Unlucky In Love (13 page)

Yes, I have the Dragon app,
I stabbed
at the keys with my left hand
. But it’s hard to be creative when
you have to speak the words
. :)

I added the smiley face, even though I
wanted to add an angry face, since I’d written those exact words
about a hundred times. I shouldn’t have told my readers and author
friends about my rotator cuff surgery. But if I hadn’t, they’d be
looking for the next book in one of my three ongoing collections,
and I just couldn’t find the words via an app! I was a
pantser
. The words flew from my fingers as they came to
my head. I simply couldn’t speak them. I could barely even speak
ideas
for a storyline.

My physician was the best in the area, the
surgeon to three major league baseball teams in Tampa Bay. “Second
worst case I’ve seen in thirty years,” he’d said. With a smile on
his face!

Aren’t I the lucky one?
Why couldn’t
I have those odds playing the lottery? Based on his apparent
excitement over my unusual case, I was certain that I’d find my
story in a medical journal someday, detailing how he’d cured me. I
had a good mind not to get better just to mess up his future book
deal. I mean, seriously, why should he get a book deal off my
injury?

“The sad thing is … I should be ecstatic,
huh, J’Austen?” My calico peered up at me again, then smacked her
lips together, letting me know that she was bored of this
conversation. Yeah, she was tired of my whining too, especially
since I
should
be happy. After all, I sold my book, even got
a movie deal. I’d gotten my wish, conquered my fears.

But here I was, crying over my lack of
freedom. Because of shoulder pain. Who knew a stupid rotator cuff
injury could bring my world to a screeching halt? I’d certainly
never imagined that possibility.

I’d gotten used to playing racquetball every
Wednesday. Dance class on Thursday nights. Martial arts three days
a week, where I’d recently received my
first-degree
black belt, and had planned to go higher.
And my favorite hobby, the kayak trips I’d taken at various
locations around the globe. The last one in Lake Powell, Arizona
had done me in, though. I’d been showing off by taking the lead
position, and now I was paying for it.

The deep rumbling sound of the decrepit
muffler on my cousin’s car alerted me that she was pulling into my
driveway. Since I couldn’t pick up J’Austen, I nudged her off my
lap, then slowly inched my way off the recliner that had become my
sleeping quarters, dining room, and home office.

J’Austen hopped down easily and followed me
to the door. I would swear she’d turned into a worried mother, as
if she knew the pain I was in, wondering where I was going.

“I can’t reach you, baby kitty. It’s too
difficult to lean over.”

She twined herself around my legs, purring
loudly enough that I felt the vibrations through my legs. Maybe the
soft tremors would travel through my body and work out the
thickening of tissue in my shoulder, saving me the torture of
physical therapy. I could only wish.

“I have to go to physical therapy, but don’t
worry, it’s not the mean lady I told you about. Dr. Bellows is
sending me to a new therapist.”

My kitty meowed, which I took as an okay to
leave the house.

My cousin ran up to the door as soon as I
opened it, taking the keys from my hand. “Here. Let me lock that,”
Angela said.

“Thanks. I was wondering how I was going to
lock the door one-handed.” I gingerly walked over to her car,
thankful that she had even opened the passenger door for me. My
entire body hurt and the familiar pain surged up my shoulder as I
lowered myself into Angela’s old Ford Focus, which sat way too low
to the ground. I missed my Toyota Tacoma, but I couldn’t very well
drive one-handed, popping Percocets to dull the pain.

Angela pulled the seatbelt over my lap and
strapped me in. “One day after surgery and you have to go back to
physical therapy? Aren’t you in pain, Jana?”

I gazed up at her. “Yes. Unbelievable pain.
I took two Percocets an hour ago, and they haven’t even taken the
edge off. Dr. Bellows says the rotator cuff repair from the first
surgery has healed beautifully, though. I’m sure he was proud to
see his work after the fact. But now I have to start PT immediately
to make sure it doesn’t freeze up again.”

A hint of envy ran through me as I watched
my cousin dart around the front of the car.
I used to be able to
move without wincing in pain
.

