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Sam complied, his climb-up made awkward by his continued grip on the white plastic splint. The padded surface sighed as he stoically settled on the edge of the plinth in front of her, sneaker-clad feet dangling. Yet when Edie moved to take a cursory look at his forearm, he recoiled.
She knew immediately to drop her hand. This would take some delicate maneuvering. Perhaps it would be best to get more acquainted first.
Edie pulled a pen from the pocket of her lab coat, flipping to the history portion of Sam’s file. “How’d you injure your arm, Sam?”
“He took a fall from the top of the stairs to the landing,” the doctor interjected from behind her.
Edie turned to find him a few feet away in a rather commanding stance, with fists thrust into the pockets of his trousers, coattail flipped back behind him. He nodded toward Sam. “His injury involved a bone forearm fracture, completely displaced and the fragments overriding, which required closed reduction of Sam’s arm and eight weeks’ immobilization. Because of the nature of the fracture, the orthopedic surgeon decided to err on side of caution and recommended therapy.”
He spoke to her as he would a class of first-year medical students, and with the same patronizing delivery.
Edie stifled a sigh. On the whole, the physicians she knew were a pleasure to work with. Yet despite his assertion to the contrary, Dr. Holden McKee seemed to be in firm possession of a power complex, divine or otherwise. Would it have killed him to drop the doctor-in-charge act and go stand near his son, give him a little moral support?
“So you accidently fell, Sam?” Edie pointedly asked the boy.
“Not ’xactly,” he admitted. “I didn’t fall. I sorta... jumped. I-I was trying to fly. You know, like David Copperfield.”
“Aha. I guess that’s where the landing part comes in. Not so smooth, was it, Sam?”
To her delight, Sam gave one of those deprecating, all-in-a-day’s-hard-play shrugs.
She chuckled. “So I’d say it wasn’t exactly a fall, wouldn’t you?”
“I guess.” He looked at his father over her shoulder. “I mean, no, ma’am. I didn’t fly, I just fell.”
“Oh, please call me Edie, will you?” She drew Sam’s attention back to her with her request. “I want to be really comfortable with you.”
“Okay—Ee-dee,” he said, enunciating each syllable.
“Thanks. I appreciate it. So, how many steps were you aiming to soar over?” Nonchalantly, she reached out and adjusted one of the Velcro straps on the splint. “Five, six...more?”
“Eight,” Sam owned. He threw another glance, this one guilty, over her shoulder.
“Eight!” she exclaimed, cocking her head to the right and into his line of vision. “I bet there must’ve been at least a second or two when you really did feel like you were flaying.”
He blinked at her. “Yeah, I guess I did.”
Edie felt encouraged enough to ask, “Think I could have a look at the souvenir of such a feat?”
“Well...okay.”
This time when she reached to remove the molded plastic splint, Sam allowed her to undo the straps and set it aside. His forearm and wrist were pale and somewhat atrophied from their weeks in plaster, yet looked to have healed well, with only a slight thickening still present.
Sam swallowed and averted his gaze. He seemed almost repelled by the sight of his own frailty.
“Why, you’re mending just fine, Sam,” she reassured him.
He squinted one eye. “Really?” he asked suspiciously.
“Yes, of course. Did you think you wouldn’t?”
He gave another shrug of his small shoulders, but there was nothing devil-may-care about this one. “I-I guess I didn’t know.”
Once more, Edie felt her heartstrings wrench as she realized he’d been protecting his injury not just from her sight. The worry he must have been going through! Apparently he hadn’t felt he could ask his father, the doctor, for an assessment—and an assurance.
The man wasn’t exactly increasing in her estimation.
“Well, you are getting better, champ,” she said. “We just need to keep up the good work that’s already been done.”
With infinite gentleness, Edie took Sam’s forearm in her hands. But even that merest touch made the youngster flinch.
She felt another twist of her heart. He was obviously terrified. “I’m sorry, Sam. Does it feel uncomfortable just touching it?”
“Naturally he’ll have some tenderness, with or without moving his arm, because of the nature of his injury,” his father again broke in, finally stepping around to the other side of the examining table, next to his son. Yet he was as stiff as ever as he placed his hand on the brown leatherette surface next to Sam’s hip, then seemed to recall himself and withdrew it
She began to wonder if anything could penetrate that impassive shell of his.
