I laugh, but I can tell Simon isn’t fooled. He doesn’t laugh, and he doesn’t comment. I can only imagine what my father left this house looking like, and I’m mortified that Simon saw my childhood in full bloom.
We walk arm in arm down the sidewalk to the beach, and I try to imagine what life would be like if I could submit to my emotions. The waves are lit by a tourist beacon for the restaurants nearby, and my feet are itching, they are so ready to take off. I will finish two miles in seven and a half minutes, I think to myself, and I have to hold myself back and not just take off. The surf is calm, and I just want to run into its embrace and feel its power and the sting of salt against my legs.
Simon lets go of my arm and looks down at me from his tall stature. “Just go. You’re like a hummingbird that I’m clinging to.”
“I know. I’m sorry. My body just wants to run. I can’t help it; I’m like a greyhound that’s seen the bunny, you know?”
His brown eyes crinkle in amusement. “I don’t know, but I’ll be here when you get back.”
I take off as though I’ve just heard the starting gun. Oh my gosh, there’s nothing like running on the beach. Tomorrow, my thighs will feel like wet noodles and the next time I run, it will be like my muscles are on fire, but it’s worth every pain.
“Oh Lord in heaven, this is what I live for! Praise You. Praise Your holy name!” I shout to the sky with my arms lifted up. Sure, I look like an idiot, but sometimes that moment with God just hits you, and you can’t help your gratitude. It’s like that when I run.
As I get farther up the beach, the lone beach light begins to dwindle and there’s only the moon. My heartbeat drowns out the waves in my ears. Something makes me stop. Right there in the middle of my run, with point-seven miles left to go according to my time. I turn around and look back up the beach where Simon ponders the stars. His masculine frame looks different here as he plays protector and stays close enough to get me at any time. He’s standing still, but he must have run to keep up with me. Now he’s casually looking towards the ocean as though he has no idea how he got there. His hair is lit blue from the moonlight, and just the sight of him makes me smile.
Simon is definitely the marrying kind, and it’s just too bad he doesn’t get that I’m not.
chapter 16
When I get to work on Monday, there’s an envelope taped to the door. I pull it down, annoyed that someone wouldn’t use the mail slot, but today I’m toting a new, heated chiropractic table for Brian, who’s just gotten his lymphatic massage license. Naturally, the thought occurs to me that this is going to mean more space in my business hunt, but for all the good it will do it’s worth more rent. Lymphatic is one of the best remedies for toxins in the system, and now my patients won’t even have to leave my doors to get their systems flushed by a professional.
I schlep the table, which is in pieces, into the foyer, and drop my keys on the countertop. I wish I could ride my bike to work, but it just doesn’t work out with the traffic and the dangerous route to get here, so I get up earlier and earlier to train as my race gets closer. Just a little more than a month, and I’m there, soaking up the Hawaiian sunshine, and eating goo in the race of a lifetime.
I tear open the envelope, and I feel my stomach plummet. It’s an eviction notice. What the heck? I paid the rent. I have a lease. I— “Jeff!”
Without another glance at the pink paperwork, I exit my office door and head to Dr. 90210’s staged foyer. Jeff’s office is like something out of a model-home environment. There’s a faux limestone fireplace crackling in the waiting room, with deep, rich taupe colors and Tuscan art lining the walls. A fake marble statue of the female form sits in the middle of the room on a marble pedestal, piano concertos play, these fabulous, natural candles fill the room with the most peaceful scent. I pick one of them up against my better judgment and smell its divine scent. I could use a little peace right now.
I’m telling you, this office makes me want plastic surgery. Man, it’s like a cult of luxury in here, and all I can say is that when he pulls them in, they’re like flies in a Venus’s flytrap. No one’s going anywhere until they’re nipped, tucked, and well on their way to perfection.
“Where’s Jeff?” I ask his plastic staff girl. Working here, some of the benefits are clearly obvious.
“He’s in a consultation. Can I help you with something?”
