by Jen Atkinson
I crouched down, meeting him eye level. “Umm, what’s up?”
“Back’s out.”
“Huh?”
He pulled in an audible breath. “Back.”
“Your back is out?”
He gave one slow nod and turned his face back into the couch cushions.
I shouldn’t have laughed—but I did—just a little. I muffled my snort with a hand to my face. “Have you been home all day? How’d you get Keith?”
A squeaky moan escaped his lips and he faced outward once more, his face a cherry red. “Home. Andy.”
“You threw your back out last night?” Oh brother. I looked around the room, hard floors, but a large soft rug and plenty of space—“Here, get on the floor.”
“Hmm?” he groaned.
“Get on the ground, take your shirt off. I’ll see if I can help.” I peeked back over my shoulder and started for the front door. “I’ve got some oils in my car. I’ll be right back.” But when I came back he hadn’t moved. “Carter, come on.”
“Nu-uh.”
“Have you been there all day?”
He moaned in answer.
“So, you haven’t eaten or peed? And neither has Keith?” I took his silence as confirmation. “First your back, then food. Get on the floor.”
But he lay, unmoving.
I rolled my shoulders and sighed. “Fine. Fine.” Baby. I stood over him in his gray sweats and green T-shirt. I could yank that up easy enough. So I did. Carter groaned, but I forced up his shirt until it bunched around his shoulders, then I felt around his back with the tips of my fingers. “You’ve strained about every muscle in your lower back. Just hold still and try to breathe.”
I knelt beside him, bunching the rug under my knees and got to work—not exactly an ideal position, but it would have to do. I worked on Carter’s back for more than an hour when a soft snore escaped him. I finished up my kneading, my fingers starting to ache, and stood. My knees stung and I jogged in place a minute, lifting my knees to my chest and stretching them out.
The old Lawrence place had about as much square footage as my house. It didn’t take but six steps to find the kitchen. I washed the oil from my hands, then pulled my cell from my pocket. “Yeah, I’ll be a little longer, Virg.” Virgie didn’t mind and Dakota probably thought she’d found heaven. The only one who’d have complaints would be Taggart—who had also gotten used to a hot homemade meal every day.
My stomach growled and I quickly remembered Carter hadn’t eaten all day. Well, if he stocked his place like he stocked mine, I’d find something in no time. I decided I’d be most capable of frying up an egg, along with a ham steak he had sitting in his fridge.
I stood at the stove, the savory smell of the eggs and the sweetness of the ham making my hunger pains jump in excitement. I hummed aloud and let my eyes wander away from the pan on the burner. Carter’s fridge looked older than mine. He’d left the front blank, but on the side, right next to the stove where I cooked, he’d hung pictures with magnets. More than a dozen—I scanned them over, an older couple, the man looked like an older Carter—his parents, Carter with two men and a teenage girl—siblings. Then more snap shots of all of them—sometimes all together, sometimes Carter with his brother or sister or mother. And then—Carter with his arm around a pretty blonde with hair down her back and big blue eyes. She snuggled up next to him. A strange stinging band tied itself about my waist and wouldn’t let go. The invisible cluster gave me such a stomachache that I couldn’t look at the girl anymore. I wanted to wipe that perfect grin from her face and make her eat a worm pie. I didn’t even know her. But I’d kissed her boyfriend—or fiancé—or whatever Carter was to her. Yet instead of feeling guilt at the realization of my actions, I wanted to cause her physical pain.
I blinked and looked away from her bright eyes and the way her hand lay on Carter’s chest. The faint smell of smoke brought my attention back to the stove and my now burnt eggs. I tossed them into the trash and set my pan back on the stove. “Ahh,” I sighed and slipped the photo of Carter’s parents just over the girls face before starting again.
Finally, I had a semi decent meal to bring out to Carter—now to get him to move enough to eat it. But when I walked the plate out into the living room, he’d already sat up, his back straight and stiff, but up. He looked like a little boy with his hair pushed up to one side, from laying for hours in the same position, and his sleepy eyes, despite the fact that he’d slept most of the day.
