“Well, I pray he gives you the same treatment if you’re ever given the opportunity to get married. Annelies isn’t even his blood daughter.”
My stomach tightened. “Hold the line. Did you say ‘if?’”
“You aren’t getting any younger. When was the last time you brought a boyfriend around?”
There are hundreds of reasons to not bring a man around Casa Nash. This conversation ranks top five on the list.
A knock on the front door saved me from needing to gouge my eyes and ears out with a spork. “Mom, I have to go.”
“Uh huh,” her reply conveyed she didn’t believe me.
I slammed the laptop shut without saying goodbye, tossed it on the bed, and stomped over to the entryway. When I squinted through the peephole at an annoyed Roxy with larger-than-life features, I jumped backward.
With a sigh, I unlocked the door to let her in and shoved away the anger reserved for my mother. “Hey. I saw your texts, but my ringer was off. What’s up?”
“Thank God you’re okay!” She flung the screen door open and hugged me before socking my shoulder twice.
“Ouch!” I rubbed the sore spot, knowing it’d bruise. “What was that for?”
“I’ve texted. I’ve called. What do I get in return? Nothing.”
“You and Eddie both,” I said, flashing her the screen of my phone to see his novel-length message.
“Yuck! Toilet gravy?”
I replied with zero emotion, “This is my life now.”
“You’re not getting off the hook that easy. What have you been doing?”
“Um. Sleeping? You’re starting to sound like my mom. Don’t make me find a way to hang up on you because I just did that to her. Quota met.”
“We can talk about your mom and her stuffed animal collection later. This isn’t funny, Jade. I saw the news.” Roxy pointed out the living room window toward the waves in the distance. Her voice cracked, “I thought… I thought you...” She took a moment to compose herself. “I know your games. First, get upset about something minor when something major is bothering you. Second, binge on Brady’s cheesecake. Third, swim off said cheesecake calories late at night. See? I can create lame-o lists, too.”
I thought about the pile of puke out by the edge of the cliff and scowled. Plus, Roxy knowing and mocking my agenda annoyed me. “For your information, I threw up my cheesecake last night and didn’t swim it off.”
“Eww. TMI.” Roxy frowned. “They found a body out there. For all I knew, you were the one who drowned.” Her remaining sentence came out in fragments, “I can’t… I won’t lose…”
An invisible lightbulb went off over my head. Oh, so that’s what all the phone calls and texts are about.
“It wasn’t me,” I muttered, unexcited to relive the previous night.
“Thanks. I see that since you’re standing here.”
“Sorry I worried you.” I tucked my hands into the fleece-lined kangaroo pocket of my shirt. “The whole thing was crazy.”
“Wait. You watched it happen?”
I nodded.
“Shut up! Who was it?” She sank to a seated position on the couch and set her expensive purse on the floor. “Male? Female? They haven’t released an identity on the news, but everyone is texting me about it.”
“I couldn’t tell. And I think it’d be inappropriate to interrupt the person giving CPR so I could cop a feel to fish out their ID.”
“Jeez, I hope it wasn’t someone we know… knew,” she said.
“It all happened so fast. I got sick and came inside as they were leaving.”
“Only you would waste Brady’s cheesecake on eating backward…”
My face must’ve said what my mouth refused. Trust me, I tried not to sink back into the recesses of my head, but I lost. Memories caught me off guard, razor-sharp shards slicing with ease. While thankful Roxy’s voice pulled me back, the topic I fought to bury remained in view.
“Oh! Fuckballs. I’m sorry.” She clamped a hand over her mouth. “I didn’t think about how you’d react after everything that happened with… are you okay? I mean, I wouldn’t be.”
“I’m fine,” I blurted. “Can we talk about something else?”
As if she could sense my discomfort, Charlotte mewed and raced into the room from the kitchen. I watched the kitten skid to a stop and stretch dramatically. Then, she dug her claws into the carpet before pouncing onto the back of the couch at lightning speed. Last, she wiggled her rear and leapt up onto Roxy’s shoulder as if she scaled a jungle gym.
