Full Contact

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  Jay. His hands. His hurt. She cared.

  More kneading.

  She could handle it. This was Jay. She had her music. Her flowers. The private garden in her mind. Peace.

  Kneading. Kneading. So much needing.

  Life was hard.

  Strains of music filtered in. Speaking to her. All she wanted was peace.

  “Let’s talk about it.”

  She couldn’t talk. She was sobbing.

  She wanted to go home.

  “Try, Ellen. Talk to me. Talk through it.”

  He stroked her lightly. As he had on other days. Gently stroking. Back and forth. Bringing peace.

  Invading her space.

  She didn’t want to be touched.

  But she couldn’t tell him. Telling him would mean failure. She was normal. She wanted a normal life.

  Tears dropped to the floor.

  She heard his steps as he moved away.

  “Take as long as you need.”

  She waited for the click of the closing door. Then curled into a ball on the table and sobbed.

  JAY STOOD OUTSIDE HIS treatment room. Strategizing. Planning. Determined to make Ellen like other clients he’d helped through difficult times—determined to focus on the job at hand.

  Tension built from the inside out. He couldn’t fail her. Couldn’t stand here and watch her walk away. If she came through that door and told him she was done, he couldn’t not go after her.

  Five minutes passed. She was always out within two. Seven minutes. No sound emerged from the room.

  Eight minutes and Jay’s hand was on the knob. He turned it slowly. Gave her time to notice. To stop him. To claim her privacy.

  Ellen wasn’t standing. Or even sitting in the chair where she’d left her purse. She was still on the table, huddled like a child.

  In that moment he knew this woman would never be just another client to him. She was a client. She meant that much.

  But so much more.

  He’d known her only a matter of days yet it was as though he’d known her his entire life.

  Her sobs tore at him and he approached the table, even though his training told him to keep his distance. “I’m here, Ellen,” he said, keeping his voice soft, rhythmic. He didn’t touch her. “Talk to me.”

  She hiccupped. Jay waited. There was nothing else to do. He wasn’t going to leave her there alone.

  “I’m a freak.”

  “You are not a freak.”

  “I—I am.”

  Talk her through it, man. Work. Do your job. “What makes you a freak?”

  “I— People love…massages. I can’t…even make it…through one.” Her voice was muffled against her hands.

  “You know why. You were hurt. We’re healing that.”

  “What if it doesn’t work? What if I never get better?”

  What-ifs were no-win situations. Once allowed, they would insinuate themselves into every corner of the mind and eat it alive.

  “Tell me about today. What happened?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “When did it go bad?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “We need to talk through it. To take the sting. To take away the mystery. To take away its power over you.”

  She moved, unbending the slightest amount. She was still curled, but her head was not pushed so tightly against her chest.

  “I couldn’t relax. From the beginning,” she said, her voice calmer. She had stopped crying.

  “Okay, do you have any idea why?”

  “No. I found out this morning that Josh is going to Las Vegas with his father.”

  “And that upset you?”

  “Well…yeah. I mean, it’s Sin City and he’s only five.”

  “Okay.” He didn’t push her. Let the music and the dim lighting do their work.

  “I—I can’t handle a simple massage and Josh is going to be in Las Vegas.”

  She was afraid and feeling powerless. He understood that. But he couldn’t quite put the Las Vegas part together with the reaction.

  “Let’s talk about the massage,” he said. “Can you tell me when the touching went bad for you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How did you feel?”

  “Like the walls were closing in. Like I had to and I didn’t want to and I couldn’t do anything about it.”

  “Did I hurt you?”

  “No.”

  “Did it feel good?”

  “I don’t know. I— My mind wandered and I got confused and…I don’t know. It all went bad.”

  “Do you want to take a break?” He wasn’t going to give up on her. But pushing too hard could do more damage than good. “Try again in another week or so?”

  “No.” Ellen sat up, her voice firm. “I’m not going to live like this my entire life. I hate having you see me this way. I’m an ugly freak and I don’t want to be. Not anymore. So I’m not going to run away.”

  His hand moved before his mind did. With the tips of his fingers he pushed the hair from Ellen’s face, wiping her eyes then her cheeks with his thumbs. “You are not ugly, Ellen Moore.” Those teary brown eyes gazed at him with such longing. “For the first time in my career, I find myself struggling to ignore how beautiful the woman on my table is.”

  What in the hell was he doing?

  Ellen stared at him and something entered her eyes, her expression. Something he’d needed to see.

  But she closed her eyes, and turned her face into the palm of his hand.

  She didn’t push herself into him. Didn’t so much as move her lips. She simply rested against his palm. A moment. Two.

  She slid off the table, and quietly collected her purse.

  Next time she was there he’d have her take off her shoes. Only her shoes. A slight disrobing. He’d do her feet. And nothing else. The plan presented itself to him as she moved toward the door.

  “Thank you.” She glanced at him over her shoulder for the briefest second then she was gone.

  But he knew she’d be back.

  He knew something else, too. He had to have a talk with her before he worked on her again.

  He’d crossed a professional line that he shouldn’t have. He had to tell her.

