away. "Work was good?"
I thought about Joy and Jennifer. Then I thought about Andy. "Yeah," I said slowly. "It was really good."
His smile was so happy, and I fought against my instinct that maybe it was strange that I didn't feel like I could tell him about Andy.
It was just new. And nothing would happen with it anyway. Or at least, that was what I told myself as we drove to the park. How very, very wrong I was.
Chapter 5
Jocelyn
Maryville Physical Therapy, a quick thirty-minute drive northwest of Green Valley, was a fairly nondescript office smack in the middle of a strip mall. It had been a couple of months since my last appointment, which was my own fault. I used the excuse of finishing up the school year and taking exams and writing papers, but the truth was that my progress was slower and harder than I wanted, which did nothing for my motivation lately.
I could still kick ass on the basketball court, and with Levi's help in the gym, my upper body strength was as good as it'd ever been. But the process of gaining enough strength to walk was frustrating. My steps weren't smooth or graceful. My legs swung out in an ungainly fashion, and I still had to hold one arm out in the air to maintain a sense of balance.
When Denise moved, and the office manager told me they'd hired someone who specialized in the exact thing I was working on, I looked forward to it with a strange sense of trepidation.
After I got sick, hope became about as dangerous as carting around a loaded gun.
I had to mourn the loss of a future I'd always taken for granted even though I still had so much to be grateful for.
Someday, they had told the fifteen-year-old Jocelyn still getting steroids pumped into her veins, if we reduce the inflammation on your spine, you might be able to use a walker on occasion.
Someday, you should be able to get pregnant, carry a child, and give birth.
Someday, you might …
Someday, if conditions were right …
Someday, maybe …
There was a part of me, one I'd only confessed to Levi, that started hating that phrase. My mom never said the words out loud, but she hated watching me try to get around with my walker. The stumbling, graceless movement of my legs somehow made it worse. In her eyes, the smooth motion of my chair was preferable because hoping for more seemed like a useless exercise in frustration.
It took root like a weed and became a battle I didn't want to fight with her. Occasionally, I would work on my legs with Levi, but that wasn't part of our usual routine either. Sometimes, if my mom wasn't home, I'd put Nero in a vest with a sturdy handle along the top of his back to do some of my exercises at home. That way, if I fell, I could use him to get back onto my feet.
Wasn't that sad? I'd risk falling as long as no one was there to watch.
But the second any eyes were on me, going through the motions was my default. That was as easy as breathing.
Now that I sat parked in front of the office with a new person waiting inside for me, I took one last look at myself in the rearview mirror. Exhausted from trying to tame my batshit crazy hair, I finally tied it to the top of my head in a riotous bun.
There was one time in my life when I truly didn't care if I looked like a bag lady, and that was during PT. I wore my favorite black leggings and a baggy Green Valley High T-shirt—the one I'd stolen from Levi—that had a hole in the hem and constantly fell off my shoulder.
One did not need to put on mascara for your PT to make you sweat and cry and push yourself past every comfortable physical and mental boundary you possessed.
I yanked the keys out of the ignition and exhaled heavily. The glass front of the office was reflective, so I had no idea if someone was in there watching me.
With a deep sigh, I opened the driver's side door. There were four to five steps from where I was sitting to the back of my car. With my right hand, I held tightly to the side of the car but left the driver's door open so it shielded me from view.
One.
Two.
My right leg swung out farther than