I put my forearm over my eyes. "It's never going to get better than this."
"Sure it will. Look, you never believed you'd be able to walk again and here you are."
I put more pressure on my foot.
"Thatta girl. Rate your pain level right now from one to ten, ten being excruciating."
"Eight."
"An eight?"
It might even be a nine.
"If you work hard now, the payoff will show later," he says.
I don't answer, but keep the increased pressure on my foot. He leans back and lowers my foot. Phew, that's over.
"Great. Now keep your legs straight and alternate bending them one at a time."
I start with my right leg. The accident didn't mess it up too much and the scars have healed. For the most part.
But when I have to bend my left leg, it feels like a weight is attached to it. I bend it an inch at a time. Just lifting my leg makes me sweat like a long-distance runner. The word pathetic pretty much sums up my seventeen-year-old life.
"A little more," Robert says just as I'm about to lower it. "What's your pain level from one to ten?"
Before I can answer a nine, his cell phone rings. And rings. And rings. "Aren't you going to answer it?" I ask.
"Not while I have a client. Keep bending those legs, Maggie."
"Maybe it's important," I say with hope in my voice.
"If it is, they'll leave a message. Dr. Gerrard tells me you'll be leaving us in January," he says as I alternate legs.
"Yep," I say between clenched teeth. "I got a scholarship to go to Spain for a semester. I had to petition for an extension because of the infection."
Robert whistles appreciatively. "Spain, huh? You're a lucky lady."
Lucky? I am not lucky. Lucky people don't get hit by cars and have to go through painful physical therapy. Lucky people don't have divorced parents and a dad they see once a year. Lucky people have friends. Now that I think about it, I'm probably the unluckiest person in the entire universe.
I endure leg torture for another twenty minutes. I'm so ready to leave, but I know it's not over. The last thing Robert does in physical therapy is massage my leg muscles. I pull down my workout pants and sit on the metal table in my shorts.
"Is the redness fading?" Robert asks as he rubs medicated cream on my leg with gloved hands.
"I don't know," I say. "I don't like to look at it." In fact, I'd look anywhere except my scarred left leg. It's ugly, as if a two-year-old drew red lines with a crayon up and down my calf and thigh. But the marks aren't from a crayon. They're from my various surgeries after Caleb Becker hit me while driving drunk.
I try to forget about Caleb, but I can't. He's embedded into my brain like cancer. My nightmares of the accident have stopped, though, thank God. Those lasted for over six months. I hate Caleb. I hate what he did to me and I'm glad he's far away. I try not to think about where he's gone. If I think about it too hard, I'll probably feel guilty. So I don't think about it and trudge through my life ignoring the parts that'll pull me under so far I won't be able to get up.
As Robert studiously massages my leg muscles, I wince.
"It shouldn't hurt when I do this," he says.
"It doesn't." It's just ... I don't like people touching my scars. I can't even stomach touching them.
Robert examines my leg. "The deep redness will fade eventually. Give it a few more months."
Robert finally announces he's finished. As I put my workout pants back on, he writes something down in my file. His pen moves faster than I can talk.
"What are you writing?" I ask warily.
"Just evaluating your progress. I'm requesting Dr. Gerrard come visit during your therapy next week."
Don't panic, Maggie, I tell myself. "Why?"
"I'd like to switch up your program."
"I don't like the sound of that."
Robert pats me on the back. "Don't worry, Maggie. We just need to come up with a physical therapy plan you can do in Spain without me."
Physical therapy in Spain? Not exactly what I imagined myself doing while overseas. I don't tell this to Robert. Instead, I give him a weak smile.
After my appointment, I head to Auntie Mae's Diner where my mom works. I know it's not glamorous, but she had to get a job when my dad left two years ago. Her boss, Mr. Reynolds, is pretty nice and gave her time off a lot when I was in the hospital. We're not rich, but we have a roof over our heads and Auntie Mae's Diner food in our stomachs.
I sit down at a table and my mom goes in the kitchen to get dinner for me. I'm about to read a book when I look up and see Danielle, Brianne, and my cousin Sabrina enter the restaurant. God, they look so ... perfect.
I used to be friends with Danielle and Brianne. Leah Becker and I used to hang out with them all the time. The four of us were on the high school tennis team and inseparable since our first tennis lesson at the Paradise Community Center when we were nine years old. Sabrina was the outsider, the non-athlete. I remember Mom making me ask Sabrina to tag along with my friends when we went out.
The accident turned Paradise upside down. When Caleb hit me, he not only destroyed my leg, he also destroyed my friendship with his twin sister, Leah, and Mom's friendship with Mrs. Becker. There's an invisible fence now between our house and the Beckers' house where there once was an open-door policy.