Love Heals

“That’s good. And you’re doing the exercises?”

“Yeah. Rachel is a drill sergeant,” Emilio said with a smirk.

“Glad to hear it. Now get on the bed and we can do an exam.”

“Right,” Emilio said putting his cane down and hopping onto the hospital bed. He winced slightly when his foot inadvertently took on his weight as he jumped and the doctor did not fail to notice. He pulled his chair close, laser focused on Emilio’s ankle and his healing muscles. He poked and prodded to his heart’s content, occasionally making grunting and humming noises that told Emilio nothing.

“So physiotherapy’s going well you said?” he asked.

“Yeah. It’s going great.”

“How would you feel about adding some aqua therapy in the mix?”

“Whatsat?” Emilio asked relaxing against the wall now that the doc had stopped poking at his leg.

“You know, swimming therapy?”

“I’m not a very good swimmer,” he protested.

“You don’t need to be. The water is very good for buoying up your leg while you exercise.”

“I don’t know doc,” Emilio hummed.

The doctor shrugged, “Well it’s just that it might strengthen your ankle faster. I can almost guarantee that.”

“I’m kinda enjoying working with Rachel.”

“That’s fine. This will just be additional to that.”

Emilio shrugged, “Okay fine. Let’s do it.”

“Good man,” the doctor said writing out something on a paper. “Take this to the clinic, they’ll direct you where to go.”

“Thanks doc.”

“No problem.”

*****

The loud shrill of a whistle rang in the suffocating, moist and warm air of the swimming pool. Emilio flinched, turned to the sound.

“Felicia, no drowning your friend Melissa, you know it!”

Emilio’s jaw proceeded to fall to the floor. He hadn’t been expecting to see Rachel Guararia, in swimming costume and t-shirt, whistle around her neck, was crouching near the edge, lecturing a little girl with a bright blue cap. When she stood up and turned around, there was “Clearwater Physiotherapy Clinic Swimming Pool” written on her chest and Emilio heard himself squeak.

It was a testament to her hearing that Rachel picked it up among the sounds of the 1 o’clock aqua gym class throwing water everywhere at the orders of a cassette tape with tacky music and the shrill voice of the male instructor.

Emilio felt like a deer in headlights as Rachel’s eyes zero in on him, grazing on his body and stopping on his leg, where it was still red and angry.

Rachel marched upon him, with this certainty in her gait she got when she went to battle, and it had Emilio stumbling back a bit. Rachel stopped way too close, and spoke over the ambient racket :

“You’re here for hydrotherapy already? Wasn’t expecting you so early.”

Emilio stared at her dumbly and Rachel sighed, pointed to his leg and raised her amazing eyebrows into question mode. Emilio looked at his leg, balanced some of his weight of it to lessen the pain, and nodded.

“Yeah, doctor’s orders. He seemed to think hydrotherapy might speed things up. I’m surprised…you do aquatic physiotherapy too? I didn’t know it would be you. My swimming sucks.”

Emilio narrowed his eyes at a swimmer who zipped by in a flawless crawl. Rachel sighed again, passed a hand over her face. Rachel’s eyebrows were doing the Mildly Pissed dance, that Emilio often got directed at him, and he was ready to defend himself from whatever he said wrong when Rachel took one look at him and said :

“I’m not mad at you.”

Emilio relaxed minutely. And stared. And waited. And stared some more. Until Rachel relented.

“Stay here.”

Not quite the explanation Emilio was hoping for, but as Rachel walked toward the manager’s office, he limped to the nearest bench and sat, putting his towel and goggles on it too.

A few minutes later, Rachel came back.

“I’ll be your trainer for the next three sessions of therapy.”

Emilio was so flabbergasted he had trouble deciding if it was a curse or a blessing. He tried to sputter something, but Rachel rolled her eyes and grabbed him by the elbow, turning him toward the small basin, where the kids were playing.

Emilio grumbled about not being 8 years old anymore, but a glance at the lines where people were actually swimming made him realize he probably belonged with the young and uncoordinated. He was an athlete sure, but he hadn’t really done a lot of swimming in his life.