Physical Therapy (5 page)

“Maybe,” he answered finally. “I don"t know.”

I shrugged. What could I say? Ken had been through an unspeakable tragedy of the very nature I had dealt to someone else. The thought worried me. He was a hot, hot man, and I felt the hard pull of attraction, but he was damaged in so many ways that I only had a little trouble turning any interest I might have had to compassion.

“Drinking water will help if you have any kind of dizziness or headache from the massage. Sometimes the lactic acid—”

“Got it,” he said, taking up his crutches and heading for the door. When he finally had it open and was halfway through it, he looked back. “I"ve had some massages before, but yours was probably the best one, the most thorough I"ve ever had, and if it"s possible, I think maybe Izzie"s right. I should get them after my workouts.” I don"t know why, but it felt like I was being picked first for the cool kids"

basketball team at school or something. My heart did this little elated end-zone dance that I tried to tell myself had less to do with the blue eyes looking at me than the fact that Ken was a person who could really use my help. That he trusted me to give it—

despite my past—made me want to take a victory lap.

“Here you are.” Izzie came up that moment and interrupted me. “What do you think, Ken? Did I do good hiring Jordan?”

“He"s good with massage.” Ken didn"t seem eager to be put on the spot.

“That"s nice to know.” Izzie took his arm, looping her own under it above where his Lofstrand crutch gripped his forearm. “I"ll work out the details with Jordan, and we"ll see you next time. You say hello to your mom for me, all right?” She was stepping along with him, slowly, as he made his way to the front door. I watched the two of them Physical Therapy

23

go out to the parking lot together. There were only two people working out; obviously the morning rush in St. Nacho"s was over. I wondered when I could expect another wave of people or if there would even be one.

Izzie returned from seeing Ken to his car. I asked her, “Does Ken drive or get a ride?”

“He drives.” She looked at me speculatively. “Why?”

“I have a friend who had an accident and can"t get into a car anymore.” I didn"t tell her that actually it had been the accident
I
caused, the car
I
was driving, that traumatized him.

“You made Ken Ashton cry.” She frowned at me.

I felt awful. I know the blood must have drained from my face, and my heart sank.

“I"m really sorry about that. He just—”

“He just what?” Izzie asked.

“He just…drained. Like I pulled a plug. I was doing his back, and he just… I"m sorry.”

She shook her head. “Jordan, you crack me up.” She caught me by the arm and pulled me back behind the counter. “That was probably the best thing that could have happened. I"m so delighted that I"m going to buy you lunch.” To say I was surprised would have been a whopping understatement. “What?”

“Look, when Ken came back here he hardly spoke to anyone. He"s been staying with his family in the house where he grew up and he"s just…frozen. You know what I mean?” She seemed to be going through a drawer full of take-out menus under the almost antique computer on the long check-in desk. Jumbles of notepads, pens, and sticky Post-it notes impeded her progress.

“Frozen?”

“Emotionally frozen. Spiritually drained. Lifeless. His mother"s been so worried. I thought massage might help, but I never dreamed… Ah, here it is. Do you like noodle dishes?”

“Yeah, I guess.” I was trying to think what kind of noodle dishes she might be talking about, but she had picked up the phone and was already telling someone she wanted two orders of chicken soft noodle.

I shook my head. “Vegetarian,” I stage-whispered, pointing to myself.

“Make one of them a Buddha bowl,” she told whoever was on the phone. “My new guy will come right over and get it. Thanks. Yeah, I have a new guy. His name is Jordan. Be sure to be extra nice to him; his aura"s all grassy green with rosy edges.” She hung up the phone.

“Grassy green?” I asked.

Izzie gave me a look exactly like one my mother wears when I"ve done something stupid that pulls on her heartstrings. It was both nice and disconcerting, coming from 24

Z. A. Maxfield

someone who could easily bench-press my body weight. “Yeah, grassy green. That"s a good color, Jordan. It"s the color of healing.”

“I see,” I said, although at the time I didn"t put much faith in it. If it made Izzie like me enough to hire me and if it got me special service wherever she was sending me to pick up lunch, it was okay by me.

