of her laugh came back to me while I was driving, and that sparked the memory of us dancing across the top of my mom’s bed.
All of the memories containing Ellen also have my mom present, though I barely remember her reactions since I was young and didn’t give them enough weight.
If Ellen was or is my mom, why did she give me up? Why would she continue to visit? Why did she stop? Did my mom ask her to stop?
My thoughts end as I turn the water off, racing down the drain, replaced with more pressing concerns like being late to class.
My day passes slowly, every class seemingly longer, the breaks in between just as bad, and when I get to work, I feel like everything is an uphill battle. Because I’m not a physical therapy assistant, my tasks range widely based on what the office needs are. Most days, I still help get patients into their rooms and move machines they’re using for treatments. I make sure we have ice packs and clean towels stacked and that the water cooler is never empty, and cups aren’t scattered across the floor. I also help with calls and scheduling, which is how today is mostly being spent after Cara, one of the five physical therapists in the office tells me she’s planned a vacation in two weeks and needs all her appointments to be moved.
I assure Mr. Vaden, a patient that’s been seeing us for a month for a torn rotator cuff that no, his appointment isn’t canceled, yes, he will be seeing someone else at this practice, no, I don’t need him to give me the details of his rehab since his data is detailed in his patient file, and so on and so on. What should have been a five-minute call stretches past twenty.
“You’re keeping all of my information? What are you doing with it?” Mr. Vaden asks. I close my eyes with the new direction of this conversation, trying to remain calm.
“Mr. Vaden, it’s our pleasure to assist you, and your privacy is just as important to us as your health. We keep detailed records for instances like this where your physical therapist is going to be out of the office, so we can continue giving you the best care.”
Our receptionist, Chris, chuckles quietly, overhearing the conversation.
“If I start getting telemarketing calls…” Mr. Vaden’s voice is gruff.
“They definitely won’t be from coming to see us,” I assure him.
“So, I’m still coming in?”
“That’s right. One hour later, and you’re going to be seeing Rob.” I click confirm on the appointment.
“All right. Have a good day.” He hangs up before I can respond.
“You should be going to school for hospitality,” Chris says. “I don’t know how you stay so level-headed.”
I’m about to tell him there’s no way, when Arlo steps up to the counter, finished with his session.
“You ready?”
After today feeling like it was an entire week stitched together, I suddenly feel like it’s going too quickly. My heart thrums, and I feel both warm and cold.
Chris is aware of our friendship and asks minimal questions—he glances at the clock. “She is. See you tomorrow, Olivia.”
I slide my chair back and grab my coat and purse, facing the empty waiting room. “See you.”
“Any bad luck today?” I ask Arlo, following him out to his SUV that he parked beside my Prius.
He lifts his hand, showing a bandage on the heel of his palm.
“What happened?”
“I went by the house because no one had emptied the fridge or freezer, and I knew it would stink, and while I was there, I took out the trash and recycling. Dropped a jar on the driveway and managed this somehow.”
“Maybe you’re just incredibly clumsy off the field? Maybe all the weight lifting made you those muscles, and you never grew into them?”
A smirk ghosts across his features. “I’ll follow you.”
We make it home in what seems like record time, each mile making me second guess my decision for this outing, even more, especially the part about involving Arlo and Rose.
“I’m ready!” Rose yells from her bedroom.
The commotion has Juliet running out of her room, her tail up in the air. “Give me five minutes. I need to change,” I call back as Arlo closes the front door.
I set my purse and keys down as Juliet weaves between my legs, then follows me to my room.
I pull out a black sweater and contemplate if I should change my hair or wear a hat or do