I wish I could tell her she’s the highlight of my day. Guarantee she’d find a way to sabotage her therapy to stay here longer. She’s ride or die like that.
Forcing a practiced smile, I apologize. “Sorry, Iris. I must be tired today. No excuse, I know.”
“Well, how many more of these stupid exercises are you going to make me do?”
I laugh and hold out a hand to help her back into her wheelchair for a rest. “Another lap walking the hall would be good.”
“And your torture routine continues. The stretching is nice though. Let’s domore of that.”
I crouch down beside her. It’s a relief on my achy legs. I’m on my feet most of my shift, constantly using my own muscles to help patients work to regain mobility.
“Did you take my advice and find yourself a hot man last weekend?” Iris asks.
Heat floods my cheeks, and she waggles her patchy silver brows. “You did, didn’t you?”
She’s been harping me since day one to go out and “paint the town”.
I roll my eyes, holding out a hand to her. “More walking.”
“Thought we were friends, doc,” she mumbles.
I assist her with the first few steps to get her balance and stride.
It's not like we haven't had open chats before. She’s the only patient I’ve shared personal details with. If I don’t talk with her like this, she’s less inclined to participate in her exercises, and then I’d feel responsible for her lack of improvement.
Even though Iris has told me countless times that she doesn’t give a shit about her rehabilitation, I’m not sure I believe her. I think she’s scared of hope. Scared of the possibility of not being able to live on her own anymore.
I don’t blame her. I’m scared of hope, too.
Glancing around the hall to assure no one can hear us, I whisper, “This stays between you and me.”
Her light blue eyes sparkle with delight. “Spill the tea. I’m living vicariously through you, beautiful girl.”
I blush again. What is it about receiving a compliment from a woman that holds such power? It’s like some higher form of magic.
I shake my head and push down my nerves. “Okay. So there is a guy—”
“Hot? Muscled? Rich?” She rattles off, pausing her steps.
“Keep walking. All three. More. All the things.”
Kind. Loyal. Considerate…
“Wonderful. Keep talking,” Iris encourages.
My stomach flips as I sift through words to find the right ones. Would she judge me for what I share? Others would. Others have in the past.
Worse, if Iris doesn’t like what I share, she might mention it to my boss, and I can’t risk losing this job when bills need to be paid.
“Focus, doc,” Iris snaps.
“Yeah. Okay. Well…there’s another guy. And we all sort of…”
Iris sucks in an audible breath. “No. You overachiever.”
My shoulders collapse on an exhale. I drop my gaze to the patterned linoleum. “Do you see my problem?”
She balks. “Problem? Honey, there is no problem. Unless the orgasms were lacking.”
