My doorbell rings, awakening me from a deep slumber. My first thought is who’s at my door so early? My second thought— embarrassingly— is, Harlow?
I stumble out of bed and answer the door unabashedly in my pajamas. I’m surprised when bright light is the only thing that greets me.
It’s not Harlow. It’s no one. Just a package my postman left at the front door. My latest installment from my Books & Bubble Bath subscription. Great. As if I didn’t already feel like a walking cliché, now I’m seriously thinking of trying to mend my broken heart by losing myself in a romance novel while soaking in the tub.
I’m surprised to find that it’s mid- afternoon. I’ve been sleeping for a really long time.
I admit it. I called in to work, decided to skip my classes, and took a mental health day. This is my very first one, ever.
I’ve heard of such things, but I thought they were for weak- minded idiots. The type of person who fall in love with someone who would believe a smarmy doctor over them, and who would be so morose once that person breaks up with them that they need to stay in bed all day, and maybe stay in the bath tub all evening to boot.
And then I decide to take action. I don’t deserve a bubble bath until I’ve figured out what Dr. Davis’ deal is.
Clearly Harlow doesn’t want anything to do with me right now, and how can I blame him, when undoubtedly Dr. Davis got to him first and painted me as some crazy stalker who is making Harlow look bad so that I can have him all to myself?
I need to figure out a way to convince Harlow that it’s Dr. Davis— not me— who can’t be trusted. I need to do it to possibly save my relationship with Harlow, and to save my job.
On a hunch, I drive to Dr. Davis’ office. This is risky, as either Dr. Davis or Harlow could see me, but at this point, what do I have to lose? I park in the far end of the parking lot, furthest away from the entrance, trying to formulate a plan.
I think about what I know, which isn’t much, except that Harlow is the only patient Dr. Davis latches on to so tightly. There’s no one else he touts as being a success story, or brags about, or makes work for him. So what is it about Harlow that Dr. Davis needs so badly? And what is it about his other patients that isn’t worthy of public attention?
I wonder if I should wait until I see Dr. Davis come out, and somehow go in and steal all his files. I wish I had a good disguise so that I could pretend to be a different patient myself. Or so that I could sneak in and talk to them.
None of these ideas are very good, but at least I’m doing something besides sleeping or taking a bath. It has to be a step in the right direction. I know I need to have hard evidence to expose Dr. Davis as the fraud I believe him to be— although I have no idea what kind of fraud, or how, or for what reason— and even if I don’t get this evidence—even if I play ball and don’t say a word— he’ll likely find a way to destroy my career.
As Harlow would say, it’s time to go big or go home.
As I rack my brain, I see a lone figure exit the clinic and enter the parking lot. He’s limping, and it looks like the simple task of walking to his car is difficult for him. As he gets a big closer, I can see that he’s wearing a mask of some sort.
Here’s my chance. I jump out of my car and head his way, hoping that neither Dr. Davis nor Harlow are around, and that they won’t happen to walk outside and spot me here.
“Hello there,” I call out, extending an arm when I’m close enough. “Would you like help walking to your car?”
“No, I’m fine,” he says.
But then he takes my arm anyway. “Well, thank you.”
“You’re welcome. No problem. How are you today?”
“I’ve been better.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
Hoping I don’t seem too out of place, I add, “I’m Whitney Reid.”
“Jesse Morrow,” he says. Then he takes a deep breath, and then asks, “Do you work here? With Dr. Davis?”
“Me? No? Well… not exactly.”
I decide to tell him the truth. That’s often the best route.
“I work as a physical therapist at Piñon Physical Therapy. I do help some of Dr. Davis’ patients there, yes.”
“I see.”
He frowns, and then points. “That’s my car over there. I’ve heard of you guys.”
“You have?”
As we walk to his car, an older and unassuming Buick, I think, of course he has heard of us. It’s the newest collaboration. They come to us when they’re done with Dr. Davis.
“I’ve heard it’s where the lucky ones get to go. Like Harlow.”
“Lucky ones?”
Harlow?
My ears perk up.
“Yeah, the ones who have hope of getting better. I’m not one of them.”
“You’re not? Why not?”
We’re at his car now, so I drop his arm, but he just stands there, still talking to me, luckily.
“I don’t know. I guess from what Dr. Davis said I’m pretty much a lost cause. They can’t do much to help me.”
“Really?”
I’m astonished. How could physical therapy not at least somewhat benefit any injured service member?
“Yeah, and I even got to talk to Harlow before my surgery. I’m kind of mad at him actually. He made it seem like it was so easy. Almost like some miracle. I was also hoping he would come to my surgery, which I know it probably too big of a request and that he’s probably really busy, but I never heard anything else from him. But I guess he can’t spend a lot of time with everyone. And that not everyone can expect as good of an outcome as he’s had. I’m trying hard not to take it personally. I’m trying hard not to be completely pessimistic, actually.”
I frown. It surprises me that Harlow wasn’t there for him when he’d requested it. That doesn’t seem like Harlow.
But then again, perhaps I’d misjudged Harlow and built him up into some sort of schoolgirl crush fantasy. It has nothing to do with how Jesse is feeling. I really wish there was something I could do to help him.
But I’m no one. Just an intern. And if I even give up a hint of trying to help a patient of Dr. Davis’ that I wouldn’t have otherwise known about, I’ll definitely be out of that internship.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I tell him.
“Thank you for the help,” he says, with half a smile.
He opens his car and I help him slowly lower himself into it. The least that Dr. Davis’ staff could have done was walk him to his car, I think.
As he nods at me and drives away, I know what I have to do.
Somehow I have to get access to Dr. Davis’ files.