by Lynn Donovan
He stared at her. She maintained her expression of seriousness, no budge. Finally, he sighed. “Fine.”
“Good. Now, if you don’t mind, I want to assess your injuries, and what exactly you can and cannot feel. Can you roll onto your side, or do you need—
He rolled himself over and scooted his hips more with his ribcage than his actual hips, which made his legs follow. She cringed.
“Oh, I see we can do that. This is a good example of how the straps wrapped on your thighs and just under your knees can help.” She positioned his legs together and proceeded to poke and prod his back. She asked obvious questions and he answered. She wrote in a small notebook where he could feel her instrument and where his sensations ceased.
Next she asked about his bathroom practices and William closed his eyes while explaining what he had to do. None of which were a surprise to her. T-5 and 6 usually caused a patient to need some catheterization to empty his bladder and colon.
She matter-of-factly nodded and continued on with other questions. At last she was done. “Okay. Let’s get you back in the chair and you go get that board and straps.”
“How about lunch?”
She stiffened. “Lunch?” She looked at her phone, but her stomach answered for her. Heat filled her face. “Alright. But after lunch, I want to go get settled into my quarters. Then I want to see you transfer with the board.”
He frowned. “Fine. I’ll give you a dog and pony show with my board. Then I want to discuss building my lower extremities.”
She smiled. “One thing at a time. Rushing into things is what got you where you are now, but my plan is to wind back and bring you forward properly. Then your rehabilitation will be something you can maintain into old age.”
“Old age?” He cocked his head back. She gently lowered his feet to the side of the table. He pushed up with his hands and inched himself into the chair, flopping into the seat. She cringed at the aggressive manner in which he flopped his body around. He reached down and pulled at his knees to get his feet where he wanted them on the footrests, and rolled himself toward the door. “Your contract is for three months, Miss Stepanov. Why would you be concerned about me reaching old age?”
“Because I have a standard by which I want you to rehabilitate. This isn’t it.”

William shoved his chair forward. Anger roiled in his gut. This woman was infuriating. How was he going to work with her for three long months? She wanted to take him back to a time when he was helpless and vulnerable. He had come a long way since then. What had his Dad been thinking hiring her? He shoved into the kitchen of the café. “Chef Huang! I need lunch for two, fix us something amazing.”
The Master Chef smiled and nodded.
William rolled back out of the kitchen, nearly rolling into Anya.
“Excuse me,” he growled and rolled into the dining area, pulling up to a table that only had one chair so he could roll into place without having to move a chair out of his way.
She walked over to the chair and stood beside it with her arms crossed over her chest. Something he noticed she did a lot. “This is obviously Billy C. Holliday’s table.”
William glanced at her as the waiter rushed over to fill two glasses, then pulled the chair out for Anya to sit. She glared at him, but he didn’t care. Then she smiled at the waiter and accepted his proffered chair.
“What are we having?” She recrossed her arms over her chest.
“Chef’s choice. I told him to make something amazing.”
“I heard.” She unrolled her silverware and put the linen napkin in her lap. “And what if I don’t like amazing?”
He looked deeply into her eyes. “Trust me, you will.”
“I’m not some bimbo who is impressed with your wealth, William. I make my own choices.”
“Fine.” He pushed back from the table. “I’ll go tell Chef Huang you want something else.”
Her mouth fell open. “No. I’m just saying you don’t have to order for me. As I get to know the menu here, I’d like to make my own selections.”
“I don’t even know what we are having.” He glared at her. “I asked the chef for something amazing. God only knows what he’ll bring out, but I can almost guarantee you, it’ll be—”
“Amazing?” She smirked a smile.
He tried to glare at her, but the muscles around his mouth fought to smile, just like before. She seemed amused by this, which aggravated him all the more. He pushed back again from the table and hollered at the waiter. “Have mine brought up to my quarters.” Then he turned to look over his shoulder at Anya. “I’ll see you after you set your toothbrush out, Miss Stepanov, Say, four o’clock?”
“Okay.” She looked confused, but again, he didn’t care. He rolled out of the dining area and to the private elevator. He waved his access card over the sensor and waited for the doors to slide open. This woman could not be satisfied. She took everything he did the wrong way. Where did Dad find this infuriating woman! Why did he insist she come be William’s personal physical therapist? Surely he didn’t realize what an annoying, disgruntled individual she was. William rolled into the elevator and pushed the only button to go up. The elevator moved slowly to the second level. He’d call Dad as soon as he got upstairs and tell him what a huge mistake he had made.
The elevators doors opened on the second floor. “What makes you think you can get away from me that easily?” Anya stood there, with her arms crossed. William glared at her and shoved his chair forward, not caring if he ran over her feet or raked into her shins. He didn’t want to have anything else to do with her. “I’m calling Dad. Obviously, there’s been a mistake in hiring you.” William shoved past her and went into his quarters. At least she couldn’t beat him inside there, or enter at all, if he didn’t want her to.
Satisfied he’d put her in her place, he lifted his cell phone and pushed speed dial number 1. Gordon didn’t answer. His voice mail came on, but William hung up. He didn’t want to talk to the recording. He wanted to talk to his dad. Angry, he tossed the phone onto the bed and rolled to the refrigerator to get a bottle of water.
