Page 96 of Saving Forever with the Hockey Captain

I think back. "No."

"Could you pull a sweatshirt over your head?"

"Not even close."

"Were you sleeping through the night?"

Definitely not.

She waits. No pressure. Just patience.

Finally, I shake my head. "No."

She nods once. "So..." Another pause. "...are you getting somewhere?"

I stare at the floor. When she puts it that way the answer is obvious.

"Yeah."

"Not as fast as you'd like."

"No."

"But faster than you realize."

I lean back in the chair. "I hate measuring life in inches."

She smiles. "I know."

"I've spent my whole career measuring goals."

She tips her head toward the therapy gym where another patient is celebrating because he managed to climb one practice step without help.

"Sometimes..." I follow her gaze. "...an inch is a victory."

The man laughs as his therapist gives him a high-five.

His wife wipes tears from her eyes. One step. That's all. One step. I look back at Annette. She isn't watching me. She's watching them, like she always notices hope before anyone else does.

"I always thought recovery happened when the surgery was over."

She smiles softly. "Surgery fixes bones."

She gestures toward the therapy gym. "This helps people trust them again." The words settle somewhere deep inside me. Maybe that's what I'm really learning. Not how to move. How to trust. My shoulder. My body. My future. Myself.

Annette stands and offers me a hand—not because I need help getting up, but because it's time to move on to the next exercise. I look at it for a second. Then take it.

She smiles. "Ready?"

I think about the arena. About the jersey hanging in my mudroom. About the impossible distance between where I am and where I want to be.

Then I think about this morning. The coffee scoop. The drive. The cabinet. One inch. One repetition. One day.

I nod. "Yeah." This time I actually mean it.

***

By the time my appointment ends, the afternoon sun has begun sinking toward the tops of the pine trees. The parking lot glitters beneath a fresh dusting of snow.