Tears blurred her vision, obscuring the surprised and pitying looks from other diners. Thank goodness she didn’t know any of them. By the time she made it out the front door of the now-crowded restaurant, she was in full-on ugly cry mode.
He lied to me. Cheated on me. Made me theotherwoman. I'm a home wrecker.
She pushed through the small crowd gathered near the entrance and turned left, intent on leaving before Phillip arrived.
"Paige!" Right on cue, his voice came from down the sidewalk.
She looked over her shoulder to see him hurrying toward her, a large bouquet of red roses in his hand. He didn't look like he intended to break up with her. Her gaze darted to the corner where the light had just turned green for traffic. If she waited to cross, he would catch up to her.
Talking to him now while she was so angry and hurting so badly would only cause a scene that would further humiliate and infuriate her. She couldn’t bear to hear more of his lies.
She rounded the corner and darted down the street.
"Paige! Where are you going?"
She needed to get away from him. Fast. With one final look over her shoulder, she darted between two parked cars. She just needed to get to her own car on the other side of the street.
A horn blared.
Tires squealed.
Paige looked up to see a silver crossover bearing down on her. She jerked her arms up in front of her face as if that would somehow protect her from the inevitable.
Pain, sharp and piercing, ricocheted through her left hip and back at the impact. She went down hard, landing on her right shoulder and slamming her head into the pavement.
Through a hazy blur, she registered the sounds of additional tires screeching and more horns honking, mingled with screams, and Phillip yelling her name. Above the cacophony, excruciating pain radiated throughout her body.
Her breaths came in sharp gasps that felt disconnected from her lungs. Phillip's handsome face dropped into her line of sight as her vision rapidly dimmed, plunging her into darkness.
The doorto Summit Physical Therapy opened as Gabe finished rubbing Evan Miller's low back. He hurried over to hold the door for Gladys Fuller, the seventy-five-year-old woman who still used a walker three weeks after knee replacement surgery.
"Ah, thank you, Gabe."
"How are you today, young lady?"
"Terrible, but I made it here for my bi-weekly torture, so I must be alive and kicking still." She waved to the assistants and Dr. Stoker, Gabe’s mentor and colleague, as she passed.
"How's the knee feeling?" Gabe followed her as she continued her shuffle to the far side of the room.
"Sore and achy. It kept me up most of the night."
He helped Gladys up onto one of the five tables that lined the south wall. "Let's see how straight you can get your knee this afternoon."
He noted the grimace on Gladys’ face as she did her best to straighten her leg. The effort was paltry with less range of motion than earlier this week.
"Looks like it's tight today."
"Yes, and so sore." She rubbed her thigh.
"I'm sure the car ride here gave it plenty of time to stiffen up. Let's start by heating it. Then we'll get you moving."
Gladys' daughter drove her from the small town of Providence to the Tri-Cities twice a week for physical therapy on her knee. The elderly woman would make a full recovery if she kept her appointments and did her exercises, unlike some of their patients from Providence who weren't willing to make the forty-five-minute drive week after week.
Gabe continued to visit with Gladys and other patients throughout the afternoon while he stretched strained muscles and worked out painful knots. The place was always busy, and he loved it.
Shortly before five, he worked with another resident of Providence—a young man with a torn rotator cuff who was the quarterback of the high school football team—when a tall, distinguished gentleman in business attire walked through the door and paused at the receptionist's desk.
Dr. Stoker stood and crossed the room to greet the man. "James, it's good to see you."