* * * * *

Already I could feel the atmosphere of St. Nacho"s as it surrounded me, lulling me into what I thought of as a dangerous complacency. People seemed really nice here.

Nicer than people really are on the whole. I could already feel it swirling around me, sucking me into a slower pace than even the one I"d known in River Falls. I planned on reserving judgment until later, though. Izzie and I hadn"t even gotten around yet to discussing money. I had to make a living, and I didn"t know if it would be possible here.

I had to figure out a way to move out of the motel soon, because even though it was dirt cheap as motels go, it was still too expensive for me to stay there indefinitely. I knew that eventually, I"d have to make my presence known to Cooper and Shawn and face whatever they had to say to me when they knew I"d moved into town for good. I knew that I"d need to prove myself to all the people here, and that it still might not be enough to mitigate my past. But first, I knew that if I didn"t get Izzie"s chicken soft noodle? She was going to be really hungry, and somehow, even as nice as she seemed, I just didn"t want to take that chance.

Physical Therapy

25

Chapter Four

I left Day-Use at about five in the evening. Izzie had been telling me to go home for a while, and I would have, except I didn"t really have anyplace to go that was nicer than the gym itself, and I was used to working long hours. We"d agreed, with no more than a brief discussion, on a base salary for helping out in the gym and a percentage from massage performed on members there. She said she"d give me a list of the chiropractors and orthopedic doctors in the area. I thought it wouldn"t hurt to look in on any active retirement communities as well. If I chose, she told me, I was free to take the portable massage table when the gym wasn"t open and use it if I made arrangements for outside clients in their own homes.

It was hard not to look that particular gift horse in the mouth, because it had been my experience that everyone wanted a piece of whatever they could get, even in the nicest places I"d worked. Izzie seemed to just shrug this off. She was an odd sort of woman, and I started worrying about whether she was too good to be true as she almost shooed me out the door with the instruction to “walk around and get to know the place.” Since I"d walked there from the motel, I did just that.

My first impression of St. Nacho"s confirmed Cooper"s description. It did look a little like Oregon in that it was small and unspoiled, even a little woodsy. There was a nice stretch of sand near the beach, but the water looked cold and uninviting, and there was a retaining wall between the beach and a walkway that ran all along it from the strange pier I"d seen the night before to Nacho"s Bar.

The town seemed to stretch out behind those two things, as though they"d been built first, and the rest was like an afterthought. Like people came to see what was going on around the two landmarks, and they just made camp and stayed. Eventually, it seemed, the town filled up with small grocery stores, bookstores, mom-and-pop eateries, and places where you could buy appliances and hardware. There were a few chain restaurants, but no Wal-Mart that I could see, although I wasn"t looking too hard.

26

Z. A. Maxfield

I knew there were things I didn"t see yet that I probably wouldn"t miss. I didn"t see a dry cleaner or a dollar store.

As I headed back to my motel room, I stopped into one of the little markets to see if I could find something to eat. I took a small basket and began to fill it with things I liked that didn"t need refrigeration or cooking. My motel room had no amenities beyond a television set with fifty porn channels and bad reception.

A throat cleared behind me. “Hey.”

I turned to find Ken Ashton, standing in the middle of the aisle balanced on his crutches. He wasn"t pushing a cart, and I wondered how he was able to carry groceries until I saw a boy behind him who looked like a younger carbon copy, carrying a basket like mine. The boy was wearing a soccer uniform, and he looked long and coltish. He was athletic in a totally different way than his brother, who was tall and obviously no stranger to strength training.

“Hi.” I waited for an introduction.

“This is my brother Mark,” Ken said, nodding his head toward the boy. “This is Jordan, the guy I told you about who started at Izzie"s.”

“Hi,” said Mark. He had a typical teenage grin full of metal, and I put him at about fifteen. “You"re new here?”

“Yeah, I just officially hit town last night,” I told him.

He was standing behind his brother, still peering around at me as though I"d bite.

“What made you choose St. Nacho"s?” I didn"t think he was complimenting my choice.

“That"s a good question,” I said. I was going to go on, but Ken took over.

“Don"t be nosy,” he told Mark.

Mark lowered his head but only looked marginally mutinous. I guessed that they were close.

