“He’s certified, Grey. PSIA, AIARE, yada yada.” Trip sank into the chair across from Grey, removed his cowboy hat and placed it, upside down, on the table.
“Certifications don’t mean shit if the guy doesn’t have the right combo of personality and restraint on the mountain.”
“He’s seasoned and mature. Available on short notice. Definitely good enough to get us through the rest of ski season.”
“Every time I think about the extra salary expense, let alone my personal loss in tips, I could strangle Andy Randall.” Grey locked his hands behind his head. “But I appreciate the way you’ve been picking up the slack these past couple of days.”
“No problem. But don’t micromanage the money for the next few months. It’s a setback, but you gotta focus on the big picture. Take a long-range view.” Trip stared at Grey’s sucker and then motioned for one with his hand. Unlike Grey, he immediately began crunching on the candy after shedding the wrapper. “Just get through surgery and start with therapy right away. I’ve heard it takes seven to twelve months before you can ski.”
“Don’t worry.” Grey pushed up his sleeves and started sifting through the mail on the coffee table. “I’ll recover quickly.” He stopped at the hand-addressed yellow envelope.
A card?
Curiosity spiked, although he suspected it might be from Kelsey. She’d texted him a couple of times since the accident, offering to help out. He wished she’d take the hint and stop trying so hard. She was nice enough, just not really his type. Still, he didn’t know how to shake her off without hurting her feelings.
He pulled the get-well card from its sleeve—a girly card with a picture of a branch with pink flower buds. At least the text was in a large, clear font. “Wishing you a quick and complete recovery.” However, the handwritten note gave him some trouble.
Using his index finger to track the words, he concentrated his best on the feminine, loopy scrawl. Two minutes later, he tossed it on his desk, surprised and frustrated.
“What’s that?” Trip asked.
“Best I can make out, it’s an apology note from Randall’s sister. You know how hard it is for me to read cursive. I can’t read her name.”
Trip picked up the note. “Avery Randall.” Apprehension edged Trip’s voice, which made no sense.
“Avery,” Grey repeated.
“This is either a real nice sentiment,” Trip began, setting the card back on the table, “or the cunning work of a woman trying to get on your good side so you won’t sue the shit out of her brother.”
Grey toyed with the TV remote and frowned. He’d never been a big proponent of litigation. Seemed like the only sure winners in any lawsuit were the lawyers.
But now everything he owned hung in the balance. He couldn’t work. He was bleeding money. He had a lot more medical bills to look forward to in the future. And God forbid this injury truly sidelined him from the demands of safely skiing the backcountry in the future.
His new lawyer, Warren Adler, advised him to hold off on accepting a payout from Andy’s auto-insurance carrier because Andy had only carried the minimum policy limits. Adler needed time to investigate Andy’s assets, and to determine Grey’s “maximum medical improvement” in order to accurately assess damages. He’d said it could take up to six months to determine the MMI. Six months! Grey just wanted the whole thing to be settled quickly so he didn’t lose everything in the process.
“You’re right about one thing,” Grey said, tossing the remote aside. “I need a good therapist.”
Trip wrinkled his nose. “Well, I asked around about the local PTs, but I doubt you’ll like what I have to say.”
“Why not?” Grey sat forward, grimacing when his knee accidentally bumped the edge of the table. “I thought there were good orthopedic therapists in this town.”
“There are two. One’s an old dude who’s temporarily living out of state with a sick parent.”
“So what’s wrong with the other one?” Grey crunched on the remaining bit of lollipop then tossed the tattered stick on top of last month’s Powder magazine. “Is he some kind of freak show?”
“She is not a freak show and has an excellent reputation.” Trip sat back with a smirk on his face.
“You think I can’t work with a woman?”
“Maybe not this woman.” Trip leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “It’s Randall’s sister, Avery.”
“Get the fuck out.” When Trip nodded, Grey picked up the get-well card again, studying her handwriting as if that would make the situation more tolerable. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”