Even though I have to work for Dr. Davis today, I’m so happy I could whistle while I do it. I’m still on cloud nine from my night with Whitney, and looking forward to seeing her again. For once, I don’t even care that she’s been the subject of my every waking thought.
And I’m also excited to talk to Dr. Davis about my physical therapy results. Whitney had mentioned a wrinkle— something about Dr. Davis thinking we shouldn’t work together— but I know I can iron it out. It must be a misunderstanding that a chat with Dr. Davis should easily clear up.
When I go to knock on his door, he’s already in his office, and waves me in as if he was expecting me.
“Hello Harlow,” he says, in a serious tone.
“Hey Doc. What’s up? Were you able to talk with—”
“With Whitney Reid?” He asks, with a knowing nod. “Yes, and as a matter of fact, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Okay, good,” I say, sitting down.
“I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Harlow,” he says, a frown spreading across his face. “But please don’t be mad at the messenger. Whitney has reported that your progress is slower than she would expect and that you need even more work than she is able to provide you with at this time, being a new intern and everything.”
“She? What?”
I can’t believe it. I have no idea what’s going on, but there has to be some explanation.
“That’s not at all what she’s been saying to me,” I tell him, searching my mind to find some explanation.
“Well, here it is in black and white,” he says, handing me my file. “And from what I’ve seen and heard at the facility, it appears that Ms. Reid has a little crush on you. So maybe she’s not as forthcoming with you as she was with me, or she just can’t help but tell you what you want to hear. She seems to me to be a little weak, like someone who always plays it safe. So who knows what she’s really thinking? People like that are squirrely.”
I look down at the notes from Whitney, which definitely lay out a different story than she’s been telling me. She had said she had given me all 9’s and 10’s for aptitude but her charts document 2’s and 3’s at best. Her notes state that I’m basically incapable of doing anything I’m supposed to be able to do.
I scratch my head, perplexed.
“But Dr. Davis,” I protest, suddenly finding half my brain. “It’s not just that she told me I was able to do these things. It’s that, I was literally, actually, able to do them. I ran these distances in much shorter times than are shown here.”
“According to whom?” Dr. Davis asks, raising his eyebrows at me.
Fuck. Of course Whitney had been the one with the stopwatch. But why would she fudge my times? Why would she tell me I’m doing great, and tell Dr. Davis I’m doing so poorly?
I know she didn’t lie about my progress. I know I’m in tip top shape, almost as good as I was before the accident. But obviously Dr. Davis doesn’t believe me because Whitney’s notes say differently. And why would they say differently?
I stand up, angrily pushing my chair against Dr. Davis’ desk. I have to go talk some sense into her.
“Look Harlow,” Dr. Davis says, clearing his throat. “I don’t know what’s going on with that girl but I have to give her the benefit of the doubt. You’ve been accusing me of holding you back but now her notes show that you’re not ready. So let’s just concentrate on going from here. You’re being re-assigned, and certainly another Physical Trainer will be able to give us some clarity. Some insight into this situation. Maybe the truth lies somewhere in between what Ms. Reid— who is obviously goo- goo- ga- ga over you— thinks your abilities are, and what you think your abilities are. We’ll find out soon enough, and we can address this head- on.”
He’s right. Whitney must be telling me one thing— which I definitely think is the truth— and writing down another thing just to hold me back. She’s used to dating losers like Tony so maybe she was looking for a reason to keep me along longer. Maybe she doesn’t even want me to go back into the military because then I’ll have to go overseas.
Talking to her isn’t going to do any good. I really was sleeping with the enemy.
Now the events and outbursts the last time I saw Whitney were starting to add up. Dr. Davis must have found out how badly she reported that our sessions were going and started the process of switching me over to another physical therapist.
Whitney was probably shocked he’d taken action against her, and was sure I’d find out. That’s why she was so nervous, and had tried to call things off with me.
“All right,” I tell Dr. Davis, at a loss for anything better to say.
I guess he wins. Whitney wins. Everyone wins but me.
I storm out of his office, determined to never talk to Whitney again. I wish I never would have talked her into being with me in the first place.
I never should have fallen for her, no matter how cute her damn ass is.