“This is a real nice town,” I remarked.

“It is,” Ken agreed.

“It"s too small,” said Mark. “There"s hardly anything to do here.” Ken rolled his eyes. “Someone is feeling hemmed in by small-town life.”

“I grew up in a small town,” I told Mark. “Sometimes it seemed like the only thing to do was watch paint dry.”

Mark came around to Ken"s side then. “It totally feels like I"m in jail.” I hoped I didn"t betray the way my body reacted to those words.

“Mark is a little dramatic,” Ken told me, putting out a metal crutch to move us both aside so a woman with a cart could move past. “Lately he"s been feeling very put upon because when I came home he had to go back to sharing a room with our brother Kevin.”

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“How many of you are there?” I asked. I imagined a group of attractive Ashton boys, all lined up like Osmonds, grinning in family photos. As an only child, that sort of thing always seemed so desirable to me.

Mark wrinkled his nose. “Five, two girls and three boys, and everyone has to share but
his highness
, Ken.”

“I see.” I laughed. “The oldest gets the privilege of sleeping alone?”

“That, and no one can stand him. He wakes up at all hours of the night, screaming and—”

“That"s enough,” snapped Ken. More gently, he said, “I"m sure no one else needs to hear our problems.”

Mark"s eyes held genuine regret. “I"m sorry, Ken.” Ken shook his head. “It"s fine, Mark.” He started past me, and for some reason I couldn"t even explain, I didn"t want to see him go like that.

“Ken.” I stopped him. “I"m staying at the SeaView Motel and it doesn"t have a kitchen or anything.” I showed him my basket. “Would you and Mark like to get some dinner with me? I"ll buy. Maybe you can show me around a little?” Mark snorted. “If you came here from the SeaView Motel, you"ve probably already seen everything that"s worth looking at.”

“Mark,” Ken chided. “Mark has practice, and I was going to run him over to the school. We could take a rain check. Or if you want”—he hesitated—“we could get something and eat it there in the bleachers and watch them. His team"s pretty good; they"re five and oh this season so far.” I watched him for a minute after he said it, wondering whether he really meant it or if he was just being polite. A faint flush bloomed on his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. He looked down. “They"ll just be running drills; it won"t be very exciting.”

“Cool. I played soccer,” I said. I"d played in school, prison, and with a team from rehab. I wasn"t about to elaborate. “I"d like to see that.”

“Fine,” said Ken, who shifted and turned away. I thought, right then, that he was regretting inviting me and too much of a gentleman to say so. His brother was looking at him with some surprise. Maybe Ken wasn"t very social.

I grabbed the rest of the things I needed and met up with the two of them at the checkout. There was only one line, one register, and it had one bored-looking young Latina standing behind it. I noticed that she perked up immediately when she caught sight of Ken, and wondered if he realized it. Izzie had said he was emotionally closed off, so maybe he didn"t know the effect he had on others. It might be hard for him to see how attractive he was if he was used to being a superior athlete. Used to a handsome body that functioned like a high-performance race car. It was probably difficult for him to imagine finding love again.

I concentrated on the items in my basket so he wouldn"t catch the sadness I was feeling if he looked my way.

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Z. A. Maxfield

Mark interrupted my thoughts. “What"s that?” he asked, when I put a jar of Nutella down next to marshmallow fluff on the conveyor.

“Chocolate hazelnut spread,” I told him. “It makes the best fluffernutter sandwiches.” I realized then that my Midwestern upbringing was showing, even though I"d learned in San Francisco to replace the peanut butter with Nutella.

“Well…it"s more like a s"mores sandwich.”

“No way.” Mark looked at me.

I nodded. “Yeah. It"s kind of a guilty pleasure. I have good things too.” I felt like I ought to defend my choice to buy the sweet treats and the potato bread to put it on by showing that I also had fruit, hummus, whole-wheat pita, and olives. “It makes a great midnight snack.” I could feel Ken"s eyes on me, but when I looked up, he looked away.

“I"m going to tell my mom to get some,” Mark said. His basket was full of things I assumed he was taking to practice, energy drinks, granola bars, oranges.

“Looks like you"re the snackmeister for the team today, huh?”