“Can you ask him to come to my office when he’s done? I have something to discuss with him.” I try to put on my nice voice, but it’s apparent from Plastic Girl’s face I’m not succeeding. I take in a deep breath and exhale.
She looks down at her open calendar. “He’s really swamped today. I’m not sure when he could find time to . . .” She looks up at me. “Do you know we carry mineral makeup? You would be a knockout with makeup. Just a touch to even out your skin tone. You are really stunning, Dr. Clayton.”
“It will take five minutes of his time, all right? It’s really important to the future of his business. Tell him that for me, won’t you?”
“Anytime you want to come over for a free demonstration, I’d be happy—”
“I don’t wear makeup. I don’t wear anything I wouldn’t ingest into my system,” I snap.
Plastic Girl lets her mouth hang, “Why on earth not? You know, pardon me for being so blunt, but you are, like— Well, if I was a guy, I would say you are totally hot and you have a figure to die for. So I guess I don’t get the makeup thing.” She shrugs, but her Valley speak continues. “I mean, you’d be, like, the kind of girl men were afraid to talk to. That’s my dream. Scare them off before they even approach.”
Yes, it would be. “I have to say as a makeup salesgirl, you are very persuasive.” I tap the desk a couple times and turn to leave. I smile, thinking about the Tammy Faye look to her taut, flawless skin. There are some women who think of the face as a mere canvas, and where there’s white they must slash it with color and glitter.
I’m about halfway to the door, next to the marble bust of perfect womanhood, when I realize it. I’m all about energy— if you give off good energy, it passes on, but bad energy kills people’s emotions. And as I’m next to the marble figure beside me, I realize that’s what I’ve just done. I’ve taken my eviction notice and passed it onto Plastic Girl. I mean, Dr. Jeff’s assistant.
“I’ll be sure and tell him,” she calls out.
“What’s your name?” I turn to ask her.
“Alicia.”
“Well, Alicia, I have a big wedding coming up where I’m a bridesmaid. Maybe you could help me then.”
“Sure,” she says.
Of course, I have no intention of spending a fortune on plastic surgery makeup, but I can’t stand the idea that I’ve tried to crush Alicia’s day, either, just because I’m mad at her boss. I catch a glimpse of myself on the way out and see my eyes are red at the rims. Maybe I’m being a little hasty on the no-makeup thing.
Jeff opens a door to the back and appears before me. I’d like to say my first reaction is extreme disdain, because that would be the smart girl’s reaction. Apparently, I’m not all that bright, because my first reaction is that I’m happy to see him in a friendly sort of way. And he’s as handsome as ever. And even he makes more sense than Simon right now. At least to my well-addled brain.
“Poppy? I thought I heard your voice. Come on back.”
“I thought you had a consultation.”
He looks at Alicia and then to me. “Right, right. On the phone. I had a consultation. Very in-depth consultation. I’m done now.”
I stifle my laughter and follow him to his office, where he shuts the door. “You’re a terrible liar.”
“I’m a Christian, so I take that as a compliment. I’ve been on the phone since seven this morning—”
“What is this?” I interrupt him and hold up the eviction notice.
He grabs it and peruses it with those deep blue eyes of his. “It looks like an eviction notice.” Then he brings his gaze back to mine. “I got o
ne too.”
“You know, you don’t even— What? What did you say?”
“The landlord is breaking all of our leases, Poppy. Yours, mine, the Greek café, the gym, everything. No one in government is at work yet, so what a time I’ve had getting as much information as I have.”
“Did you know about this?”
“Of course I didn’t know about this. I’ve been on the phone all morning with lawyers trying to figure out my next step.”
“Why aren’t you flustered? I thought you were planning to take over the entire building.”
Jeff shrugs and gets up to put a book on the shelf. “Because legally he can’t do that, and we can all file a classaction suit. He’s planning to fill the building with a high-tech startup that has an extraordinary amount of cash. But I’m torn because maybe this is my sign to get my own building built.” Jeff shrugs. “Either way, he’s not kicking me out without a fight, and I can afford a better lawyer than him,” he says with a laugh.
