torren, then back at Dr. Hernandez-Calligaris. “Did you do this?” I gesture to the wounds on the left side of my face and head where my skin had to be sutured back together.
“No. Actually, that was done by Dr. Vanessa Hernandez. Torren pulled some strings and got her out of semi-retirement. She’s got the steadiest hands of anyone I know.” He winks at me. “And I’m not just saying that because she’s my mom.”
I must gape at him because he chuckles. “I know. I don’t look a day over twenty-three.”
“Wow.”
“Wow, indeed. I’m an orthopedic surgeon, but I specialize in hands, specifically.”
“He’s the best in his field, too,” Torren says with a grin. “Don’t let him pretend he’s humble.”
“I get it from my mom.” The doctor shrugs with a sly smile that matches Torren’s. “I was hoping to take a look at your arm and have a chat with you about your case before they get your cast on tomorrow. Next steps, what to expect, et cetera.”
“Yeah, sure. I’d love that, actually.”
As the doctor unwraps my arm, he explains each incision and why it’s there. The plates in my arm. The bone grafting and pins in my hand. The repair work he conducted on two of my tendons. As he speaks, I have to force myself not to disassociate. I have to remind myself over and over that he’s talking about me. This ismyarm. This ismyhand. These precise, straight incisions are onmyskin. Several times, I have to swallow back bile.
“You’ll need extensive physical therapy,” he tells me as he wraps my arm again. “Torren tells me you play piano.”
I nod. “Yeah. I do.”
Idid.
“I kept that in mind during surgery. You had a serious injury here, Callie, and I want to be completely honest with you?—”
“I won’t play again.”
“Now, I didn’t say that. In fact, I’m sure you’ll be able to play again after physical therapy...”
My heart soars. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling as the doctor continues to speak.
“...but I can’t be certain what level of dexterity and movement you’ll recover. We’re going to do all that we can, but right now, I can’t promise that you’ll be able to play anything that requires extensive flexibility or precision.”
The hope that had been building collapses as my breath turns to cement. I run through the hundreds of pieces in my head. I focus on the left-hand, on the bass notes, and my heart breaks all over again.
Basically, he’s excluding almost everything except beginner-level pieces. Maybe some intermediate. In a way, it almost feels worse than never playing at all. Guilt surges and coils in my chest with the sorrow.
“Right. Of course.” I choke out. “I’m sorry. I know I should be grateful that I’ll be able to play at all. I should just be grateful to be alive.”
