Chapter 2: Reevaluating
“You’re a regular slave driver, Blondie,” Bernie grumbled as he grasped Nash’s arm with a surprisingly strong grip.
“Nash,” he corrected patiently—trying to strike the right balance between firm and assuring—as he slowly lowered the man into the reclining chair.
“I remember which one you are.”
“And walking down the hallway and back was good for your knee. You’ve recovered enough from the surgery to be able to handle it.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know,” Bernie replied. “So it won’t stiffen up.”
“You don’t want to be stuck in that wheelchair, do you?”
“Hell, no!”
Nash gave Bernie a wink. “Besides, if you think I’m bad, wait until the physical therapists get ahold of you.”
“Crimony. My grandson already warned me that was coming up.” Bernie shook his head, apparently thi