Angela hopped into the driver’s seat, pulled
the shifter into reverse, and backed out of the driveway. “I still
don’t understand. What did your doctor call it again? Why did you
have to have a second surgery?”

“Adhesive capsulitis. No one knows why some
shoulder injuries respond that way, but mine apparently decided to
work overtime. He had to shave off all the scar tissue, then
physically manipulate my elbow and shoulder out of their frozen
positions.”

“And this new physical therapist is supposed
to be an expert?”

I shrugged my one good shoulder.
“Supposedly. I can’t imagine what one physical therapist can do
differently than another, but Dr. Bellows took it upon himself to
call this new office directly, requesting that Dr. Adrian Kijek
take over my physical therapy. Said it wasn’t the first PT’s fault
or my own; it just happens sometimes. At least if this new
therapist tortures me like that last woman, I can cry out, Yo,
Adrian!”

My cousin spurt out a breath, then covered
her mouth, doing her best not to spew the sip of coffee she’d just
taken. “You’re a nut. How can you joke like that? I hurt just
looking at you. Those bruises look like someone beat you up.”

I stared down at my tank top and yoga pants,
the only thing I could manage to dress myself in. Shades of puke
yellow, cell-block blue, and a color of purple resembling rotting
prunes covered my arm from elbow to neck from where the surgeon had
to physically move my arm from its frozen condition. If someone
didn’t know me, they’d probably try to escort me to a women’s
shelter.

“It
feels
like someone beat me up,” I
said. “And now I get a new physical terrorist to provide me with
hours of physical torture. Pretty sure it’s not a coincidence that
the initials are the same.”

“Jana!” Angela shrieked. “Don’t you dare say
that to the PT. I know how you like to make up little nicknames for
people.”

I waved her off. She was so sensitive,
whereas I would say whatever was on my mind. If the therapist
couldn’t take a joke … “I won’t,” I said to set my cousin’s mind at
ease. “As I said, the PT has my body in her hands to torture me as
she sees fit. I swear that last woman just stared at me when I
cried out in pain. Then she mockingly held out a tissue, as though
it were my fault my shoulder had seized up, as if I hadn’t been
doing my homework.”

“Have you?”

I rolled my eyes. “Of course I have. What
else can I do? Writing is my life. If I can’t use my right arm,
what will I do?”

The last hourly job I’d held was twenty
years ago. As a cocktail waitress. My father had gotten me the job.
He’d been a bouncer at night in the bar, which kept him in constant
supply of women and booze, his two favorite things. In the daylight
hours he’d made a backbreaking living as a construction worker.
Even at nineteen I’d known that I hadn’t wanted to follow in my
father’s footsteps, working grunt jobs my entire life. So I’d
worked my butt off to get a business degree. Of course, my BA in
business was now worthless to me, a woman nearing forty without
on-the-job training.

“Jana,” my cousin cut through my thoughts,
“you zoned out again.”

“Sorry, I was just reminiscing about my
life. I’ve been doing that a lot lately, since I can’t do much
else. What did you say?”

“I asked if you tried that voice-to-text app
I emailed you information about?”

“OMG!” I ran my hand over my eyes, massaging
my temples with my thumb and middle finger. “If one more person
asks me that!”

Angela snorted. “
OMG?
You sound like
the teenaged girl who watches my kids.”

“Yeah, well, my protagonists are usually
between the ages of seventeen and twenty-seven, not much different
from teenagers most of the time — except for the fact that they
have sex — so maybe they’re rubbing off on me. The attitude part,
obviously, not the sex.”

Unlike my ex, I hadn’t had sex in five
years. Him cheating on me was the last thing I’d ever expected. It
wasn’t as though he hadn’t gotten sex at home. We’d made love as
often as he’d wanted, as often as he was home. And he’d been good
too. I missed sex. A lot. I’d kept myself so busy in the last five
years I hadn’t had a chance to miss it, but now that I couldn’t do
anything else, my non-existent sex life was starting to bug me.