He breathed a little easier and attempted a smile for me. “Hey, Em.”
Chapter 20
Carter
Emma’s arrival had shocked me. I didn’t think she’d even think twice at my absence tonight, but she’d come looking for me.
Keith snored in the corner of the room and Emma stood in the kitchen doorway with a plate of food. My back had loosened enough with her massage that I could finally move. Mr. Bear hadn’t exaggerated her skills. No wonder the man saw her once a week. I pressed my fists into the couch, attempting to stand. It had never quite been this bad before, but surely I could stand.
“Ho, ho,” Emma said, holding out one hand and the plate of food. “Where ya going?”
I felt my forehead wrinkle. “Ah. Bathroom.”
“Right. One sec.” She looked about the room, then finally put the plate of food on top of the entertainment center. She sat next to me and moved my arm about her shoulder. “You did quite the number on yourself. We’ll stand on three, okay?” She counted and we stood, Emma’s arm draped around me, keeping me balanced.
We walked slow and steady to the small bathroom, just off of the kitchen. “I got it from here,” I said, using the door frame to keep myself stable. When I came back out, Emma stood by the door, but her eyes fixed on the side of my fridge—my family pictures. I guess she didn’t have that in her life—besides Dakota.
“Do you have any siblings?” I asked, finding enough air for a complete sentence and bringing her back around to me.
She startled at my question but quickly moved into place beside me. She ducked into my hold and set her arm around my waist once more. “Nope, just me. Mom didn’t stick around to make any more babies after I was born. Three days old and she decided mothering wasn’t for her.”
“So all you’ve ever had is Taggart?” I couldn’t hide the horror in my voice, even with my shallow breaths and careful speech.
“I had my grandma, Daisy. She took care of me until I turned thirteen. Then she died. Heart attack.”
We sat and she put the plate of food in my hands.
“You can make eggs, huh?”
“Yeah.” She looked at the plate in my lap.
I looked at it too, unsure what to say to her—I guess just thanks. But after an awkward pause, I collected my thoughts and opened my mouth, but Emma spoke again.
“Listen, Carter, I didn’t—I mean I shouldn’t have—”
It took me a minute to realize what she meant. I didn’t know what to say—I hadn’t minded Emma’s kiss. The pressure of her lips didn’t feel like anything I’d experienced before. I didn’t mind the strangeness of it. “It’s okay.”
“No it isn’t. You have a girlfriend or a fiancé or someone like that in your life and I shouldn’t have done that. I didn’t know, I swear.”
“Huh?”
“I saw the picture,” she said, and I flinched with her tone, worried she’d hit me and I might never recover. “On your fridge.”
“Oh, that.” I peered back down at my plate of food. “That’s over.”
“It doesn’t matter.” She shook her head, motioning with both hands as if she pressed down two emergency brakes. “I shouldn’t have done it anyway. Momentarily insanity.”
“So kissing me is insane?”
She didn’t hesitate. “Yep.”
“Gee, thanks.” I shoved another bite of not-so-bad fried eggs into my mouth and leaned back against the couch. “Oof.” Bad idea.
“Yeah, you’re gonna want to sit pretty
straight for the next week or so. I should probably work on you again—three…” she thought for a moment. “Well, at least three times, you may need more. You really jacked yourself up.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“How’d you end up like this?”
I slid my gaze to hers. Did she really not know? “I carried in a hundred and fifty pound bed by myself and sat on a floor putting it together.” I didn’t mention that I’d been shoved out of the house—that hadn’t exactly helped. I didn’t want to face her wrath again, I was trying to survive the night.
“Oh,” she said, her head perking up a little. “Right.” No apology on her face—I suppose I had done all that without her permission. “But surely something previously happened to you. Your injuries are reoccurring.”
“You can tell? Huh.” Maybe I’d been too quick to make a joke of Emma’s online degree. I could at least sit up now.