“Well, what good will a class-action suit do me if I’m going to be sent packing anyway?”
He lets out a long, haggard sigh. “Do you really think I’m going to kick you out if you don’t have a new and better place for your practice, Poppy? Do you know me at all? You’re the one who agreed to look elsewhere.”
“Do you think I want to be next to a plastic surgeon?”
“You have this anger that simmers just at the surface, but you always manage to control it. You always manage to keep your emotions in check unless it’s about some natural diuretic you’ve just discovered. Or me.”
“This has nothing to do with us, or our differences. I just don’t want to get involved in a lawsuit. I don’t want to spend my life in strife. Maybe I want the peace that comes from above, and so I choose to focus on all that’s good rather than what’s bad.”
“Maybe.” He lifts an eyebrow as though he doesn’t believe me.
“What does that mean?”
“You’re angry, Poppy. You don’t see it, but you are angry. And it plays out in little passive-aggressive garbage like taking my parking spot and coming over here and giving me an earful. You’re not mad at me; you’re mad at something deep.” Jeff sits back in his chair and waits for me to react, which I’m not giving him the satisfaction of doing.
“What is this, your pop psychology? Do your patients get that for free?”
He crosses his arms. “Why do you run?”
“I like to run. As I don’t plan any liposculpture in my future, that’s probably a good thing.”
“See? Passive-aggressive. You have never missed an opportunity to put down what I do, and I think if you’re really comfortable with what you do, you shouldn’t worry about me. So tell me.” He leans in on the desk. “I think it’s great you’ll never need liposuction. I also think it’s a blessing to women who’ve had children, watched men leave, and have lost all sense of self-worth. I think it’s great for them. What do you advise—should I just avoid my calling because you think it’s wrong?”
“Exercise helps endorphins, and a woman can lose weight.”
“But she can’t lose the skin. You’re just not going to give in, are you?”
“Why should I? I’m right.”
“So what?” Jeff asks. “What if life isn’t about being right?”
His question stops me cold. Life is about being right. Isn’t it?
I can feel the cortisone rising in my system as he continues to glare at me. My heart is racing, and I feel nothing but anxiety and the immediate desire to run it off. “I’m going running before my patients get in.”
He stands up and blocks the door. “You can’t do it without running it off, can you? We’re getting evicted, the world is eating Big Macs, there are thousands of SUVs where there should be hybrids. What does that make you feel?”
I can’t tell him that it makes my heart pound and my teeth clench, but if I’m honest, that’s exactly what I’m thinking.
“Negative feelings are related to high blood pressure and heart disease,” Jeff adds. “Toxic emotions, I believe you call them.”
“I’ll be in my office. Let me know what your lawyer says.” I put my hand on the doorknob, but he doesn’t move. “Are you trapping me in your office, Dr. Curran?”
He blinks slowly several times, and then he moves aside.
“Thank you,” I tell him.
“You’re welcome. I’ll be in touch.”
When I get out of his office, I’m like a gorilla let loose on the city. I’m just enraged that he has the nerve to say I’m angry. Who is he kidding? I’m not angry. Come and feel the positive vibe in my office, please.
I get into my office and rub my forehead, trying to shake the last ten minutes from my system. Emma is at her desk, nibbling on a whole-grain bar and downing green tea, her favorite snack. And it’s only eight a.m.
“I see the new table came,” Emma says.
“I have to run, Emma.”
“No, no. You can’t run. You’re backed up this morning. You’ve got three people waiting already. Alan is in exam room one and Karen and Jason are in the adjustment room. Alan’s first.”
“Emma, I have to run.”
“No, you have to work. Didn’t you already swim?”
“I did,” I sheepishly admit. “But I didn’t get my full time in.”
“I don’t think Karen, Jason, or Alan really care. Oh, and your dad called. They’re in Arizona and wanted to know if you found everything you wanted.”
“All right, thanks.”
