Corey placed a hand on either side of her knee. “Was he in his eighties or something?”

“Yeah, as a matter of fact he was. Why?”

“’Cause this is some old-school technique here. It’s pretty swollen right now. Does that happen a lot?”

“After I walk, yeah. It’s so stupid. I only went down to the breakwater and back, but it’s killing me right now.”

“We should ice it. Do you have an ice pack or a dish towel or something I can use?”

“Hanging on the hook by the sink,” she said. “The fridge doesn’t have an ice maker, but there’s a plastic bin of cubes in the freezer.”

He disappeared into the kitchen, emerging with a makeshift ice pack, which he pressed to her knee.

“Extend your leg for me, please,” he said, kneeling on the deck and placing his hands on either side of the joint.

“Bend it.

“Now flex your foot.

“Do you ever feel the joint popping, or hear clicking when you walk?”

“Sometimes.”

He sighed and took his seat again. “What kind of post-op instructions did the surgeon give you? Did you do physical therapy?”

“He just said I should take it easy and gave me the name of a physical therapist I should call. Which I didn’t do.”

“Why not?”

“No insurance,” she said, shrugging. “I’m still paying for the surgery, which my father assures me the doctor screwed up, based on the look of the incision.”

“How’s your mobility?” he asked. “I did notice, when you were walking up, that you seemed to be favoring your good leg. Didn’t they give you a brace or anything?”

“My mobility isn’t great. It really hurts going down stairs. And yeah, he gave me a brace, but it’s too hot and itchy to wear this time of year. Anyway, I couldn’t tell that it was doing me much good. So I mostly don’t wear it.”

He shook his head. “How old are you?”

“Thirty-six. How about you?”

“I’m thirty-eight. But let’s talk about you. I’m guessing you must have been a pretty good athlete before your accident. Have you started back with any kind of physical activity?”

“I walk on the beach some,” she said, feeling instantly defensive. “But it’s hard, you know. I work in an office all day, come home, walk on the beach a little, and by then I’m kind of wiped out.”

“I get that,” he said, smiling. “That ACL of yours is still pretty loose. You need to start working on it, or it’s only gonna get worse. You mind if I give you some advice?”

“As long as it’s free,” Drue said.

“First of all, walking on sand, which isn’t the most stable surface, isn’t doing you any favors. Now, if you had a bike, that’s way better exercise for your knee.”