Some time passed. How much, I wasn’t sure. The chirping birds and rustling of nature was more relaxing than the tick-tock of the clock I usually paid attention to when cuddled up to Johnny.
“Hey.” Casey was quiet upon his return. I hadn’t even heard him coming. Johnny’s phone was what roused me, right after it stirred him.
A text from Christine informed him the therapist was ready for a serious Johnson family confab.
“Good luck.”
Johnny and I had a subtle goodbye.
“I’ll fill you in later.” He accepted his coffee, then headed toward the PT’s office, leaving Casey and I to drive back to Fleckman’s.
There was nothing like music—Kelly Clarkson that day’s choice—to avoid conversation. Luckily, the elevator was playing a song we knew, too. Casey did a pretty good Sinatra belting out “Fly M
