Chapter 23
Lydia
It’s a Wednesday afternoon, exactly three weeks since Colby got out of the hospital. And for the ninth time in three weeks, I’m standing at a therapy table in the outpatient clinic, gently manipulating Colby’s muscles and joints. But unlike when Colby was an in-patient at the hospital, we’re not alone here. Physical therapists with their patients are scattered around the large space, including one particularly bitchy PT who just so happens to be working at the station next to mine. Ramona. Indeed, in nine sessions with Colby, Ramona has just so happened to be working at the adjacent therapy table every freaking time. Not once has she been in the acute care building working with a new patient just out of surgery. Never has she been working with a patient in the swimming pool attached to the clinic. And she’s never once been out grabbing lunch, even when I thought I was being clever and scheduled Colby for noon. Not once! Clearly, the woman has been checking the schedule religiously for my appointments with Colby and reserving the station next to mine to terrorize me.
I glance at Ramona as I work the rotation of Colby’s left hip and discover she’s staring right at me as she guides a young woman through exercises with a resistance band.
I try to keep my face neutral in the face of her hard stare and return to Colby. “So how are the nightmares? Less?” I ask quietly.
“So much less,” Colby says. “I went to another session with that therapist you recommended yesterday, and last night I slept like a rock for the first time since the fire.”
“Oh, Colby. I’m so glad.”
“I’ve still got some things to work through, for sure, but I’m definitely making progress.”
“I’m so glad to hear it.”
Oh, man, I’m dying inside. These past three weeks, Colby hasn’t flirted with me at all the way he used to do in the hospital, though he’s been charming and sweet. Honestly, I’ve started wondering if maybe the brazen way he came on to me in the hospital was more a function of the pain meds than his sincere attraction to me.
When I made him promise not to hit on me again until the end of his physical therapy, I meant it. But now that he’s actually complying with my request, I feel a huge loss. And it certainly doesn’t help we haven’t been alone in three whole weeks. Every time I see him these days, I feel like I’m going to combust.
“So guess what?” Colby says as I maneuver his left ankle. “Kat is finally bringing Josh home to Meet the Morgans.”
“Hallelujah! When?”
“This Sunday for dinner. My mom is making her famous spaghetti and meatballs. God, I hope my parents don’t choke on a meatball when Kat drops her baby bomb.”
“You think she’ll finally do it then?”
“She’s got no choice. She can’t keep this secret forever. It’s been a full month.”
“Is she showing yet?”
“No. Hmm. Good point.” He chuckles. “Knowing Kat, she’ll probably chicken out and wait until she literally has no choice.”
“Well, either way, you’ve got to promise to tell me everything when you come to your appointment on Monday. Take notes if you have to—I want full details.”
“There’s no way in hell I’m gonna give you a report after the fact. You’ve got to come to dinner. I won’t take no for an answer this time. Sunday at seven. Give me your phone number and I’ll text you the address.”
I’m simultaneously elated and crestfallen. Elated he’s asking me to dinner again, thereby confirming his continued interest in me, and crestfallen because, yet again, I’ve got plans. “I’m going out of town this weekend,” I say, my shoulders sagging. “Leaving tomorrow. I won’t be back until late Sunday night.”
Colby looks hugely disappointed.
“I’m sorry, Colby. I truly would have loved to come to dinner. I’m so disappointed.”
He tries to smile. “No worries. Such is life. Where are you going? Somewhere fun, I hope?”
Oh, shit. My heart rate is suddenly pounding. “The Happiest Place on Earth,” I manage to say breezily, though my head is teeming with thoughts. Should I finally tell Colby about the kids now?
“Oh, that’s always fun,” Colby says. “Have you been there before?”
“Several times,” I say. “You?”
“A couple times. I haven’t been in a long time, though. Last time we went as a family, I think Dax was, like, ten.”
The same age as Theo. Although Theo is turning eleven on Saturday. Hence, the trip.
