surgeon’s
hands. I
looked at
the top of
his head,
his hair
shiny and
parted
smoothly.
He bent
the knee
too far.
“Ouch!” I
said. “You
ought to
have more
treatment
on it with
the
machines,”
Rinaldi
said.
“It’s
better
than it
was.” “I
see that,
baby. This
is
something
I know
more about
than you.”
He stood
up and sat
down on
the bed.
“The knee
itself is
a good
job.” He
was
through
with the
knee.
“Tell me
all about
everything.”
“There’s
nothing to
