She smiled, reaching for the shelf under the bench I was sitting on. Papers and plastic bags rustled. She put a pile of stuff beside me. “I have stuff for you.”

“Homework.”

“Some! Papers, this one has your instructions for your physiotherapy you can do at home. We want to keep up your hand, wrist, elbow and shoulder strength while letting your arm recover. This paper here has some recommended tips for recovery and pain. On the backside, we have some things to watch out for.”

“Neuromas, muscle cramps lasting for long periods of time, persistent fever, swelling that appears suddenly or doesn’t let up. Got it.”

“If any exercises are too painful for you to do, make a note. I’ll see you in two days and you can tell me then. We’ll figure out if there’s something wrong or if it’s something we want you to work through. If I don’t know for sure then I’ll talk to someone who does. We’ll meet two days after that session, then scale down to twice a week after that, and once a week toward the end.”

“My doctor told me I should expect two to four more weeks recovery.”

“That’s for the muscle damage. Longer with the bone healing, but my notes say that was minor. I printed this out for you. Bone fracture healing is explained on this sheet. I included a copy of the list your doctor gave for the supplements to take. Okay, that’s all the papers. We have some slings for you—various colors and styles.”

A sling. Ugh. “Great.”

“And finally, a bag of rubber bands for some of the hand exercises and—” she paused, raising a bag filled with colorful stress balls. “Stress helpers! We have a variety!”

There was a part of me that wanted to groan at the forced cheer, and at the even more forced use of ‘helper’. I went with it, maintaining a smile and peering at the bag. It wasn’t worth making her an adversary.

“We have the faces, Grimace Gus, Dopey Dan, Pinhead Pam, and a few others. I have a few of these myself. You can pick one to represent someone you hate and channel that emotion into getting better.”

No blonde Smug Susans. Too bad.

Hearing Anne Lynn get so excited over little toys helped me put my finger on her image and way of presenting herself. She made me think of a kindergarten teacher. I could imagine her hyping up a class of munchkins with the same attitude she’d shown around me.

I poked the bag. It was a resealable bag, but it was old enough that it had crinkled and scuffed to the point it was foggy. “You have a few of these, huh? Do you have a Grimace Gus in your life?”

“I do,” Anne Lynn said. “But it’s mostly the Dopey Dan and Pinhead Pam that give me grief. Family.”