She just shrugged, an eyebrow cocked in reply.
“Yeah, well you’re right. Baseball. I attempted to slide into first and the enormous guy there took me out. It put me in the hospital. My back’s just never been the same since.”
“Hmm…” She thought for a minute, until her gaze fell on my wall clock. “Oh, shoot. I need to go. Kotes has got to get to bed and I told Virgie I’d only be an hour. It’s been two.”
“Sure.” She couldn’t stay here all night—and I didn’t want that—right?
“Do you think you’ll make it to work tomorrow?”
“Oh, yeah. It’s much better.” I appraised her. “If I say thanks, you won’t hit me, right?”
She considered my question. “How were you planning on thanking me?”
“Uh. With a thank you. I appreciate it.”
She shrugged one shoulder. “Oh, well then, no.”
“Thanks,” I said again.
“Sure. Come in to the Do or Dye tomorrow when you have a break. We’ll get your second treatment in.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Hey,” she said, not leaving, but turning to me. “I’m sorry about the girl. How long ago did she break things off?”
“Ah, ten months.” Except I’d broken things off with Tess. I’d broken up with her and then moved to Wyoming—the other side of the country. Men who broke up with their girlfriends didn’t normally hang up their picture though.
“You should take that down. It isn’t healthy for you to hope and pine when she probably isn’t coming back.” She bit her lip and it made me want to taste her again. “Or maybe she is,” she said speaking faster. “How would I know?”
“Tess? We want different things.” Unless I could change her mind with my nest egg.
She ran her hands the length of her thighs. “Just friendly advice.”
I nodded and watched her step toward the door. She had to go. Dakota needed her mom and Taggart would probably ream her out for the late dinner. But I wanted her to stay. I’d never spent time with just Emma. I’d always been there for Dakota. Tonight, Emma had been there for me. Somehow it made Dubois feel a little more like home.
Chapter 21
Emma
“This stupid small town, with its small town paper, and its glorifying anyone who gets out. It’s not like making the dean’s list is a new thing. It’s been around a while.” I wrapped my hands around the three page paper that Dubois put out every Tuesday and Saturday.
“Are you jealous, Emma?” Jodi flicked a comb through Mrs. Colson’s hair.
“No I am not jealous,” I said, not bothering to lower my voice with the ding of the salon’s door. “I’m just tired of seeing Keith’s stupid face every place I go today.”
Jodi flung her bright yellow hair over one shoulder. She looked as if a lemon had strangled her. “I don’t know. I detect the green monster.”
“What’s going on?” Carter’s work boots tapped on the tile floor over to wear I stood. He looked between Jodi and me, no doubt the tension there visable.
“Aiden Carter,” Jodi said, her red lips parting into a grin. “You here for your bi-monthly cut already?”
“No, he is not,” I barked, tossing the newspaper into an empty styling chair. “He’s here to see me.”
That shut her up. Last time Carter had come to see me, I ended up fired. And although I pinched a section of his coat at the elbow and led him to my back room, she could see he came willingly and kept her red beak shut.
I closed the door behind us and fisted both of my hands at my side. “Sometimes this place makes me crazy, you know?”
“Then leave.”
“You need money to leave,” I snapped at him. Did he never listen? I’d already told him all that. How could I move when I could barely buy food?
I had Taggart’s bills, his beer, the Do or Dye rent, and food to buy, while Keith got a front page shrine and a scholarship for not being a complete academic moron. There were plenty of people who weren’t morons. Keith always seemed to finagle his way into getting rewarded for it, though.
I paced in my little therapy room, moving things from one side of the space to the other—things that didn’t need moved. “Go change.” I waved a hand toward the bathroom and swept my gaze to his face. He’d picked up the newspaper I’d crumbled and thrown in Jodi’s empty chair. “What are you doing with that?” I went to swipe it from him, but he lurched his hands downward.
“I’m trying to figure out what in our Dubois news has offended you so greatly.”
