Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
“ Y ou did great this morning,” Jenna notes. “Normally, I’d have the patient come back in a couple of days, with instructions to take it easy until then. But I’ll see you in a few hours so we can work against your tour deadline. I’d like to end this session with a quiet rest, though, so your muscles can calm down after all this work.”
Jenna directs me to a massage table, where I relax. My body’s shot. My eyes close.
“Bennett,” Jenna touches my shoulder. My eyes fling open and the wall clock shows I was out for twenty minutes. “Sorry to startle you. I wanted to let you know you can go home for a while. I’ll see you again at six.”
I blink several times. My body feels as if a dozen rollerbladers skated over it and left me on the sidewalk. I get to do this all over again in only a few hours? Seems like I have no choice.
Using my core muscles, I sit up and shove all my weariness behind me. Rather, I don the mask I’ve worn whenever I was at a crossroads. Before UC was discovered. When UC started the first tour as the headliner. Upon UC’s return to the stage following Darren’s death.
My cheek quirks. “Thanks, Jenna.”
Her gaze drops to the floor. “Do you want me to loan you some crutches? It’ll help relieve the strain you’ve put your leg through during the past two hours.”
“No. I can’t afford to be out in public with them. It’ll hurt UC’s reputation.”
“You are hurt,” she insists.
The need to keep my dumb jump on the downlow rears its ugly head. Never show weakness . “Not if people don’t know.”
It seems as if she wants to say something else, but she doesn’t. I hop off the table, careful to land on my good leg. With a cheery wave, I maintain a normal gait as I walk out of the clinic.
Two seconds later, my body demands I duck into a side alley and gulp air. My head leans against the brick as I struggle to contain my breathing. PT is fucking hard. Not letting others see my pain is harder. Enough with the pity-party . Not getting a rental car due to my injury was the smart thing, so suck it up. I force my feet to continue homeward bound.
Shortly, I punch in the security code to open the door and enter my rental. It’s still and quiet, the way I like things. I swipe a bottle of water out of the fridge and collapse onto the sofa. The bed is too far away.
I close my eyes, telling myself I’ll order lunch in a minute. An hour later, my ringing phone wakes me. The ringtone—“Cleanin’ Out My Closet” by Eminem—taunts me to accept the call. In the end, guilt forces me to do so.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Bennett, I heard about your movie. Seems like your band has done something worthwhile for a change.”
My blood pressure rises, this time not from physical therapy. “UC’s done a lot of good things throughout the years. The movie was fantastic, though. ”
“That girl, Quinn, seems to be getting lots of good press. She must be a bloody magician, considering what she had to work with.”
This is why I shouldn’t have picked up her call. Unfortunately, the memory of Dad pleading for me to take care of her always wins. Always. I change the subject. “How are you doing? Everything all right in New Jersey?”
“Oh, it’s okay here. Ramona is a bit of a nudge, but tolerable.”
At least this is good news. She needs to get along with the people around her. “Good to hear it. Try any new recipes lately?” The only thing Mom ever enjoyed is cooking. Dad used to give her a new recipe every morning, which usually made her smile. My tactic is rewarded when she goes off about three new dishes she prepared.
“All your talk about food has my stomach rumbling.” No joke. I need to get food STAT.
“I would give you some of these delicious potato pancakes if you were even in my state.” She pauses. “What state are you in, Bennett?”
“New York. I’m out in the Hamptons.”
“Oh,” she scoffs. “La-di-da.”
“It’s off-season, Mom. Not many people are out here.”
“Which means you have a mansion all to yourself. Plus the two, three, or five scantily dressed women waiting on you hand and foot.”
I suck in the air of my cozy rental. Not a single other person here with me, but I don’t correct her. Why bother? “It’s quiet out here. Relaxing. Good for my recovery.” Shit . Why the hell did I say that? I jump in, “I mean, it’s good for me to rest before the UC tour starts in a couple of weeks.”
“Recovery?” Of course she picked up on that word. “Are you in rehab for drugs? Alcohol?”
Fuck. Amazing how her mind would go there . “Mom, I’m clean.”
“Ramona won’t let me live this down. My son is addicted to illegal substances. How could you do this to me?”
Ramona won’t believe her. Probably not. Will she? Fuck me . There’s no way out of this but to come clean. “Mom, calm down.”
“‘Calm down?’ How dare you tell me to ‘calm down?’ ”
I need to divert her attention before she gains a full head of steam. “I pulled a muscle and need physical therapy.”
Her tirade stops. I let her process what I told her. “You’re in therapy?”
My shoulders slump. “Physical therapy. We’ve kept it out of the press, so please don’t share this information.”
“If your sister were here, she wouldn’t have done something so stupid as to pull a muscle. Then go off to the sticks for therapy.”
I sigh. Here we go again. “The Hamptons are anything but ‘the sticks.’” I correct the only part of her statement I can. I don’t have the energy to deal with the rest. My stomach protests and provides me an excuse to end this farce of a conversation. “I need to eat, Mom. Remember, don’t tell anyone where I am. Or what I’m doing.”