I finish with my patients, taking special care with a sciatica case and a pregnant Karen, but I can’t remember actually talking to any of them during the treatment. God is in control, I keep reminding myself. How dare Jeff try to get me off kilter. It’s my business day; what is he thinking?
While I’m contemplating his incredibly bad manners, I trip over the new massage table and find myself splayed on the floor, looking at the ceiling.
This probably would have been a lot more feminine in my mother’s skirt.
“Poppy?” Emma stands over me.
“I’m getting up,” I say, laughing it off. “Just call me Grace.” But as I go to stand on my left foot, I can’t do it and crumple onto the floor again.
“Grace, let me go get Jeff.”
“No!” I shout. “If I need a doctor, I’ll find a good one.” My patients are looking at me oddly. “Not that he isn’t a great plastic surgeon, but I think I need an orthopedic guy.”
I stand up again, and this time it’s better. My left foot has been aching for a while, and I’ve just ignored it, but I’m at the point where I can’t ignore it any longer. I go to my office to find my doctor’s number while Emma moves the table from its precarious spot.
“Brian!” I call out. “I need help with the X-ray machine. I think I may have a problem,” I yell. It dawns on me for a split second that Jeff is right about me being slightly angry. And maybe there’s something to what Simon said about me avoiding him. But the thoughts quickly dissipate into the ridiculous notions they are. I’m a girl of thirty whose best friends are leaving me for the stability of marriage while I try to convince the world to give up hydrogenated oils and Teflon. So yeah, I have a few issues. Who doesn’t?
chapter 17
You twisted your ankle,” Dr. Hopkins tells me in his monotone voice. Is it any wonder people don’t like doctors? I mean, would it kill them to throw a little personality into their routine? It’s not like he’s diagnosing me with a terminal illness here. I was klutzy. I fell and sprained my ankle. It’s the perfect segue to a joke. Doesn’t he get that? The energy in here could kill a man.
“That’s what I figured,” I say, but I know there’s more. Brian wasn’t around to help me with the X rays and it was his stupid table I tripped over. My foot has a constant dull ache, with the stabbing pain every now and again, made worse when I run. Which is why the run on the beach was such a gift to my soul. Since Hopkins missed whatever’s going on, I imagine I
’m going to have to do it myself and wait for Brian’s availability or get Emma to drop her crunch bar long enough to help out.
“And,” Dr. Hopkins continues, “You have a hairline fracture in your metatarsals. Haven’t you noticed it hurt?”
His words are a crushing blow. I knew it was something to that effect, but his saying so means I have to actually pay attention. “I have noticed, but I’m training for a triathlon.”
“Not anymore you’re not. You can swim, but there will be no running for you for at least a month. No bike riding—too dangerous with a cast.”
I just sort of laugh the idea of a cast off, wondering what type of shoes I can get where I wouldn’t feel my toes. They have to be out there because I am not going to miss my run. “Thanks, Doctor.”
“Don’t write this off, Poppy. You’ll do permanent damage to those bones if you don’t give them a rest. As a chiropractor, there’s no reason for me to be telling you such an obvious thing. You either stop running now, or you’ll stop running forever. What’s it going to be?”
His words sober me, mostly because I know they’re true. I preach whole-body health on a daily basis, and yet I haven’t listened to my own body for some time now. The irony is not lost on me. Nor is the fact that I don’t feel the pain. I just stuff it somewhere deep and focus on the scent of the eucalyptus or the stars guiding me or even the crest of the waves. Anything but the pain. The pain eases, but if I miss my run, I feel it for a week.
“You’ve been on this fracture for some time now. I can tell.” Dr. Hopkins says to me, and though I’d like to write him off as the typical quack I think all MDs are, I know this time he’s for real, because I would never let a patient of my own run under these circumstances.
“Fine, no running for a while. When will it be fixed?”
“You need to be pain free for at least three weeks when you start up again, and even then, you take it slow.”
“Three weeks from pain? My run is in little more than a month. On Oahu.”
He ignores me and looks at my chart. “Take Tylenol for pain, and I’m going to give you a permanent cast. I could give you a removable sort, but I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you.”
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