I rolled my eyes, but leaned against the massage table next to him. Keith’s face smiled back at us. I flicked the paper, leaving a mark on his stupid forehead. “He made the dean’s list and Dubois is acting like he won the Nobel Peace Prize.”
“Is this your ex?”
“No. That is the high school idiot who knocked me up and then took off like he had no reason to stay.”
“So… your ex.” He studied the picture a little closer. “Dakota’s dad. I guess I can tell. He’s fair like Kotes. It says here he recently went to Spain to study—”
“Yeah. Yeah.” She did look more like Keith than me. I smashed the paper stretched out in his hands.
“Hey,” he said in protest.
But I balled up the paper and threw it into the trash can. “A stupid dean’s list. Another dumb scholarship and the town makes him out to be a hero. But what about my girl? Have they forgotten about her? Keith never seems to remember. What kind of award should he get for dead-beat dad? So, he’s in med school. So what?”
“I thought it was law.”
“It’s medicine. Believe me, it’s medicine. Keith always loved the sound of Dr. Zaleski.” I shook my head, not letting the angry tears that threatened my eye sockets fall. “He’s got time to travel the world, but he can’t make time to visit his daughter.”
Carter’s hand on my lower back made me start, but I didn’t shove him away. “I thought you didn’t want him around.”
“I don’t. But Dakota does.”
He looked down at me, too near. Had he been healthier I would have shoved him across the room.
“Go change,” I said, stepping away.
“Into what?”
“Into nothing.” I shook my head. Did he not know how this worked?
Maybe he didn’t.
“Or just take your shirt off—I don’t care. But Mr. Bear comes in an hour. We have to get started.”
“Getting my shirt on was a feat this morning, Emma. You want me to take it off?”
“You’re such a stupid baby.” The insult left my lips like an automatic light turning on. But I’d felt his knots. He probably did struggle. I shook off my words and mustered some kindness. “Fine, I’ll help you.”
The heat from his body warmed me as I stood in front of him. My heart thumped a little faster—I didn’t normally help my clients like this. I slid his coat from his arms and lay it on the table behind us.
“It’s just the shirt,” he said, his warm honey breath too close to my skin. “It’s the up and over my head that I might need help
with.”
His smooth skin cooled my fingers as I swept his shirt up and reached on tip toes to lift it over his head. I stood too close to him and yet a peculiar part of me drew closer. I could feel his eyes on my face, like a tanning lamp warming me up, but I couldn’t meet his gaze. I turned away from him, feeling strange, wrong and right, all at once. “I’m just gonna wash my hands. You can lie face down on the table.”
I shut myself in the bathroom and ran the water until icy cold liquid left the faucet. I splashed it onto my cheeks and assessed my plain face in the mirror. I’d been sort of attractive in high school. How had six years made such a difference—what changed? I’d be twenty-four in a month and I looked more like thirty-five.
When my hands were thoroughly chilled, I dried them off and opened the bathroom door. I dimmed the lights and stepped into the massage room.
“Emma?” he said, face down.
“Just relax.” I turned on my classical mix and took a warmed, damp towel from the microwave. I did my best to forget that it was Carter who lay on my table. I stretched my fingers and let memory put me in motion, just as I would have with anyone else. I draped the towel about his neck and rubbed oil over my hands. I couldn’t even see his lips and still my body reacted at the thought of touching him. I’d never had this problem before. But my gut wouldn’t quit reminding me that I’d kissed him.
I scanned his body—which didn’t help. Quickly, I switched my focus back to the knots I’d worked out the night before. With a small tremble in my fingers, I set my hands to his lower back. He jerked beneath me. “Does that hurt?” I said, pulling away.
“You’re freezing.”
“Oh.” Somehow his complaint put me in my place and made all the stupid butterflies in my stomach dissipate. This was a free massage—he couldn’t complain unless he experienced pain. “Don’t be a baby,” I said, digging my hands into his skin and muscle.