I blink when I see Harlow, as if it’s all in my imagination.
I turn to Lance and say, “Is that…?”
“I was in the middle of trying to tell you,” he whispers back.
“Harlow Bradford,” says my patient Max, taking a step forward with his good leg and stretching his arm out. “I’ve heard so much about you. Max Wishard. Senior Airman.”
“Nice to meet you too,” says Harlow, walking through the door and shaking hands with Max.
He’s mere inches away from me now, and I don’t know whether to feel excited or dreadful.
“Your story is so inspiring,” says Max. “It’s helped me get through so much worry and anxiety. I hope to be able to work with Dr. Davis too.”
Harlow bows his head in a grateful nod.
“And how are you doing?” he asks.
“It’s slow going, but I’ll get there. Right, Whitney?”
Max flashes a grin at me and I can’t bear it.
“Great, good to hear,” says Harlow. “Tell me about your story. What unit were you in?”
I’m kind of amazed at how sweet Harlow is being to Max. On stage he came across as some rough-and-tumble tough guy but now he’s being so gentle and encouraging.
And so damn hot. But I can’t let my hormones take over my rational thought process.
“Um, Lance, can I speak with you privately?” I ask, as Max launches into his story to Harlow.
We step into the hall and walk a few feet away.
“So that’s what I was trying to tell you, Whitney,” Lance says, his face an excited glow. “You know how during the conference they announced that we’d be working with Dr. Davis’ patients?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, it also turns out that we’ll be working with Harlow, his original success story.”
“If he’s a success story then why does he need our help?” I quickly interject.
“Oh my god, Whitney. What’s up with you? This is good news. For the practice, for service members, and for you and your career. You’ve been selected as the intern to work with Harlow.”
“Why me?” I ask, suspicious all over again. “I’m only an intern.”
“You’re a great intern,” says Lance. “Although I hope you don’t let it go to your head. And you know that the interns work with the patients first— with my supervision of course— and then they’re seen further up the chain as needed. That’s really not abnormal.”
“Hmmm.”
I shrug.
Lance is right, but something still seems off.
“Lance, I just think it’s strange. I’m glad Harlow’s made such a turn-around but I don’t want the other patients to have false hope. Not everyone has access to Dr. Davis’ breakthrough treatment and there’s only so much we can do with all of the patients. I’ve worked with Max for the past year and he’s barely made any progress. Yet as soon as he lays eyes on Harlow, it’s like he’s some new religious savior and everything’s going to be great or something.”
“Well, what’s so wrong with that?” Lance challenges. “We both know it’s good for patients to maintain a positive outlook. Maybe Dr. Davis can work with Max, and can help him improve.”
“He’s a facial reconstruction surgeon,” I say, finally being able to put words to one of the nagging thoughts that’s been bugging me. “What does he know about physical therapy?”
“I don’t know, but he definitely improved Harlow’s cognitive and physical functions in addition to his face,” Lance says decisively. “We saw it with our own eyes. Plus, he’s always talking about this new integrative system of treatment that apparently works. And now we have the opportunity to be part of that system. Part of the team. It’s a good thing, not a bad thing, Whitney.”
“Okay,” I say.
All of my concerns have been dismissed. And I really trust Lance. Maybe I’m the crazy one.
“And I’m sure I don’t have to point out,” Lance continues, leaning in close, “that the clinic is very happy to be working with Dr. Davis and Harlow. You certainly don’t want to stand in their way.”
“All right,” I agree, a chill running down my spine at the thought.
It’s true. I’m just an intern here with no power or control, and the evaluations I receive from Piñon will make or break my career.
I think back to how lucky I felt to get this internship. I don’t want to blow it by thinking I know more than everyone else.
“Let’s get back in there. I have a job to do.”
I begin walking resolutely to the therapy room.
“I know I also don’t have to point out how fine that man is,” Lance says, under his breath with a giggle. “If there’s one thing that can convince you to work with him, maybe you should just focus on his appearance.”
I stifle a laugh as I enter the room where Harlow is still talking to Max. My heart pounds in a mixture of excitement and disbelief at the thought of working up close and personal with the man I thought I’d only ever get to see from a distance on stage, and maybe after that in my dreams.