“What the…” Roxy screeched, shot to her feet, and spun around in a circle like a dog chasing its tail.
I plucked the purring tabby from her shoulder. “She’s saying hi.”
“Teach your pussy how to wave or give a fist bump then. That thing creeps me out, and it’s your fault for naming her after a dead person.”
I had no argument. Roxy spoke the truth. The doctor who owned the house before me puttered in woodwork. Among fifty-three other pieces she’d left behind in the garage, she built a bench out of driftwood in memory of “Charlotte.” It sat on one of the worn pathways between my porch and the beach. When I brought the stray kitten home, the name fit and stuck. Charlotte purred and stretched in my arms.
“So?” Roxy asked.
“Huh?”
“I asked if you wanted to ride in to work together. Since you’re still alive and all.”
“I wish.” I exhaled hard. “I have to meet Annelies tonight. Call it having to deal with wedding-related toilet gravy.”
A few minutes past nine o’clock, my Jeep trailed after Roxy’s cherry-red DS3 Cabriolet into the parking lot. I saw seven other vehicles parked in stalls designated for The Triple C, which was average for opening on a Tuesday. All of them were recognizable except one. I wedged my Jeep between the curb and a coal-gray Ford F-350 that’d parked over the line about six inches into my space, leaving me to feel like an oiled sardine. My day spiraled downward between the conversation with my mom and the scolding from Roxy. Part of me wanted to leave a coloring book page tucked underneath the windshield wiper of the truck that said, “Learn how to stay inside the lines, asshole.” Instead, I kept my professional game face on and silently cursed.
I grabbed my travel mug from the cup holder and a broken protein bar from the console. Frowning, I tossed the gold-wrapped block into my bag, trying to remember how many times it’d melted and solidified from the heat. I gave myself some grace and a few moments for a mental pep talk. The day could only improve— I had one hundred percent certainty. With optimism, I followed Roxy into the office. My silver lining would include a pathetic breakfast before Lizard Leif showed up. A little over an hour of peace before the flakes of DNA piled up on my office floor.
I took a deep breath and immediately calmed. The air smelled of lavender and an underlying hint of dark-roasted coffee while music specifically chosen for stress reduction played overhead. A steady trickle of water dribbled over a fountain of river rock built behind the wraparound bench in the waiting area. It complemented the blue walls, a hue used to help slow heart rates and lower blood pressure. We’d put a lot of thought and research into our vision, and we were proud of how it’d turned out. Business soared, our client list growing every week. We’d done something right.
Take that, Iris.
The last space needing a cosmetic overhaul in our phased renovation was my office, the paint a nauseating bubble gum pink. It reminded me of an Easter marshmallow or what’d happen if a flamingo went down on a lit stick of dynamite. Hate didn’t begin to describe my feelings about the wall color. Plans were in place to remedy the shitty décor choice gifted to me by the last tenant. It topped my priority list while Roxy vacationed in Maui and the office was temporarily closed. To be honest, I looked forward to some uninterrupted m
e time.
I strolled behind the reception desk, setting my tote bag down in the cubby before grabbing the newspaper and scanning the headlines on the front page. Boring. Like usual. Once again, it confirmed little excitement in Cannon Cove. Frontpage news talked about the upcoming eclipse. Even the event by the water’s edge hadn’t washed up into the columns yet.
“Hey, Rox? Think you can give me an adjustment before you take off tonight? That nerve in my neck is really—”
“Good morning, Jade!” Gwen sang in her high-pitched squeak as she glanced up from a nail file. The level of concentration on her face conveyed she’d been whittling her index finger for far too long and on company time. She lined up a bottle of purple nail polish and a buffer on her desk next to two toe separators and a jar of acetone.
Are you freaking kidding me? I held myself back from snapping. Roxy could deal with the addition of a nail salon at the front desk. My Tuesday had been a letdown already, and I wouldn’t allow it to worsen.