He cleared his throat. “But it’s important to begin moving the joint at this point so that its range of motion isn’t permanently restricted and full function is recovered as soon as possible.”
Edie wondered if this particular explanation was for her benefit or his six-year-old son’s. All right, this time she’d try acknowledging his input and work with it. “Could that be it, Sam? You know, not the soreness right now, but being kind of scared of how it might cause a little discomfort to move your arm?”
“I dunno. Maybe.”
“Are you scared what I might do will cause discomfort, Sam?”
Chin tucked, he chewed his lip. Then he nodded. “A-a little.” His voice trembled, the poor little boy.
The doctor made a sound, no doubt gearing up for what was sure to be another of his textbook interpretations of the problem, which would naturally be so helpful to Sam. Quickly, she shot Holden a forestalling glance, hoping this time he’d get the message. Normally, parents didn’t involve themselves in their children’s treatment once the therapist had established a rapport with the child. As a medical professional, Dr. McKee should know better than to interfere with that process, although she had a feeling getting him to give up even a little control to her was going to be an uphill battle.
She saw a muscle spasm pulse in his jaw. He inclined his head ever so slightly, yielding to her judgment For now.
Edie turned her focus back to Sam, whose hunched shoulders had drawn up even more, until he looked like a turtle retreating into its shell.
He would break her heart before this was over, Edie was certain. Something told her what she did in the next few moments would make all the difference in the world to this boy.
“You know, Sam, it’s all right to be scared.” She made her voice very hushed, just between the two of them. “I won’t lie to you and say what we’re going to do won’t feel a little uncomfortable for you, but we won’t do anything you’re not okay with. Deal?”
He didn’t answer.
Oh, what to do with a boy who shut everyone out of his pain! Edie was at a loss for how to proceed, was acutely aware Dr. McKee watched her every move. The words of her supervisor rang in her brain. You can’t let yourself get so emotionally involved, Edie. It’s not good for the patient—your judgment isn’t as clear—and it’s not good for you. You’ll end up losing yourself, burning out.
Yet every cell in her urged her not to hold back, and not just with Sam. Edie didn’t know why, but something told her that by doing so even a little, she would lose a part of herself. If she stifled the emotion, then she stifled her ability to connect.
She’d become like the doctor here.
She found herself wondering again where Sam’s mother was, could not imagine what kept her from being with him—and her husband.
On that thought, Edie laid her palm on Sam’s shoulder—much as she’d done moments earlier with Holden, it occurred to her. But it just seemed the thing to do, both then and now.
And such was the power of a simple touch that the boy responded like his father had. His head came up, chestnut brown hair falling over his forehead, and he peered at her, gaze searching.
“Will you trust me, just a little, Sam?” she murmured.
Dark lashes flickered, as if he were afraid to believe in what she offered. But then, hadn’t he stood there barely ten minutes ago and listened to his father insist upon the futility of believing in anything or anyone? Then to have that point driven home by being forced to admit he shouldn’t have believed he could fly!
How many more hopes and dreams could this child stand to have dashed?
“Will you trust me, Sam?” Edie urged.
His brow furrowed—as if he were afraid not to believe.
You can believe in this, Sam, she telepathed to him. My help, my understanding, my friendship. My allegiance.
Sam nodded. “’Kay. I’ll trust you.”
Relief washed over her. So the damage was repairable at this point.
“I’m glad you’ve put your trust in me, Sam,” she said around the lump in her throat. “I won’t let you down.”
With a smile of confidence, Edie glanced up at Holden.
Eyes hard as granite met hers.
“Is making personal affirmations to patients standard practice at this clinic, Ms. Turner?” he asked in that instructor-tostudent manner.
Her face grew hot. She couldn’t entirely blame him for that; by making her promise to Sam, she was the one who wasn’t being entirely professional. Yet she couldn’t find it in her to regret doing so. She’d had to follow her instincts.
“Do you think it better to tip the scale on the other end of the spectrum, Dr. McKee?” she asked, with that same air of them having a friendly debate, her calming hand still upon Sam’s shoulder. “Detach yourself completely from another’s distress when you have the ability to help ease it?”
