Chapter 26
TWENTY-SIX
REID
I park my pickup in the lot behind the center and head in.
I don’t always work on Saturdays, but my uncle asked me to fill in for Tyler, who called in sick today.
They have a few clients today, and he didn’t want to reschedule them.
Since I started working here, Tyler’s never taken a sick day, so he’s either playing hooky or he’s actually sick.
I make a mental note to swing by his place later.
It’s not the most creative to have your closest friend also be your co-worker, but we met in the first week I moved here and got along instantly.
He’s still trying to get me to go to his rock-climbing gym, but overall we have a lot of similar hobbies.
We both love music and books and will constantly trade records.
Tyler plays some guitar, and when he’s had a few beers will be bold and play in the open mic night at the local pub.
He’s been really supportive through my breakup with Carrie and distracting me with obscure movies to watch and hikes during the weekend.
He didn’t dare hide his smile when I told him the news.
The center greets me with Zen music playing over the speakers and the smell of lavender eucalyptus in the air. You’d think it was a spa, not a physical therapy office. I appreciate Uncle Marty having this place feel like a retreat rather than so clinical.
The staff today is slim. I guess two people are out sick today.
There’s only the receptionist, Claire, one other therapist, and my uncle today.
I checked my schedule, and I have two PT appointments in the morning.
Then my uncle added a memo asking if I could help fill in for a massage this afternoon.
I don’t usually give massages, but my uncle made me get my certification when I joined in case, I had to fill in.
I’ve only had to fill in a handful of times.
It isn’t too bad, and usually, those clients leave hefty tips.
I read over the appointment. Two women are coming in for a couples massage.
Me and the other therapist working today are assigned.
Shouldn’t be too bad, it’s only an hour Swedish massage.
I set my belongings in my locker and prepare an office for my first PT appointment of the day, a sweet old woman named Sheela.
She is in her eighties but has the gusto of a fifty-year-old.
She walks everywhere she goes. I saw her trying to carry two lawn chairs down the street and begged her to take my truck to wherever she was trying to haul them.
She’s come in weekly since I started, and we are working to increase the mobility in her shoulders.
She’s improved greatly, but carrying two lawn chairs herself isn’t doing her any favors.
“How’s the shoulder treating you today?” I motion for her to sit in the chair at the center of the room and get to work gently rotating her shoulder joints, seeing her range of motion.
“I think I slept on it funny, so it’s a little sticky today.”
“Did you look into that pillow I suggested you swap to?”
“Yeah, yeah, no pillow is going to make me live past one hundred.” I chuckle at her bluntness, and we do a few exercises to open up her shoulders and some subtle stretches.
“I’ll have you know that I convinced everyone in my poker club to boycott Carol Breads.”
I shake my head, laughing. “You really don’t have to do that.”
“You know Missy? The librarian at the high school? She’s in my poker club. She said she saw the whole thing at the farmer’s market. She said Carrie was swinging bags at you and screaming. You deserve so much better, kid.”
I let out a sigh and help her to her feet. “Thanks, Sheela.”
“I just moved some new tenants into the Beach Street house. Two young girls, they are pretty, and the dark-haired one is a little sassy. I think you’d get along with her.” She gives me a wink and nudges my arm.
“Appreciate you trying to play matchmaker, but I’m going to take a break from dating for a bit.”
“Suit yourself! See you next week. Tell Tyler I’ll swing by to give him some muffins.” She slings her slouchy tote bag over her shoulder and heads out.
Half of my clients are older folks, and the other half are recovering from an injury.
The best feeling is seeing them improve week to week.
Sheela’s already improving after a few sessions.
The second appointment is for Clark, who runs an auto repair shop in town.
He had a nasty slip in his shop last month and has been coming in to fix his back.
The day passes pretty easily, and I pivot to prep for the massage.
The massage therapists have to wear a different smock uniform and softer shoes, so we don’t make too much noise.
I hear some voices come in and make my way to the bathroom to change quickly.