Both the singsong tone and the manicure during business hours were par for the course with Gwen. All of it grated on my nerves, much like actual nails on a chalkboard. For a second, I studied her platinum blonde hair with dark roots, spray tan, whitened teeth, and reaffirmed her boobs were fake. Why did an eighteen-year-old go to Tijuana to have her chesticles enhanced, anyway?
It was one of few times I’d stood my ground against Roxy because she and I strongly disagreed about hiring Gwen. She was wise as a doorknob, and that offended the doorknob. Her list of strengths narrowed to two: she had a warm body and she could be punctual. That was it. If she ever made it to needing a review, which I doubted, I was screwed for positive material.
The Triple C needed someone with little to no experience because of what we could afford in wage with a start-up chiropractic office when our doors opened. Eventually, I’d backed down. Business picked up, but Roxy and I were still conservative with expenses. Gwen was fresh out of high school. It showed. Big time. She didn’t know how to operate a fax machine, dial out on a multi-lined phone, brew coffee, or print receipts. It impressed me she could exhale and inhale without reminders. The list continued. As often as Roxy and I prompted her, little to none of the information stuck.
I walked over to the window, rifling through the bulky stack of envelopes in my inbox. Half were filtered to the insurance biller’s slot, and two of the remaining three pieces went in the accounting bin. The only one left was an ad for a new diner in town.
Someday, you’ll get the mail right, Gwen.
“I almost forgot. You had a cancelation for your nine o’clock today,” Gwen said with a lot of dramatic blinking to show off her new lash extensions.
If eyes were the window to the soul, I wondered how Gwen’s didn’t have a giant vacancy sign behind hers. “I know. Eddie texted me.” I scrunched my nose, thinking about the old man. “Leif’ll be in at around ten.”
“It gets better,” she said.
“Yeah?” I half-listened because I studied a spelling error in the advertisement. With a tag line like: “Now hiring energetic employees for night shits,” I doubted they’d be in business long. It also took me full circle again, envisioning Eddie on his porcelain throne.
“Someone else called in for a last-minute appointment, so I booked it.” Gwen clapped excitedly. “Yay me for filling the slot! New guy. Totally meant to be.” She squealed an elongated ‘e.’
My gaze edged up to the wall clock in front of me while I lowered the flimsy cardstock in my hand. “Wait. For nine? This morning?”
“Duh,” she said.
“It’s nine-fifteen. Why didn’t you call me? I should’ve been here long ago.”
Please let them be a no show. Please let them be a no show!
“Well,” she set down the nail file, “you told me you didn’t want your number given out, so I figured you, like, didn’t want to be disturbed or something.”
“Yeah. By clients. You’re staff.”
She shipped another empty stare my way.
Knowing I needed to dumb it down irritated me. “Gwen,” I spoke slowly, “my directive didn’t mean you can’t contact me if my schedule changes.”
“Ohhh,” she said as if she’d just solved a complicated math problem before picking up the nail buffer again. “Got it. I know for next time.”
If I have any say, there won’t be a next time.
I gestured at Roxy from behind Gwen. “Would you do something about her?” I hissed and threw my breakfast bar into a cubby, the sound echoing deep as it hit the thin metal siding.
So much for food and relaxing for an hour. Make that fifty-seven minutes. Hell, I was already eighteen minutes into my appointment.
“Hey, are you mad?” Gwen asked.
I flashed Roxy a dirty look. “Nope. On cloud nine.”
More frantic with each passing second, I fumbled through stacks of paperwork. “Where’s my file prep for the new client?”
One of Gwen’s tasks involved putting a sticker on a manila folder, filling out the label, and jamming four single-sided pieces of paperwork inside. I’d even marked them with numbers, one through four, to simplify it. Easy peasy. But she proved me wrong. In Gwen’s case, it equated to rocket science. She had yet to get it right once.
My eyes flicked toward the near-empty lobby. Seated near the door, a man thumbed through a magazine at breakneck speed with his right knee bouncing. I rushed, rifling through a pile of unkempt papers on the desk, finding a file folder halfway through the stack. False alarm. It was full of scribbles and doodles, compliments of Gwen. “Has he been waiting long?”
