Physical Therapy (3 page)

“Izzie was great, and she gave us these wonderful routines,” Sally told me, looking around at her girlfriends as if asking them to back her up. “But I was going to ask her today if I should increase reps or weight.” She nudged the woman to her right, the same dark-haired woman who had squeezed my arm earlier.

“
Oh
.” The woman winced. “That"s right. We"ve been doing this for about a month, and it"s becoming a little easy. But ever since Izzie lost her last helper, Jake, she"s been too busy for us.”

“Jake?” I asked. Maybe I could get some information about what Izzie expected from her employees. “How come he left?”

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“Jake was a sweet boy,” sighed one of the oldest ladies, who had short silvery hair that was fluffed up in front and cut very close, almost like a man"s, in the back. “He left us to go off to Stanford,” she said. “He was glad to be going, but I think he was already feeling homesick.”

“That"s right,” said Sally. “Izzie said his aura was positively puce when he took his things and said good-bye.”

They all nodded at one another.

“Can Izzie really see auras?” I asked.

“Oh yes.” Sally spoke up before anyone had a chance. “It"s documented in the paper that she tried to tell the previous mayor to slow his schedule down. Poor man.”

“He died?” I whispered.

“No,” said Sally. “Of course not, but his wife left him the following week after he was caught in flagrante delicto with the housekeeper.” I felt like shaking my head. Like it would make that noise that happens when cartoon characters were snapping back into shape. “She saw it in his aura?”

“Oh no, dear,” said my soft-spoken lady with the kind brown eyes. “In the housekeeper"s.”

Sally was nodding sagely. “Izzie can always tell when someone is”—she looked around and lowered her voice—“getting some.”

The puffy silver-haired lady snorted. “That"s why we don"t come in on Monday mornings.”

I felt my eyebrows fly up until I was sure my hair hid them. “She can really…?”

“If it"s recent,” said Sally, whose eyes seemed to be dancing with enjoyment at my discomfort. “Poor Jake. He learned the hard way not to—”

“Don"t be telling tales, Sally.” My brown-haired lady looked back at me. “Still, it"s probably best
you
don"t find out the hard way.”

“I guess not,” I said. We all stared at each other for a while. “You ladies are going to be a handful, aren"t you?”

“Probably,” said Sally, looking at the stack of files I had on the floor in front of me.

“What should we start with?”

“How about names?” I asked, and they all started talking at once. There were six of them, and I decided to take matters into my own hands by grabbing the top file on the stack. “Ann,” I read. “Who is Ann?”

The brown-haired lady waved her hand at me. “Me.”

“How about you and I get started on curls?”

She smiled and followed me to the machine, taking up her position after adjusting the seat. One by one, I led them to machines, giving them light instructions and adding weight or reps if something seemed too easy. Mostly it was like herding cats, and even I was tired by the time they were done an hour later. They came out of the ladies" locker 12

Z. A. Maxfield

room in purple clothing and big red hats that made them look like tropical birds. I loved them. I was already enjoying my new job.

They were trying to get Izzie to give up what my aura told her when another customer entered the gym. I was still laughing at something they were saying when I caught sight of him.

He was big; it seemed he almost filled the doorway with his presence, and it didn"t help that he had Lofstrand crutches, the kind that wrap around your forearms with a handle that sticks out for you to lean on when you take a step. He took one cautious step into the building and then another, and it seemed hard for him. His coordination was all wrong, and I suspected that he"d had a head injury, maybe, or some damage to his spinal cord because he was wearing shorts and I couldn"t see any scarring on his legs. He led with his crutches, giving himself ample time to set them steadily before taking each step.

My ladies moved back for him, silent and sad. It seemed almost like a funeral procession. I didn"t understand the atmosphere at all; it had changed so quickly. Izzie greeted the newcomer quietly and led him back into the gym. I couldn"t hear what she said, but as soon as the two of them were out of earshot, to a man—or a woman as the case may be—my ladies seemed to sigh.

“What?” I asked. I was determined to find out as much as I could from this small gold mine of information in the form of cheerful older women.

“That"s Ken Ashton,” Sally said in a theatrical whisper, as if I should know what she meant.

“He was in a terrible accident,” Ann added.

