“I hear ya. Thanks, Coach.”
By the time he finished the call, Manny was pulling into Robert’s driveway. Again, his friend helped him out of the car and into the recliner in his living room.
“How about we order a pizza?” Manny suggested.
“You don’t have to babysit me. Thanks for driving me, but I don’t want to ruin your whole day.”
“What are you talking about? I ditched work and get to hang out with my best buddy. I ain’t going nowhere.”
“Cool.” Robert didn’t get a lot of free days during football season, so he appreciated the down time, even if he was already itching to get back to the game. “You order a pie. I’ll make an appointment with the physical therapist.”
When Robert exited the elevator on the third floor of the lush medical complex, a large set of glass doors greeted him. He paused to read the name of the facility displayed in large gold letters: Morgan Physical Therapy Solutions – Advanced Treatment of Sports Injuries. Underneath it read: Dr. A.C. Morgan, PT, DPT, SCS, OCS. This wasn’t the physical therapy place the team regularly used, and Robert wondered why the change.
As soon as he passed through the entry doors, the accolades on the wall behind the reception desk answered his question. He noted that Dr. A.C. Morgan received her degree in physical therapy from Northwestern, earned an MBA With Distinction from Princeton, and held a Bachelor of Science, summa cum laude,in kinesiology and sports medicine from Columbia. A dozen or more photos of a woman in a white coat with thick black glasses, standing alongside well-known professional athletes, hung next to the framed degrees and various published articles.
“Can I help you?”
The receptionist’s voice brought Robert’s attention away from the display. “Sorry. I’m Robert Blade. I have an appointment with Dr. Morgan.”
The sparkle in her eyes and illuminating smile indicated an introduction was unnecessary.
“Welcome, Mr. Blade. Would you like some coffee or water?”
“No, thanks. I’m good.”
“You can have a seat in Dr. Morgan’s office. It’s Room 1. She’ll be right in to see you.”
“Thanks.”
The interior of Dr. Morgan’s office bore the same certifications on the walls as the reception area and even more published articles from medical journals. The only thing missing were the photographs—any photographs. He circled her desk and didn’t find any on display there either.
The click of the door handle made him jump, and he scurried to the other side of the desk as fast as his injured leg would allow. In his haste, and because he was still getting used to walking with a cane, he practically fell into the chair and had to disguise a laugh with a cough.
“Good morning,” Dr. Morgan said.
She held an open laptop as she entered the room. Barely looking up from it, she shook his hand so quickly that he didn’t have a chance to get up from his chair. A second later, she was sitting behind her desk and silently studying the information on her laptop screen.
Her shoulders were hunched as she scrutinized his test results and read his profile. The large laptop in front of her prevented him from seeing most of her face, but he could see a flash of light blue under the dark-rimmed librarian glasses that sat on her nose. The tight neat bun that she wore in the photos out front appeared to be disheveled, as if she’d already had a hectic morning, but it was only nine o’clock. Maybe she was running late and hastily pinned it up, not having time to smooth the stray hairs into place.
“Your injury is unremarkable. Very standard in your line of work.” She spoke quickly and typed just as fast. “Not that it means it isn’t serious, because it could be. I’ve prescribed a regime of TENS and ultrasound therapy, whirlpool baths, massage, and exercise. You can start today, and we’ll re-evaluate in a few days.”
With that, she clapped her laptop shut, clutched it to her chest and headed for the door.
Robert was used to one-sided conversations and fast-talking doctors, but this was ridiculous. Instead of being annoyed, he found it amusing and grunted a laugh as he stared at her empty chair. Then he noticed that she left her phone on her desk. “Wait. You forgot your phone.” It was within reach, so he picked it up, stood, and took a few steps in her direction.
She suddenly whipped around and raced toward her desk, and they collided.
The file cabinet to Robert’s right prevented him from falling, but Dr. Morgan went down like a landslide. She fell with so much force that her hair tumbled out of its bun and her glasses flew across the carpet.
“I’m sorry. Are you OK?” He held his hand out to assist her, but she never looked up.
“Yes. I’m fine. Thank you,” she answered, as she gathered her laptop and phone off the floor.
Robert managed to retrieve her glasses without too much trouble and offered them to her. “Here’s your glasses. I hope they’re not—”
They both froze as they made eye contact for the first time.
It washer.The girl from the bar. She looked completely different in the photos, that’s why he didn’t recognize her. Now, without her glasses and her hair undone, there was no mistaking the beauty he met two weeks ago who took off without reason.