A light tap came to his door. “Ah, lunch.” He opened the door to find Anya standing with the tray and two plates covered with a silver cover. “You?”
“Yes me.” She shoved her way in. “Let’s sit down and have lunch together like two civilized adult human beings.”
Her eyes wandered about his living space. She nodded. “Nice decor. Did you hire an interior decorator… of course you did, what was I thinking?”
“Dad did.” William rolled backward and then maneuvered himself over to the small dining table. Anya set the tray down and then the plates. “Well, whoever he hired did a nice job. It’s homey, yet reflects your personality, I think.”
“Oh really, and just what about these wall hangings makes you think it reflects my personality.”
“Down, boy.” She grinned. “I’m just trying to pay you a compliment. My apartment back home has stuff I’ve picked up in flea markets and gifts that mom has given me over the years. In one way or another our living space should reflect who we are.” She looked around. “For example.” She pointed with her pinky finger, while holding her fork. “That grouping over there reflects order and symmetry. I think you really enjoy order and balance.”
“Hmm.” William looked over his shoulder at what she had pointed at. “Yeah, I guess I do. And I do like that grouping.”
“See. We can have a nice conversation while we eat. So, let’s see what your chef thinks is amazing.” She reached for the covers and paused. “Voila.” She lifted both covers at the same time. The plates were filled to the brims with a salad. Not just any salad. It looked like an abstract piece of art. With circular rows of each ingredient. Romaine lettuce, diced tomatoes, sliced avocado, shredded chicken, crumbled bacon, pickled beets, black olives, and last, another row of romaine lettuce. Two salad dressings were in little metal cups, to be added as desired. It looked beautiful and her mouth began to wat
er in anticipation. “You’re right. Your chef knows what is amazing.”
William chuckled. “See, maybe you need to consider that we both need to learn to trust.”
Anya pursed her lips. “Okay. I can accept that as truth. I’ll trust your chef until he proves himself untrustworthy.” She giggled. “But let him know, I don’t do innards! No liver, no heart and definitely no sweet breads!”
William laughed. “Okay. Deal. I’ll let him know you have your limits when it comes to eating mystery meats.”
Anya laughed. “That’s right.”
Anya’s smile held his gaze. Her laugh was sweet, and he enjoyed the sound of it. He felt lost in her brown eyes for a moment. He had forgotten he was mad at her or that he’d wanted to call his dad to tell him what a mistake he had made hiring her. Perhaps he could endure her need to start over at the beginning. Wasn’t that what athletes did when they changed trainers? How was this any different? Anya cleared her throat, which snapped him out of his trance. He lifted his fork and began eating. She did the same. The remainder of the meal was quite pleasant. “So, tell me about the town you are from.”
“Westfield?” She smiled as a twinkle flashed in her eyes. She obviously loved her little town and her simple life. In many ways, he envied her. He’d never had a simple life. It sounded nice.
Chapter Six
A daily routine was quickly established. She woke early and went to the runner’s track that encircled the rooftop of the fitness studio. An enviro-efficient dome kept the interior at a pleasant seventy-two degrees year-round, and the clear glass allowed the runner to enjoy the island’s natural surroundings. She looked like a hamster in a tube. William could see her through the glass ceiling in the common living quarters where he played a game of solitary hoops as a warm-up.
He had guessed she might be a runner! She had that lean, toned look about her. More than once the basketball clobbered him in the face because he was distracted by her form circling the roof. Then they met in the dining room of the café for breakfast. He watched her add water to her coffee. “Why do you do that? Do you not like hot coffee?”
“No, quite… no. I love coffee.” She swallowed as she lowered her eyes to the table. “It’s just… I had a particular brand at home and, well, it’s really my favorite. I’m sure whatever it is you serve here, it’s imported and very special and expensive, but… I just miss my Classic Roast Folgers.”
William chuckled. “Folgers? Seriously? You prefer store-bought Folgers over our special blend from Columbia?”
She stiffened and a smile quivered on her lips.
“What?”
“Nothing. I had a conversation before I came here about where your coffee came from. My friend insisted you ordered it straight from the jungles of South America.” She giggled. “Perhaps Charlie was right?”
William laughed. “My father taught all of us boys that when you want something done right, you go to the source to buy it straight from there. I’m afraid your friend— Charlie was it? — is right. We have our coffee imported from all over. Wherever, whichever type coffee a client wants, we have it available upon request. But, if you want Folgers, I can make that happen, too.”
She blinked. “Of course you can. How hard is it to order Folgers online?”
He tilted his head. “You don’t believe me?”
“No, of course I do. You’re Billy C. Holliday. You have no limits. You can do anything you want to do.”
“Does that make you mad?”
She held her gaze on him. He felt scrutinized, like a microbe under a microscope. “No. Well, yes, a little. It’s just surreal to me how you have no limits. What if all this came to a crashing halt tomorrow, would you even know how to function?”
“Why would it come crashing to a halt? My dad’s a billionaire.”
“Exactly.” She put her napkin beside her untouched oatmeal. “I’ll go change and meet you in the Bowflex room.” It was what they had fondly come to call their private room where she did her therapy on him.