“Hmm …” Angela said through a giggle, “maybe
your protagonists
should
start teaching you a few
things.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She shrugged. “It means that maybe you
should act like a college student sometimes. You know, start dating
again. Ever since you published your big
hit
, you’ve all but
stopped trying to find someone to love again.”

Dating and finding someone to love were two
different things. I did want to find someone to love again, but all
the men I’d dated in the last five years had seemed okay at first,
but by the end of the evening, all they’d done was ramble on and on
about how great they were. Probably trying to impress me, hoping
I’d want to hop into bed with their
greatness
. I didn’t want
to
date
anymore. If I met
Mr. Right
while I was
having fun doing what I enjoyed, at least I had a good chance that
we might like the same things.

I’d spelled out my philosophy of dating in
my book, by showing everything my character had gone through, how
she finally realized how much more fun she had when she stopped
worrying about the men around her. “Did you forget, Angela?
You
Don’t Need a Man
.”

Angela pursed her lips and shook her head.
“Keep telling yourself that, cuz.”

“Hey, I thought you liked the book?”

“I did. I do like it. Everyone does, but I
know the truth.”

“Which is?” I nearly growled. I didn’t care
for it much when my cousin, who was nearly ten years my junior, but
the closest thing to a sister I had, started reading me the riot
act. Just because she was married to
Mr. Perfect
and had two
point three kids.
Really
. She was three months pregnant.

The truth,
she’d said. The truth was,
even though I wanted to find a man to love someday, I was also
scared of starting a relationship with a man. I couldn’t afford to
waste another fifteen years of my life. I didn’t want to take the
chance of ending up with another
liar
.

If my ex had cheated on me with one of the
secretaries at the dealership he managed, at least I could have
believed that he’d fallen in love because of the hours they spent
in close quarters.

But no, he worked seventy to eighty hours a
week, but had gone to a bar after work, drank too much, and then
hooked up with some bimbo who’d gotten pregnant.

“The truth is,” Angela continued, “you’ve
done a lot with your life in the last five years. I’m so proud of
you, but you’re turning forty, and I see the way you look when
you’re over for dinner. How just like now, I have to wait while you
work out in your head whatever you’re thinking. I know what you
wrote in your book, but I know the real you. You’re lonely. And I
just don’t want to see you end up alone …” she trailed off, and I
knew what she was thinking.

“Like Aunt Heidi …” I cocked my head as I
finished her unspoken words. Aunt Heidi — the deceased sister of my
father and Angela’s father — had shut herself out from the world,
refusing to take any of our phone calls or answer the door when we
tried to visit her. She’d been found by the police when a neighbor
called because her two dogs wouldn’t stop barking for several days.
Angela and I had been devastated, wondering if we’d done enough to
reach her.

Angela sniffed. She’d been even closer than
I was to our aunt. “I know you’d never end up like Aunt Heidi.
You’re not an alcoholic. But yeah, I don’t want J’Austen to be your
only bed companion in life.”

“Well, I don’t either, even though she’s a
great companion. She doesn’t even hog the covers. But as I wrote in
my book, I don’t need a man to complete me, so please stop worrying
about my love life. I won’t stop it if it happens, but I’m not
going to go looking for
Mr. Right
either. If it happens, it
happens.”

I’d already given up too many years to a man
who couldn’t be faithful. My ex still loved me. He’d begged to come
back, but I knew I’d never be able to look at him the same way
again, never be able to trust him. I had loved being a wife and
mother. I poured my life into my husband and son. But if I allowed
Dick to stay after he’d disrespected me in the worst way …

My father hadn’t taught me much in life, but
the one thing he’d drilled home was that I was supposed to respect
others, and that I should expect the same in return. And Dick
hadn’t just cheated on me, he hadn’t used protection, making me
susceptible to God-only-knows-what type of disease.

Frustrated with this stupid conversation
that only had me feeling more pitiful than I already felt today, I
looked down at the map on my iPhone. “Turn left here, then take the
first left into the business center complex.”

Angela peered up and down the sidewalk in
front of the therapy office as though she were looking for hazards.
Typical
mom
reactions. Great. I’d never really had a mother,
but now I had two. “You sure you want me just to drop you off?”