A week after Elaine broke her ankle, she returned to the Falling Rock Health Center to check on the healing process. Rolina drove her to the circular drive beside the collection of low buildings constructed of rock and white stucco, encircled by greenery and a few brave, early-blooming tulips and daffodils. She came in, too, because, as she said, “Everything about health care interests me now I’m a nursing student.” After dropping Elaine off at the entry, she parked and joined her inside.
“You’re improving on those crutches,” Rolina said as Elaine thumped along.
“Yes, and my arms, hands, and shoulders are getting strong,” she agreed. “I’ll be as well built as your brother soon.”
The physician’s assistant took only a few minutes to check on the injury—was the ankle swelling too much, how was the pain, was she able to take care of her personal needs? Then Rolina offered to give the newcomer an abbreviated tour of the facility.
“This is where I hope to get a job after I graduate,” she said.
“Oh, so you’re planning to stay in Falling Rock?”
“Um, yeah, if things go the way I intend,” she said, and Elaine remembered the hints thrown out by both Merrill and Rolina about their relationship.
The facility was small but gleaming, modern, and top-of-the-line. They walked down long corridors between pale walls decorated with photos of mountain sports and scenery.
“The images are from employees here at the health center,” Rolina pointed out.
The center appeared to own just about every piece of equipment known to man as well as most medical specialists. They visited a wing with patient rooms in which the sharp odor of antiseptic and anesthetic mingled, then viewed a lounge furnished with deeply cushioned chairs, bookcases, television, and a small refreshment bar. They peeked into an imaging center, the pharmacy, even a coffee shop.
“Very nice,” Elaine said. “I can see I was lucky to get injured in Falling Rock.”
Rolina chuckled. “Better not to have gotten hurt, but since you did, the care here is top-notch. Joe told me he’s never felt so pampered.”
I’ll bet, Elaine thought as she envisioned dozens of young nurses and aides offering him water, painkillers, snacks, wipes of the brow.
They were passing the business offices when Rolina stopped short. “Say, while we’re here, why don’t we check on job openings?”
Elaine demurred. “I don’t know. I didn’t plan on applying for jobs during my check-up. I’m hardly dressed for an interview.”
Rolina’s mouth dropped. “What do you mean? You’re in a nice skirt and jacket. You can’t be blamed if your footwear is not business-like.”
“But my hair.” She motioned with one hand at the casual styling, her copper-tinged curls brushed behind her ears.
“Are you obsessed with perfection? How could you look any better? Dress in a fur coat and load pearls in your curls? You’re fine. Besides, we’re only inquiring.”
Rolina opened the door to the Human Resources office, a sterile area that seemed as if humans were, indeed, to be found piled on the shelves like pencils and paper clips. The reception desk wasn’t staffed, but Rolina walked a few feet to a cubicle with tweedy blue walls. When she poked her head around the corner, a squeal issued forth followed by a petite figure with cropped, straight hair and Asian features. The two women threw their arms about each other.
“Elaine, this is my friend Patricia Long,” said Rolina. “She’s director of special projects for the health center. She and I take yoga class together.”
Elaine balanced as best she could on crutches to stick out her hand to shake.
“Patricia, Elaine’s new in town, but she’s already used your services, as you can see,” Rolina continued. Patricia made compassionate murmurs, an ability that surely helped in her duties. “However, she has a bigger problem than that. She needs to find a job. I thought you might have some ideas.”
“Come on into my cubicle,” Patricia said, showing them the way. A diversity of small animals and fantasy figures seemed to guard every surface and niche, most holding little signs of encouragement: “Today is the first day of the rest of your life,” “Dream bigger,” “Love is all you need,” “Be nice or leave,” “Keep calm and carry on.” Several bright blue cushions with hand-embroidery softened the rigid, tubular steel office chairs for guests. As they sat, she continued, “I don’t think there’s much available. Unless you’re a pediatric physician’s assistant.”
Elaine shook her head.
“We print bulletins every two weeks announcing openings. Here’s the current one.” Patricia passed over a sheet of paper. “As you can recognize, like everyone else, we’ve been caught in a budget crunch. Right now a café position’s posted. However, it requires lots of standing and walking, not a good choice in your situation. Then we have a sanitation worker opening, but it pays almost nothing.” She turned to address Rolina. “What about your brother? He should know what’s going on everywhere in the area.”
Rolina and Elaine spoke at nearly the same time. “He claims he can’t help,” said Rolina.
“I don’t want him involved,” Elaine said. “He and I rub each other the wrong way.”
“Okay. Even though every unattached woman in this facility would happily try to rub him the right way, I know he’s a strong personality, which can be disconcerting. So what’s your background?”