Annika
The massage is at a wellness center downtown. It’s only a couple blocks from the photo studio, so I walk there after work, and Chloe meets me out front on her way back from work. She looks the happiest I’ve seen her. My mom was right. We needed this.
“I am so excited to have all my problems massaged away. I can feel Dane like a knot in my neck. I want to feel like a new woman,” Chloe exclaims as we head inside.
We both fill out a few forms with some information and circle a diagram of a human to point out our pain points.
The receptionist leads us to the massage room, and the calming music follows us inside.
Chloe and I giggle as we put our clothes in baskets and go under the blankets on each of our massage tables.
The room is large, with two massage beds on either side.
I notice a hot stone container and some massage oils on a counter.
The blankets on the massage table are soft and cozy.
I snuggle my head into the opening for my face and take a few deep breaths, letting the lavender scent in the air relax my ruminating mind.
We hear a knock on the door, and a therapist enters.
She says her name is Nancy and that the other therapist will be in shortly.
I hear her shuffle over to Chloe. Shortly after, another pair of footsteps comes in and heads over to me.
They don’t say their name, but I don’t question it.
They seem eager to get the massage going, so I take a few more deep breaths and relax.
I can tell it is a guy massaging me because his hands are large and move with firm pressure.
He asks me if the pressure is good, and he sounds like a warm cup of apple cider.
I can feel goosebumps prick up under his touch.
He asks again, and I nod my head quickly.
I suddenly lose the ability to speak, flustered by a man’s voice.
I don’t even know what he looks like, but if the sound of his voice and the way he moves his hands along my neck is any indication, he’s the most beautiful man on Earth.
He starts the massage with a blanket still covering my back.
It feels nice and warm as he eases into the massage.
He works my shoulders and down to my lower back.
Pushing against diagonal points, stretching my back out.
I don’t mean to let out some moans, but it feels amazing.
I need to get a massage every month. This is a heavenly experience.
He starts to pull away the blanket, and I feel him pause at my middle back.
Oh no, do I have a pimple on my back? Is he absolutely repulsed at the sight?
Oh god, I just realized I forgot to shave my legs!
This hot man is going to rub my hairy calves.
He suddenly drops the blanket, mutters something to the other therapist, and leaves the room, leaving me stranded on the table.
What the heck just happened? Are my hairy legs really that hideous?
I feel the female therapist’s hand gently touch my upper back and say the other therapist wasn’t feeling well and had to step out.
She offers to put some hot stones on my back while she finishes the massage with Chloe, and they can reimburse my appointment.
I’m honestly enjoying just lying here with this yoga music playing on their speakers, so I accept the offer.
I am just glad it was my therapist that wasn’t feeling well and not Chloe’s. She needs this massage more than I do.
Reid
I lose track of time and shuffle into the room quickly.
The two women are already lying down, and Nancy, the other massage therapist, started her massage already.
The woman I start massaging is tense as I try to relax her with the blanket on her back first. She lets out little moans and sighs that make my body react very inappropriately.
I pull the blanket back and see a little tattoo.
It’s a small little box on the corner of her back.
No way, it can’t be. Is that a stamp tattoo?
That tiny stamp tattoo is etched in my brain.
Of course, I’ll never forget the first time I saw it, sitting on the beach in San Diego as she turned her shoulder around to show me while I tried to refrain from giving it a little kiss.
I remember having my hand over it as I pulled her closer to me during the movie night.
It feels like an eternity passes as I freeze in place, looking at the cutout edges and slightly faded ink with the little number eighteen on the inside.
My eyes trail up to the woman under the tattoo.
She has shoulder-length black hair in two pigtail braids, and I nearly collapse.
It can’t be her. That’s when I look up to see the other woman, a young blond girl with wild hair gathered in a large bun.
I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus. It’s her.
I panic, drop the blanket, and motion to Nancy that I’m not feeling well, dashing out of the room and seeking refuge in the break room.
Annika