William watched her walk away. What just happened? He lifted his phone and googled Folgers. The headquarters was in New Orleans. He had a fitness center there. He thumbed over to his personal shopper and stared at her name on his screen, then touched the google icon and searched Folgers again. He thumbed down to “View all products.” There was Black Silk, Classic Roast, Breakfast Blend, Gourmet and on and on. Which one did she buy? He considered buying them all, by the case, but her words haunted him. “Would you even know how to function?”
He put his phone in his pocket and shoved his chair to the elevator, into his quarters, and went to the desk in his living room. He had credit cards in this desk somewhere. Pulling out each drawer, he searched for them. Frustrated, he slammed the drawers and sat back with a huff. He hadn’t made a real purchase on his own in… never. Someone always did it for him. He just told whoever what he wanted and they purchased it. Perhaps that should change. He lifted his phone and thumbed the call icon.
“Dad? I need to buy something… No, I want to buy it by myself.”

Anya changed into her Holliday Island scrubs and met William in the little Bowflex room where she manipulated his lower extremities in total privacy. She connected electrodes to his thighs and calves and used the stimulation from the wires to create an isometric workout while she manipulated his legs. Normally, this was where they talked about all kinds of things. Her life back in New York, her college years, the generous scholarship that lead to a five-year obligation to the Westfield Clinic. Her friends in the clinic. Her parents’ humble home in upstate New York. Apple picking in the fall, swimming and camping at the Finger Lakes in the summer.
He told her about his mom, Lorelei, who rested in peace on his brother, Vixen’s island in a grand marble mausoleum. Dad had a likeness of her sculpted and it stands just outside of the chamber. It’s surrounded by a private garden that she would have loved. Dad visits her regularly; William hadn’t been there in several years. His stepmother, Mara, turned out to be a gold digger. No one among the boys liked her, but they all tolerated her because… well, he couldn’t explain that. But Dad vowed to never fall in love or get married again after her. She was the reason he remained on the yacht.
They had laughed about that. But not today. Today, she was very quiet. Only spoke when she needed to give him direction. It was eery. Could this silence be because of the Folgers conversation earlier? That didn’t make sense. “You alright?”
“Sure.” She continued to flex his right leg, bend the knee, and press it against his abdomen. He watched her work. She wouldn’t meet his gaze. This exercise would last around two hours. Was she going to remain this quiet for a full two hours?
“Hey, remember when you first got here and only did this part for thirty minutes?”
She nodded.
“I was such a brat.” He waited for her to agree. “But you explained over and over how we needed to work gradually, build up the muscles. Thank you.”
She stopped mid-movement and glared at him. “It’s my job.”
“Yeah, but it’s more than that. I really appreciate you setting me straight. I do want long-term recovery and I was going about it all wrong.”
She tilted her head. “Well, it’s nice to know you understand now.”
“I do, and it’s because of you, your patience with a grumpy ol’ cuss like me—”
“It’s a typical reaction by everybody, Mr. Holliday.” She leaned into his shin, stretching his hamstring.
He furrowed his brow. She hadn’t called him Mr. Holliday since that first day when they met on Dad’s yacht. She was angry then.
“I’m very used to working with cranky patients.”
He watched her work in silence for a while. “Is this because of the Folgers?”
She halted and stared at him. “No.”
“Yes it is. Look, I can order you all the Folgers you want. I looked online, which flavor do you want?”
She pursed he
r lips and returned to manipulating his legs.
“If you don’t tell me, I’ll order every flavor available by the case.”
“Of course you will.”
He gawked at her. “Why does that make you mad? It’s supposed to make your happy.”
“Please don’t bother. I can make do.”
“But, you don’t have to. I can get you whatever you want.”
She halted again, looking past his leg into his eyes. “Don’t! Please! I will eat and drink whatever is available here on the island.”
“But—” He slammed his mouth shut. “I don’t understand.”
“Of course you don’t.”
“Can you explain it to me?”
“You wouldn’t get it.”
Frustration roiled in his gut. “Why not?”
She stopped, lowered his legs together and stepped back. “Because you were born with a proverbial silver spoon in your mouth. You have a Midas touch. You have no idea what it’s like to… to be normal. Even King Midas lost everything he loved when he touched his wife and child. I’m afraid of your lifestyle. Look where it got you, so far.”
His eyes darted between hers. “You mean my accident? A lot of your patients are paralyzed because of a car accident.”
“Yes, but would you have been… in the accident if you led a normal life? Who knows? Only God knows. But I’ll bet if you were driving my Honda Accord, you wouldn’t have been driving so… recklessly. And you might not have had any accident at all.”
“Is that why you’re mad at me? Because I drove recklessly and had this accident?”
“No. Of course not.”
He stared at her. “Is it because of the coffee?”
She tsked her tongue, glaring at him. “Of course not.” She turned on her heels and walked toward the door. “You know, sometimes a person just wants a cheeseburger with fries and a coke. A simple—” She paused. “I need a break. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“But what about the rest of my work out?” He didn’t mean to yell.
“I said, I need a break.” She slammed the door.