I suddenly realize the silence between us has become awkward. Colby’s obviously waiting for me to elaborate on why the hell a single woman who presumably has no children is going to Disneyland. But I don’t feel like now is the time to tell him about my three kids and dead husband. Not here in the clinic with all these people around us. Not with freaking Ramona staring at us like a hawk. And, frankly, not when my silence on the topic at this point has become strange and weird and deceitful and I don’t know how to dig myself out of this hole.
The truth is the kids and I are flying to California to spend a long weekend at Disneyland with both sets of the kids’ grandparents—my parents and Darren’s. Is that really what I want to explain to Colby as an opening salvo when I first tell him about my kids? I quickly decide, Um, no, thank you. Because I’m a freaking coward.
I clear my throat. “What’s your favorite ride?” I ask feebly.
“Space Mountain,” he says.
“That’s my favorite, too,” I say. “You know, if you’re in a wheelchair, they let you go to the front of every line. Too bad you’re not coming with me. I would have milked you for all you’re worth.” Oh my God. What am I saying? Colby couldn’t possibly come with me to Disneyland with my kids and Darren’s freaking parents!
“Hey, milk me any time. Please,” Colby says, and then he immediately cringes. “Sorry. That came out wrong.”
We both laugh. God, he’s so cute.
Oh, jeez. I’m in a pickle. I’m having the irrational urge to invite Colby to Disneyland. To tell him about my kids and Darren and tell my parents and Darren’s parents about Colby and...
Oh. Wait.
Darren’s mother.
Images of her grief-stricken face shooting daggers at Colby and me all weekend long flash across my mind.
Yeah, no thanks.
Never mind.
This isn’t the way I want to tell Colby about my kids, anyway. Not like this. I’ve waited too long to tell him now. I’ve made it a thing. Now, whenever I tell him, which I’ll obviously need to do at some point, it’s going to be a huge bombshell. Which means I need to do it when we’re alone, when we can talk in detail and I can cry and he can say whatever he needs to say about how weird it is that I waited so long to tell him. How hurt he is that I didn’t share such a massively important part of my life with him. And certainly, whenever it happens, it’s got to be when Ramona’s not watching me like a prison guard on yard duty.
The clock strikes the hour, signaling the end of my session with Colby.
“Time’s up,” I whisper.
He sits up and smiles thinly. Clearly, his mind is racing every bit as much as mine is.
“Well, my friendly physical therapist,” he says. “Have fun in Disneyland. I’ll expect a full report on Monday.”
My heart lurches into my throat. “And I’ll expect a full report about your family dinner with Josh.”
Colby looks at me for a long moment, his eyes scanning mine like an MRI searching for cancer cells. “Have a great long weekend in Disneyland, Lydia.”
“Thank you.”
“I guess I’ll see you on Monday, then.”
“See you then.”
I’ll miss you, I think. But, of course, I don’t say it.
I glance at Ramona. She’s busy with her patient, so I lean into Colby’s ear. “The PT at the next station is the one who has it out for me,” I whisper. “The one who told me about that employment policy. She’s been watching me like a hawk with you for the past three weeks.”
Colby glances at Ramona and then returns to me. His features noticeably soften.
I whisper, “We’re not supposed to give our personal numbers to patients, but take mine. I don’t want to wait for Monday to get an update about the dinner. Call or text me on Sunday night and tell me everything.”
The hardness in Colby’s eyes from a moment ago is gone. In fact, he looks elated. “Awesome.”
He pulls out his phone and I discreetly mouth my personal cell number.
“I’ll text you Sunday night,” Colby whispers.
I bite my lip. “Please don’t forget. I’ll be waiting by my phone.”
“Lydia, I think about you twenty-four-seven. I won’t forget.”
My heart explodes in my chest. Oh my God! He still feels the same way he did in the hospital!
Colby glances at Ramona behind my back. “She’s staring at us like a sniper right now,” he whispers. “Better throw her off the scent.” He raises his voice and plasters a fake smile on his face. “Bye, Lydia,” he booms cheerfully. “Thanks for being such an amazing and professional physical therapist!”
I laugh. “My pleasure, Mr. Morgan!”
“See you Monday, Physical Therapist Lydia!”
“Okay! See you then, Mr. Morgan!”
I help him into his wheelchair and push him toward the lobby... and we both break down into ridiculous giggles.