  Then Ellen had a choice to make: to trust him to be able to help her heal.

  Or not.

  ELLEN THOUGHT ABOUT JAY for the rest of the day. Alma, the woman celebrating her hundredth birthday, cracked a joke that had the whole room laughing and Ellen wished Jay had been there to hear her. He knew Alma.

  She chose a brownie over a vanilla cupcake and wondered if he would have made the same choice.

  And when she counseled the Mercer family—a son, a daughter and a son-in-law—about admitting their mother, Joan, to Big Spirits because the woman kept wandering away from home and they were afraid for her life, she thought of Jay. Of the fact that he would never have to go through moments like these. Never have to face a family crisis.

  She thought about how unfair life had been to him. How lucky the Mercers were to have the security of a family unit to lean on while facing life’s challenges. And how lucky she was to have her family—both the blood family, and the adopted family she had in the people of Shelter Valley.

  Jay had never had a home.

  Ellen had never known a single moment without one. Even in her worst moment, she’d had a home to think about—and to eventually run to.

  Jay deserved to know what a home meant. How it felt. What it stood for.

  She had to help him find his father. Then, hopefully, he’d let her help him integrate Cole into his life, as well.

  Beyond that she couldn’t think. She had no idea where he’d be once he’d completed what he’d set out to do. One thing was very clear. He wouldn’t be staying.

  And she would never leave.

  That impasse occupied her thoughts as she left her office following the session with the Mercers. She would meet with them early next week after they had considered their optio
ns over the weekend.

  “Hey!”

  Ellen stopped when she heard the voice.

  Clara Larson was in her room, sitting in a chair adjacent the window. The ninety-two year old had family in Tucson. The same place where Jay’s father had deserted him. Clara’s family had all but deserted her, visiting only once a year. Did they have some nonfamily chemical contaminating their drinking water?

  “You need something, Clara?” Ellen stepped into the room.

  “I need to talk to you is what.”

  “Okay.” Ellen pulled up a chair and took the older woman’s frail hand, careful not to squeeze too hard and bruise her. There were more veins than skin visible these days. “What’s up?”

  “The new girl—the one they hired last month—I don’t want her in here anymore.”

  “Tell me what’s going on.”

  “My body is old and useless, my brain is not.”

  Smiling, Ellen said, “I can certainly attest to that.” Clara had beat Ellen in a game of Scrabble a couple of days ago. They kept the game set up in a corner of Clara’s room and Ellen played at least one word a day.

  “The girl treats me like I’m a moron.”

  “And that’s completely unacceptable,” Ellen said. “I’m glad you said something.”

  “That’s what you’re here for, ain’t it?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “So…you’ll see that she doesn’t come back in here?”

  Ellen couldn’t promise to choose aides’ schedules based on the likes and dislikes of residents, but…

  “Let me ask you this,” she said. “If she apologizes, can you give her one more try?”

  She knew the staff member—Lacey Barnes. A single mother with a two-month-old infant, Lacey was living with her parents and struggling to make ends meet. The job at Big Spirits worked for her because she could still breast-feed her baby who was next door at Little Spirits.

  Clara didn’t answer.

  “I give you my word. If her behavior doesn’t change immediately, I won’t ask you to be patient a second time.”

  She harrumphed. Then, with a petulant look, she nodded. “All right. But I want that apology.”

  “You’ll get it,” Ellen promised.

  She sought out Lacey’s supervisor to make good on her word as soon as she left Clara’s room.

  Back in her small office, Ellen packed up her bag then headed out the side door of the facility. At the same time, Jay walked in. She stopped.

  He did, too.

  “You got a minute?”

  He was still wearing the jeans and T-shirt he’d had on that morning. “Yeah.”

  “I need to see Hugh. But if you’ll wait, I’ll be right out.”

  Ellen nodded. What did he need to see her about? She wasn’t up for discussing her breakdown this morning. But maybe Jay had word on his father or needed her help.

  She could have left. He’d allowed her time to leave.

  She didn’t.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  JAY FOUND ELLEN LEANING against a corner of the building, her phone turned sideways and her fingers moving along the screen as though she was playing a game. He had a touch screen MP3 player that kidnapped him anytime he picked it up. There was this bird game…

  “Sorry. Hugh’s playing the stock market with a hundred dollars and an internet account. He wanted to ask my opinion of some charts he’d downloaded.”

  “You know about the stock market?”

  “Some. Not enough to give advice, though, and I told Hugh that. So that chat…” He cast his mind for a private place where they could talk—one that wouldn’t distress her. He couldn’t take her to his place and had no intention of going within half a mile of hers. Maybe a bench on Montford’s campus.

  “We could take the motorcycle someplace,” she said.

  “We could.” Riding therapeutically was one thing. Having her on the back of his bike, stopping, having intimate conversation—intimate to him, at least—and then riding some more…

  Could be a recipe for disaster.

  “I know a place at the base of a mountain about thirty miles outside town,” she said. “We could go there.”

  She was trusting him. Jay couldn’t offer a negative response to that.

  Leading the way to his bike, he unlocked the trunk case, pulled out the helmet Ellen used and handed it to her before climbing onto the bike and waiting for her to settle herself.