“I spent three years with the Cincinnati Memorial Health Center in the marketing department. I also worked on a couple of successful, state-level political campaigns and at an ad agency.”
“Marketing. Hmmm. What kind of duties?”
“Lots of communications, publications, events. Community outreach. That type of thing.”
“Hmm,” Patricia repeated. “I wonder.” She opened a file drawer on her desk and fingered through papers, eventually pulling several out. “The Rocky Mountain Community Health Foundation is interested in fairly large grants for community health programs. Have you done any grant writing? We’d thought about submitting, but we’re so short-staffed, the folks who handle community relations and marketing are already over-committed. Here’s an idea—how about if we built in a project manager’s stipend for you?”
Elaine was cautiously optimistic. “You know, Shelley at the library also told me about the grant program. What’s your vision? I might be helpful. I do have grant-writing experience.”
“We’d need a project or program to feature our name and logo prominently, to associate us with a positive, health-oriented activity. Something with more appeal than a five-kilometer run. Those only interest people who already are physically fit. Plus a venture to actually involve locals, not an isolated education effort pushing information down their throats.”
Elaine was getting more interested, and definitely desperate for money, but she glanced at the clock on the wall. “We seem to be taking up a lot of your time. Should we arrange another appointment?”
“No, no,” said Patricia. “This has been burrowing around at the back of my mind like a prairie dog for weeks. I’d really love us to do something, and if we can develop a concept now, all the better. Let’s take fifteen minutes and brainstorm.”
They entrenched themselves in Patricia’s cubicle, drawing inspiration from her inanimate pals, and tossed around ideas for community outreach projects. Even eliminating the inevitable foot race, they immediately came up with a bundle—bicycle races or tours, a children’s story and art contest, window displays, a health quiz in the newspaper. Nothing had the needed zing.
In the depths of Elaine’s brain, an idea was percolating. “You know,” she said as she struggled to wrap her thoughts around a nebulous concept, “I’ve always wanted to work on a project to improve people’s feelings about themselves along with their health in a positive way. Something fun, in which they aren’t simply placid receptacles but are actively involved. We’d need to find a topic close to the hearts of most of the general public. What?”
“Exercise?” asked Rolina.
“Possibly. But so many options exist and the choice is dictated by people’s ages and conditions. The challenge would be to come up with something for everyone,” said Patricia.
“Weight,” Elaine said, thinking of the snug fit of some of her clothes nowadays. She’d packed on pounds since she’d fled Cleveland, what with stuffing her face in Denver, and the enforced inactivity after her injury. She avoided scales, telling herself the bulk of the splint and bandages made an accurate reading impossible to gauge, although she felt like an obese elephant. “Nearly everyone’s concerned about diet.”
“Yes, perfect!” said Patricia.
“We’ve got to make fun part of any concept. Something with a little competition to add interest,” added Rolina.
“Everyone should have the opportunity to win, too,” Elaine said.
“Which they do when they lose weight,” said Patricia. “Self-fulfilling.”
“How about teams trying to cut back together? Like a sports game, and people cheer on their favorites,” Rolina said.
They paused and checked each other out. Had they created an unbeatable idea? Hard to believe three women consuming neither caffeine nor alcohol could do so. But it appeared undeniable. A frisson of excitement bubbled up and around them, a nearly tangible sense of the collective intelligence, creativity, and motivation of the three of them.
“I think the concept will fly,” Patricia said slowly. “What would we call it?”
“How about Look Alive?” Elaine asked.
This time the trio gazed away from each other, as if embarrassed by an excess of emotion. “Look alive, as in move your butt to lose weight,” murmured Rolina.
“Look alive, as in have the appearance of liveliness and good health,” added Patricia.
“Look alive, as in pay attention,” pronounced Elaine.
Suddenly—“Whooop!” “High five!” “We did it!” The shrieks shook the rafters, or would have, had any existed. Instead the yells swirled around the cube. The women’s collective euphoria lasted through hammering out details and arranging for Elaine to crank out an initial version of the grant application in very short order.
“Okay,” said Patricia at the end of the meeting. “We can review Elaine’s draft and make revisions. The final step is approval by the city. The foundation requires the local governing body be involved.”
“So what’s entailed?” Elaine asked.
“In the case of Falling Rock, going to city council to get their approval.”
Rolina added, “The mayor is the chief executive officer of the group. That means Joe should approve. Or be outvoted.”
“I thrive on challenges,” Elaine said as she thumped the rubber tips of her crutches on the floor to emphasize her statement. Bring it on, she thought. Even Joe won’t be able to nitpick this idea to death.