“Of course not. But we’re not miracle workers. Too much is out of your control, and what is could get yanked out from under you in an instant—”
He broke off, clearly angry at himself for losing some of his control. “All I’m saying is, don’t make promises you can’t keep, Ms. Turner.”
Not to my son. She was well aware of his unspoken addendum, was well aware that Sam listened and might pick up on the tone of their conversation.
“But that’s just it. I haven’t.” She lifted her chin. “I will help Sam to the very best of my ability, Dr. McKee. You may depend on that, too.”
He studied her as skeptically as ever but said no more. Truly, she didn’t want to butt heads with him—especially not in front of Sam—but she had to do what she thought best.
Settling that aim in her mind, Edie turned her complete attention back to the boy. “All right, then! Let’s get an idea of what’s going on with that arm. Can you try and make a fist for me, Sam?”
Though obliging enough, the loose fist Sam curled his fingers into seemed not altogether his best effort. True to form, Dr. McKee was Johnny-on-the-spot with a pithy piece of medical advice. “Simple flexion of the fingers doesn’t significantly demonstrate range of elbow motion and forearm rotation.”
Whether he meant the comment for her enlightenment or Sam’s wasn’t clear. She only saw the boy’s mouth go taut.
She really was losing her patience.
“You know what I just realized?” Edie said. “That this trust thing sort of works both ways. Meaning we need to trust you, Sam, to be the judge of how much you can do. Don’t you agree, Dr. McKee?” She gazed at him innocently.
Holden’s own mouth went rigid as another of those spasms pulsed in his square jaw. “Of course,” he answered.
“Great.” She nodded to Sam. “Just give it your best shot, champ.”
Tongue curled up over his lip, Sam made a fist not much tighter than the last. Regardless, Edie made sure her praise was lavish—and quick. “Very good! Now try touching your pointing finger to your thumb.. .now your middle finger, right...ring finger, then pinkie. There you go!”
The boy’s shoulders relaxed visibly, she noted with satisfaction. “I guess...I guess maybe I will be able to play again. Regular stuff, I mean. Not magic tricks.”
“Well, it is pretty hard learning you’ve got a long way to go to be a master illusionist—or an escape artist, like I wanted to be when I was about your age. I was going to be the next Harry Houdini. Squeeze my fingers, will you, Sam? Hard as you can, but don’t hurt me, okay?”
Sam actually cracked a one-sided smile, even as he earnestly concentrated on complying with her request. The result seemed most promising. He was loosening up, both literally and figuratively. “Playing Harry Hou...who?”
“Harry Houdini. He was a very famous magician who specialized in escaping from things. Yup, I cracked my head a good one trying to escape from a straitjacket while hanging upside down.”
The boy’s eyes rounded. “Really?”
“’Course I didn’t have a real straitjacket, just an old bedsheet I wrapped around myself after I’d shinnied up a tree. Lost my balance before I even got—”
“Ms. Turner.”
Edie glanced up. She’d forgotten Holden was there. “Yes?” The look on his face was impassive no more. Forbidding was more like it. “Sam doesn’t need any more ideas on magic tricks. If you really must continue on that bent, you might encourage him to try some sleight of hand, like making a quarter disappear, which would not only mobilize his arm but keep him occupied with less-dangerous activities.”
Imperceptibly, Sam drew his shoulders up.
That did it, Edie decided. She’d hoped to avoid a confrontation, but it seemed inevitable.
“Would you excuse me for a moment?” she said.
She left the room and returned a minute later with the perky young woman who was her aide.
“Colleen here is going to put some moist heat on your arm to help loosen it up, okay, Sam?”
She turned to Colleen. “Nothing too intense. Sam’s real good about letting you know what he can stand.”
“Got it,” Colleen said.
Edie smiled politely at Holden, but her words brooked no dissent. “If you’ll come with me, Dr. McKee, I need to consult with you a moment.”
He raised one dark eyebrow. “I welcome the opportunity.”
Oh, yeah, she was in for a fight.
Edie gave Sam a wink of reassurance. “You’ll be fine, champ, I promise.”
He nodded bravely. “Okay, Ee-dee.”
She couldn’t prevent herself from delivering a parting touch in the form of smoothing down that spiky hair. “You know, I kind of like the special way you say my name,” she teased.
Her heart melted at the yearning that sprang to his eyes as a result of her gesture, even as he shied away from it.