  They were old hands at this part. Almost like a couple. Something they would most definitely never be. He’d suffocate in a town like Shelter Valley. Who was he kidding? Settling in any town would smother him.

  And even if a woman was willing to freestyle it with him, he’d suffocate in a long-term relationship.

  Which was why he didn’t trust himself to help Cole.

  “WHAT IS THIS PLACE?” Turning off the bike, Jay held it steady while Ellen climbed off. She’d guided him to an undeveloped, unpopulated spot. They’d taken the highway to a dirt road, then had off-roaded it for a short stint, until a path formed by tire tracks appeared, leading to a clearing that abutted the south side of the mountain. The area was surrounded by an unusually thick grouping of Palo Verde trees, enclosing it, hiding it from the rest of the world. Making it the perfect place for illicit activity.

  He pulled out his earbuds and remained on the bike, his feet firmly on the ground. “What are you doing bringing me here? I mean, I’m glad you trust me this much, but a guy could easily get the wrong idea being brought here.”

  Hooking her helmet over the seat, Ellen crossed her arms over her chest and walked toward a rock face. Wearing that colorful pullover and jeans, she didn’t look intent on seduction.

  Even so, he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about sliding his hands underneath her top.

  What in the hell was wrong with him? He wasn’t a predator. He was here to come clean with her.

  “You said we needed to talk,” she said, leaning against the mountain. “We needed privacy, which, in case you haven’t noticed, is almost impossible for me. So here we are.”

  “For a woman with trust issues, this is pretty bold.” He couldn’t get off the bike. Didn’t trust himself to get too close to her.

  “You might think so…until you made one inappropriate move,” she said.

  Frowning, Jay wondered if the morning’s session had taken a greater toll than he’d thought. Should he have called Shawna? Was he in way over his head? Hurting Ellen when he thought he was helping her? Sending her into a make-believe world because she couldn’t deal with reality as it was?

  “This place is called Rabbit Rock.” She stepped away from the mountain and pointed upward. “Look at the formation—it’s like a rabbit.”

  After a second or two, he saw the resemblance.

  “When my parents were young, kids used to come here and make out. During Sheriff Richards’s high school days they did drugs and hallucinated here. About fifteen years ago, this rock was used as a gang initiation site. Boys had to hijack pricey cars, bring them out here and ram them at full speed into the rock. Sheriff Richards’s father was a victim of one of the hijackings. Got hurt pretty bad. The kids left him for dead but he lived another ten years—in a vegetative state.”

  Jay listened, still worried about her unawareness of the potential danger she’d put herself in.

  “You see, the sheriff, my mom, Becca and Will, Tory and Ben, Cassie—they’ve all suffered through life’s challenges. They’ve been hurt, and they’ve grown from it. Rather than becoming embittered, or mean, they’ve banded together to build a town where people can find peace and be happy.”

  Or a town where they could hide from the world. Depending on your perspective.

  “And as for Rabbit Rock, I’m perfectly safe here.” She resumed her position against the stone surface. “You should know me better than to think that I’d put myself at such obvious risk. Even with you.”

  He liked the even with you part—tucked it away for further examina
tion later.

  “We’re being watched,” she said.

  There were in the middle of freaking nowhere. God, what if she was really losing it? “Watched? Really?”

  “Joe Frasier. A friend of mine.”

  To verify, he looked around. He would have known if they had been followed.

  “Where is he?”

  “Up there.” She pointed upward.

  “In the sky?”

  Did she think angels were watching over her? Was that it? Did she think they would protect her from being hurt again?

  “No, on the mountain,” she said, her expression serious. “He lives out here. He’s the one who told Sheriff Richards what was going on with the Phoenix gang. He’s also a…client…of mine. Greg introduced me to Joe several years ago. A couple of times a month the two of us bring Joe groceries and stuff. Sometimes I come alone.”

  Jay glanced around again and studied the mountain more seriously.

  “You won’t see him,” Ellen said. “Joe’s serious about being left alone. He’s got a cabin not far from here, but he spends a lot of time exploring, too.”

  “How do you know he’s watching us?”

  “Joe hears every vehicle that comes anywhere near this place. He was probably listening to your bike ten miles out. Plenty of time to get to his lookout.”

  She didn’t sound crazy. She sounded perfectly rational. Sane. And confident that she was perfectly safe.

  “Does he have a gun?”

  “Of course.”

  “Is he a good aim?”

  “I assume so.”

  He’d heard about backwoods fathers on porches with shotguns protecting their daughters’ virtue, but a hermit on a mountain?

  “How old is this guy?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  Or she wasn’t saying. If Joe was her client, she couldn’t talk about him. Jay respected that.

  “He knows about you.”

  That didn’t surprise him. Not around here. If anyone ever needed to be famous, all they had to do was ride a motorcycle into Shelter Valley and talk to Ellen Moore.

  “I guess the sheriff warned him.”

  “No, I told him about the therapy. I…talk to Joe sometimes. I trust him. And I respect his judgment. After our first two bike rides I wanted a sounding board and knew that I couldn’t talk to anyone at home about it.”