Sally nodded. “He was the best ballplayer this town ever produced. A senior at Cal State Fullerton when he had the accident. They have a great program for baseball, and we all had such high hopes for him. That was almost six months ago.”

“It was a terrible shame. His girlfriend didn"t make it.” Ann spoke so low I barely heard her. They all looked in the direction that Ashton had gone with Izzie.

“What does he do here?” I asked.

“Izzie"s been working with him since he first came home from the hospital. That"s been what, two months?” She looked around. “His coordination was…”

“I see,” I said. There was a strained silence until Ann broke it.

“He"s much better now. The doctors are hopeful he"ll make a nearly complete recovery.”

“That"s good.” I doubted that even if his body came back 100 percent he"d ever recover completely. There was something about being brushed by tragedy that marked a person forever. I had seen that in his eyes when he"d glanced my way in passing.

They"d been unbelievably attractive; light blue with black rings around them, surrounded by lashes like a girl"s, but they"d held no life in them, no spark. “Poor Physical Therapy

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man.” I was only aware I"d said that aloud when the Red Hats bobbed their silent agreement.

I held the door while the ladies exited, giving them a cheerful wave as they argued about driving or walking and breakfast or lunch, and then I went back inside. The door closed behind me with a sigh. It seemed eerily quiet as I walked back into the gym area.

I thought I"d grab some disinfectant wipes and do the machine handles. Places where people touched. I was going through Izzie"s basket of supplies when I heard her voice behind me.

“Jordan.” She waved me over. “I wonder if you could come in here a moment.” I headed toward the therapy room where she stood, still holding the wipes in my hand.

“There"s someone I"d like you to meet.”

I followed her into the small room, which she kept dimly lit and silent. Ken Ashton was walking on a treadmill. He moved slowly, both hands gripping the support bars.

“Ken.” Izzie went to him and turned off the treadmill. As it slowed to a crawl, he looked relieved, and I could see he was tight and white about the mouth, as if he"d been concentrating fiercely. He had beads of sweat popping out on his brow, and he heaved a sigh when the conveyor belt finally ground to a halt. He turned and removed earbuds from his ears, flipping the wire neatly around his neck. “I would like you to meet Jordan. He"s my new assistant, and he"s going to be able to do massage for you after your workouts.”

I held out my hand and dipped my head. “Ken, nice to meet you.” It was hard somehow to look at him. It was like looking at the scene of a bomb blast, when people are still reeling with shock as they"re crawling out of the rubble. He peered at the world as if through a veil of smoky haze and wreckage, still stunned in the aftermath of his disaster.

“Jordan.” He acknowledged me in a clipped kind of way. I thought maybe he resented the intrusion. Maybe he wanted to be left alone.

“Well,” I began. “I can come back when you"re ready for a massage, if you like.”

“It will be good for you,” said Izzie. “He"ll help you to lengthen and relax the muscles that get tight when I put you through your paces.”

“I don"t know that my insurance will cover it,” he said, no longer looking at me.

I glanced at Izzie, who seemed to be trying to tell me something with her eyes. “I don"t know what Jordan even charges yet,” she told him, running one of her leathery hands over his shoulder. He pulled away from her touch.

“Hey,” I said. “No problem, I"m like a dealer; I know once you"ve tried me out, you"ll be hooked. The first one"s always free.”

Ken turned away and started to towel off with some difficulty as he leaned against the table. “Maybe later. Get him out of here, Izzie.” 14

Z. A. Maxfield

My mouth hung open in shock, but I only stood there for a moment before Izzie was gently leading me out the door.

“What did I say?” I asked her. I couldn"t imagine that what I"d said was so offensive he"d have me thrown out. Turn down a free massage.
Who turns down a free
massage?

“It"s all right,” Izzie said under her breath. “He"s all right. He"s…bitter. He just…” She looked behind her into the room. I could see Ken struggling to retrieve his crutches and put on his jacket. Izzie sighed. “He"s embarrassed because he"s still awkward. He was in an accident; hit by a drunk driver. His girlfriend was killed.” I pulled her out of the doorway, and the door shut automatically behind her.

