mentally replayed the conversation after leaving her father’s house for her physical therapy appointment. The reality of being without his financial support was slow to sink in. She had to hold out hope that he was just testing the waters. Surely after a couple weeks passed and she wasn’t able to find a job, he wouldn’t let her live out on the streets somewhere.
Would he?
No, she decided as she wove through the snarled traffic of north Atlanta’s suburban back roads. But once her father made up his mind, he only rarely changed it. He would sooner present her with the option of taking her old bedroom back in his house than give her another dime for living expenses.
The thought of having to return home just months after graduating college was too humiliating to bear.
She had to figure this out.
How was she supposed to get a job when she hadn’t ever had one before? The only work she’d known since the age of four had been dancing, and that work had been substantial and all-encompassing. She couldn’t exactly get a job with a ballet company when she was still undergoing physical therapy, now could she? How could her father not understand that?
And why, oh why did her injury have to happen so close to graduation? Kennesaw State University where she had earned her B.A. in Dance offered graduates assistance with finding internships and professional opportunities, but her injury had prevented her from being able to take advantage of that. Despite what she had told her father about getting help from her former internship advisor, she would most likely fall lower than current graduates on the university’s priority list even once she did get back to full health.
She supposed most other people would have a system of friends or former coworkers who might be able to help them find a job. In her case, everyone she knew was either a dancer or closely tied to the world of dancing.
Well, not everyone.
Drumming her fingers on the steering wheel of her Toyota 86, she debated whether it was worth enduring a possible lecture to approach her older sister May for help. Was May one of the resources her father was referring to?
Her one-sided internal conversation came to an end as she pulled up to the gate in front of the beautiful home of Cole and Everly Parker. Dr. Everly Parker had a home office and PT facility that rivaled any Jasmine had ever visited. As one of Dr. Parker’s patients, she had a personalized security card that allowed her access through the gate for up to thirty minutes before her scheduled appointment time. Her car’s clock told her she had about twenty minutes to kill in the waiting area.
Great. Just more time to stress about her father’s ultimatum.
She admired the sprawling ranch-style home as she wound around to the garage area to park. It was easily the most spectacular house she had ever visited. Patients only ever entered the lower level that included Dr. Parker’s clinic, but Jasmine had sneaked a few glances in the windows of the main living area. It made her sigh in envy.
Once she parked, she headed through the cool winter air to the door leading to Dr. Parker’s domain. On the left upon entering was the indoor saltwater pool where she’d undergone a few sessions of water therapy. It released a faint scent that Jasmine found appealing. She walked along the hallway past the pool to an open door on the right and entered the waiting area.
Much as she expected, the room was empty. Dr. Parker did her best to schedule her patient appointments far enough apart that there was little-to-no overlap. She worked with some big names in sports, so the scheduling was one way the doc helped maintain confidentiality. Jasmine had only rarely seen anyone else in the facility when she was there.
Although the waiting area had several comfortable reclining chairs, a television broadcasting SportsCenter, and numerous magazines spread across the two end tables between the chairs, she dropped her bag to the floor and walked straight to the mirrored wall on the left side of the room. She had come to the appointment already dressed for PT work in a roomy sweatshirt, thermal leggings, and her preferred ballet flats. As she always did, she longed for a barre along the wall to assist with her warmups, but she did without.
She started with a rolling spinal stretch, bending at the waist to touch the floor and then