The physical therapist smiled kindly at her patient, Cody Woods, as she turned off the machine.
"I think that's enough CPM for the day," she told him as his leg gradually stopped moving.
The machine had been slowly and passively moving his leg for a couple of hours now, helping him recover from his knee replacement surgery.
"I'd almost forgotten it was on, Hallie," Cody said with a slight chuckle.
She felt a bittersweet pang. She liked that name-Hallie. It was the name she'd used whenever she'd worked here at the Signet Rehabilitation Center as a freelance physical therapist.
It seemed to her rather a shame that Hallie Stillians was going to disappear tomorrow, as if she'd never existed.
Still, that was the way things had to be.
And besides, she had other names that she liked just as well.
Hallie took the continuous passive motion machine off the bed and set it on the floor. She gently straightened Cody's leg and arranged the covers around him.
Finally she stroked Cody's hair-an intimate gesture that she knew most therapists would avoid. But she often did little things like that, and she'd never had a patient who minded. She knew that she projected a certain warmth and empathy-and most of all, complete sincerity. A little innocent touching was perfectly appropriate, coming from her. No one ever misunderstood.
"How's the pain?" she asked.
Cody had been having some unusual swelling and inflammation after the operation. That was why he'd stayed here an extra three days and hadn't gone home yet. That was also why Hallie had been brought in to work her special healing magic. The staff here at the center knew Hallie's work well. The staff liked her, and patients liked her, so she often got called in for situations like this.
"The pain?" Cody said. "I'd almost forgotten about it. Your voice made it go away."
Hallie felt flattered but not surprised. She'd been reading a book to him while he'd been on the CPM machine-an espionage thriller. She knew her voice had a calming effect-almost like an anesthetic. It didn't matter whether she was reading Dickens or some pulp novel or the newspaper. Patients didn't need much pain medication when they were under her care; the sound of her voice was often enough.
"So is it true that I can go home tomorrow?" Cody asked.
Hallie hesitated just a split second. She couldn't be entirely truthful. She wasn't sure how her patient would be feeling by tomorrow.
"That's what they tell me," she said. "How does it feel to know that?"
A sad expression crossed Cody's face.
"I don't know," he said. "In just three weeks, they're doing my other knee. But you won't be here to help me through it."
Hallie took hold of his hand and held it gently. She was sorry that he felt this way. Since he'd been under her care, she'd told him a long story about her supposed life-a rather boring story, she'd thought, but he'd seemed enchanted by it.
Finally, she'd explained to him that her husband, Rupert, was about to retire from his career as a CPA. Her younger son, James, was down in Hollywood trying to make it as a screenwriter. Her older son, Wendell, was right here in Seattle teaching linguistics at the University of Washington. Now that the kids were grown and out of the house, she and Rupert were moving to a lovely colonial village in Mexico, where they planned to spend the rest of their lives. They were leaving tomorrow.
It was a beautiful story, she thought.
And yet none of it was true.
She lived at home, alone.
Utterly alone.
"Oh look, your tea has gotten cold," she said. "I'll just heat it up for you."
Cody smiled and said, "Yes, please. That would be nice. And have some yourself. The teapot is right there on the counter."
Hallie smiled and said, "Of course," just as she did every time they repeated this routine. She got up from her chair, picked up Cody's mug of lukewarm tea, and took it to the counter.
But this time, she reached into her purse beside the microwave. She took out a small plastic medicine container and emptied the contents of the container into Cody's tea. She did it quickly, stealthily, a practiced move she had down, and she felt certain he had not seen her. Even so, her heart beat just a little bit faster.
She then poured her own tea and put both mugs into the microwave.
I've got to keep these straight, she reminded herself. The yellow mug for Cody, blue for me.
While the microwave hummed, she sat down beside Cody again and looked at him without saying anything.
He had a nice face, she thought. But he'd told her about his own life, and she knew that he was sad. He had been sad for a long time. He'd been a prize-winning athlete when he was in high school. But he'd injured his knees playing football, ending his hopes for an athletic career. Those same injuries at long last led to his need for knee replacements.
His life ever since had been marked by tragedy. His first wife had died of a car wreck, and his second wife left him for another man. He had two grown children, but they didn't speak to him anymore. He'd also had a heart attack just a few years ago.
She admired the fact that he didn't seem the least bit bitter. In fact, he seemed full of hope and optimism about the future.
She thought he was sweet, but naive.
She knew that his life wasn't going to take a turn for the better.
It was too late for that.
The bell from the microwave snapped her out of her little reverie. Cody was looking up at her with kindly, expectant eyes.
She patted his hand, got up, and walked over to the microwave. She took out the mugs, which were now hot to the touch.
She reminded herself yet again.
Yellow for Cody, blue for me.
It was important not to mix them up.
They both sipped their tea without saying much. Hallie liked to think of these moments as times of quiet companionship. It made her a little sad to realize that there would be no more of them. After just a few days, this patient would no longer need her.
Soon Cody was nodding off to sleep. She had mixed the powder with just enough sleeping medicine to make sure he did.
Hallie got up and gathered her belongings to leave.
And then she began to sing softly, a song she'd known for as long as she could remember:
Far from home,
So far from home-
This little baby's far from home.
You pine away
From day to day
Too sad to laugh, too sad to play.
No need to weep,
Dream long and deep.
Give yourself to slumber's sweep.
No more sighs,
Just close your eyes
And you will go home in your sleep.
His eyes closed, she stroked his hair from his face lovingly.
Then, with a gentle kiss on the forehead, she stood and walked away.