“What on earth are you thinking? I told you about me! I"m the last person you should introduce to him. He won"t want me touching him. He won"t even want me living in St.

Nacho"s.”

“Well, it"s not up to him, is it?”

I shook my head. “What?”

“I read your résumé. You"ve done your time. And more importantly, I think…”

“What?” I asked again after she trailed off.

“More importantly, I think you may have something to offer him.”

“I
offered
him a free massage,” I said. “He declined.” She cuffed my arm lightly to let me know I wasn"t funny. “I know you don"t believe me, but I want you to try again, and keep trying, until you get him to talk to you.” For once her severe expression made sense. “And since you"re giving him a massage for free, I"ll give
you
this for free,” she said. “Your auras are exactly the same.

Exactly. I"ll draw a picture later and show you what I mean.” The door opened behind us and Ken came through it. He didn"t meet either of our eyes.

“Excuse me,” he said politely. Izzie raised her brows and turned to him.

“Where do you think you"re going?” she asked him. He couldn"t seem to find an answer. “You still have free weights, and I don"t care what you say, you will let Jordan give you a quick massage at the end of your workout.”

“But—”

Izzie laughed, and it kind of sounded metallic and silvery, completely at odds with her bulky and leathery body. In a tone that said she had plans if he didn"t comply, she said, “When have I ever listened to your excuses? Now, move.” He turned around then, shoulders slumped, looking smaller than he had coming out. I could see how Izzie might wilt a man, and Ken was definitely wilted. He was still enormous, even compared to Izzie, and either the door wasn"t exactly regulation size or I"d misjudged his height when he came in because he almost,
almost
had to duck.

“Call me when you need me,” I said as Izzie was about to close the door behind them. She met my eyes and nodded.

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“
Damn
,” I whispered to myself. I"d left home and traveled two thousand miles to get away from a town that reviled me as a drunken killer. And now, whether I liked it or not, I was about to get up close and personal with a man who had every reason to hate me for the same thing.

That was fucking irony for you, right there.

16

Z. A. Maxfield

Chapter Three

I"d eradicated the cold and flu germs on the handholds of most of the large equipment when Izzie motioned me back toward the therapy room. I had to like her; she had a hiring policy that I was benefiting from, but she seemed to have another policy, one of trial by fire, that was making me nervous.

Her eyes, as they met mine when I walked into the therapy room, probably said an awful lot of things I couldn"t read because I didn"t know her well enough. Ken was lying chest down on a portable massage table, wearing only his shorts. His body was still and his head was turned away. I was looking at him when I heard Izzie close the door softly behind her. We were alone.

Massage is an unusual choice for a man like me because it requires that you remain silent with most of your clients, and I"m normally a very talkative guy. Cooper always accused me of wanting to be the center of attention and never shutting up, even when it was in my best interest. While age and—possibly—maturity made me less likely to blurt out whatever was on my mind these days, I"d found that caring for another person physically, touching their skin, smoothing knotted muscles, pushing and pulling on the very stuff of which people are made, brought a kind of contemplative, content silence that I for once didn"t have to fill.

No one was more surprised by this than I was.

I went to work. “I wonder if it would be all right if we began with you faceup,” I murmured in a voice I"d cultivated just for this purpose, something between graveyard shift jazz disc jockey and grief counselor. “I"d like to finish off with the large muscles in your back. Unless… I mean, if you have sinus trouble or back problems and have trouble resting in a facedown position and then getting up…”

“No, facedown or faceup, either way,” he replied. He didn"t seem to be looking forward to this as much as some clients did. He began the awkward process of shifting from facedown to faceup on a wobbly table. I held it steady while he turned, and given Physical Therapy

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his size and level of coordination, it wasn"t easy. Wordlessly, I offered my arm to anchor him.

I found a pump bottle full of body lotion, a kind I liked that smelled like rosemary and eucalyptus, and put some on my hands to warm it. Neither Ken nor I spoke further, as I did his shoulders, arms, and pecs. I focused on his hands, partly because it seemed to relax him, and partly because they were callused from using the crutches, and it seemed to me his forearms and hands were probably bearing a lot of his weight. I knew just from manipulating his arms that his shoulders would be stretched so taut it might even hurt him for me to work on them.