The clock read 9:20 a.m.
Maybe this can still play out in my favor. Please say he was late and didn’t get here until five minutes ago.
“Ehh. He got here at ten ‘til nine. You know what they say about the early bird.” Any trace hints of intelligence faded from her face while she tried to remember the rest of the phrase.
“File,” I demanded.
She scrambled around the desk until she found her emery board. Gwen held it out to me with a proud grin.
“Not. That. File.”
“Right!” She spun around in the chair, and her elbow knocked over a disposable cup full of creamer with a splash of coffee. The flimsy, plastic lid popped off. Beige liquid soaked through every paper in its wake, dripped off the counter to the chair mat on the floor, and saturated the nearby carpet. And guess what file had acted as a coaster? My client’s.
“Oh, poo!” She pouted.
Edges of the manila folder curled like overcooked bacon while I watched.
She quickly blotted the paperwork with a tissue, but black ink crept across the soggy mess. “He’s cash pay if that helps. And his name is Miles… McCulley, I think.”
I stared at her. Is this conversation happening right now?
“What? Do you need to know more than that?” Gwen asked.
“Nope,” I said. “All of those fields clients fill out? Just a formality. Massage therapists learn a special trick in school. By his first name alone, I can tell his pain level and if he’s injured.” My voice dropped to a whisper, “Most times, I can even guess what they had for breakfast.”
Gwen hung on my every word. “Are you serious?”
“No!” I stomped my right foot.
“Do you want me to make him fill out the paperwork again? He refused most of it and said he had none of the contra…contra…”
“Contraindications,” I answered on her behalf.
“That’s it!” She quieted, “He does seem kinda grouchy though.”
I would be too if I’d sat here since 8:50 a.m.!
She held the paperwork up toward the ceiling, angling it slightly so the light from the fluorescent bulb could filter through. “If you stare super close right here,” she po
inted, “he marked his shoulder pain at a three. Or maybe that’s an eight. A drawing of a melting snowman? I dunno.”
“Forget it.” I groaned. “I’ll just add coffee to the paperwork and drink it later.”
I hurried to hang my sweatshirt on the coat rack before winding my hair into a sloppy bun, pinning it into place with an ink pen. Absentmindedly, I slipped my only piece of jewelry, a spoon ring, off my right thumb and into my pocket.
Glancing at the clock, it read 9:23 a.m. by the time I got back from washing my hands. I glimpsed the man seated in an oversized chair and shivered. Gwen was right. He radiated a ridiculous amount of negative energy. For a split second, I almost wished it were Leif or Eddie instead. Almost.
“Miles McCulley?” I asked.
He looked up at me, his stare performing a swan dive deep into my soul. Miles’s eyes were exceptionally dark. The color appeared indistinct, where you couldn’t tell where his pupils ended and his irises began. Olive-toned skin. Trimmed facial hair with jet-black, shaggy locks to match. I couldn’t tell if he needed a haircut or if he was growing it out another inch or two to make it look intentional.
“It’s McCullough. Says so on all four pages of repetitive paperwork.”
“Sorry. Must’ve missed that when I went over your health history,” I lied.
“Took long enough. Maybe you need a remedial phonics class and a lesson in telling time,” he muttered, tossing the car magazine to the top of the disorganized pile on the glass table.
“Follow me,” I said with a strained smile. It slid from my face as soon as I turned away.
So much for the day improving.
“So,” I grabbed my holster and clipped it around my waist, “what brings you in today?” I tried nonchalance to feel him out since I had no clue what he’d put on his medical background. It was unfortunate, but I had to walk blindly by Gwen’s words, which asked for trouble since she couldn’t pronounce “contraindications.” I thought about throwing her under the bus in front of Miles, and I considered running over her seventeen times, but that route didn’t scream professionalism. Trusting her to know if he had any reasons I shouldn’t massage him was a liability— for both of us. But he was so peeved. Fear of asking more questions outweighed common-sense.
Jade Page 4