“Your secret’s with me.” She disconnects the call.
I pick up the fact she didn’t add the word “safe.” I send up a prayer my injury will remain under the press’s radar. To divert my thoughts, I order food delivery and finish my bottle of water. My body lets me know I also need to use the bathroom.
Under my breath, I mutter, “Please don’t let this be as painful as talking with Mom,” and I stand. My steps are easier than before, and I make quicker work of this task. When I emerge from the bathroom, the front doorbell rings with my food delivery. At least it wasn’t left on the stoop. Picking up a baseball cap, I keep the bill plastered to the floor while the money-for-food exchange is made. My identity remains unknown.
At the island, I scarf down two slices of pizza before taking a swig of soda. With deliberate steps, I sit on a stool and eat a third slice. My mind wanders to Jenna this morning.
How determined she was to help me.
How well she explained each exercise.
How gorgeous she is.
Whoa . Stop right there, buddy. She was Darren’s and always will be. Plus, she’s only doing her job and fixing me—given she got it wrong at the start and all that .
I push away from the island, go into the living room, and flick on the television. Changing the channels, I stop on a college basketball game, but it doesn’t hold my interest. I want to be playing the game rather than watching it. My fist connects with my thigh. Hurry up and heal.
Toward the end of the first half, I check the time. Thirty more minutes before my next PT session. I swap out my T-shirt and toss another sweatshirt over my head. Might as well head over there now. Don’t want to be late.
Unlike this morning, the reception area is filled with people. Patients stare at me, some with their mouths open. Great. So much for keeping my whereabouts on the down low.
I force a smile. “Hi, folks. Great day for some PT, huh?”
A couple of women in their mid-twenties use their hands to fan their faces. Older men appear not to know who I am. I give my name to the receptionist and take a seat next to the gentlemen.
One man asks me, “What’cha here for?”
I point to my thigh. “Pulled my muscle. You?”
“I got a hip replacement two months ago.” He indicates the man next to him. “He’s working out a rotator cuff injury he got while skiing.”
Both of which are better than doing a crazy-ass jump onstage. Figure I can do a little digging. “Has Jenna helped you?” I indicate his hip.
“Not Jenna, my therapist is Austin. He’s pretty good, but always seems to be focusing on the next thing rather than giving me his full attention.”
The other guy rolls his shoulder. “I’m with Courtney. She’s really good.”
I guess Jenna was right in that she’s not taking any more patients. Given how attentive she was to me this morning, I find it hard to believe she’s not doing it full time.
The women across the way point at me, and I shift in my seat. The man next to me says, “Are you somebody? ”
I ask myself this question on the daily.
“He’s only the lead singer with one of the hottest bands in the country,” one of the ladies supplies.
The other corrects, “In the world!”
After offering them my rock star smile, I mutter, “They’re overstating things.”
The guy with the hip replacement nods, but his brows furrow. The rotator cuff man asks, “What’s your name again?”
A genuine smile crosses my face. They have no clue. “I’m Bennett Hardy. I’m with a band called Untamed Coaster and we’re going on tour in a couple of weeks.”
“Hence you’re here to rehab that pull.”
My hand claps hip guy on the shoulder. “Exactly.”
“We won’t tell anyone about you.” A devious glint enters his eyes. “Not even our granddaughters.”
I offer him my fist, which he bumps. These guys are all right. “Want a photo? For your granddaughters, I mean.” They agree and I take the selfie using the rotator cuff guy’s camera.
Soon, Jenna comes to the door. I wave at my two fellow patients and follow her to the back. I have to address this situation before we begin. Alone in the back area, I say, “We need to come up with a better system. While I enjoyed talking with a couple of your male patients, the ladies could’ve been a problem.”
Jenna’s cheeks pinken. “Bennett, I didn’t think of that. I’m so sorry.” She fiddles with her ponytail. “How about you text me when you’re five minutes away, and I’ll meet you at the back elevator?”
“Yeah. Makes sense. Appreciate it, Jenna.”
Problem solved, she has me lie down on the floor and repeat the exercises I did this morning. Knowing what to expect, things are a bit smoother. Not easier, as my thigh muscle protests. Simply smoother.
While I’m concentrating on a particularly difficult exercise involving a small medicine ball, Jenna says, “If I didn’t say this before, congratulations on the movie. It was,” she takes a breath. “Informative. ”
I force my thighs to hold the ball. She wasn’t with the band after Darren’s funeral. Trying to lighten the mood, I ask, “What did you learn?”
“Oh, a lot. Quinn really captured you guys. Gave people an insight into how you came back.”
“Quinn’s amazing. We owe her a lot for how she put the film together.” She captured us on tape while UC put in the work. “It was tough. After Darren’s funeral, UC sort of fell apart. Until we realized we needed to keep performing. It’s in our blood, and Darren wouldn’t have wanted us to quit because he’s not around.”
She walks around me, adjusting my leg. I anticipate pain, but none comes. At least not from my thigh. “I agree. He spoke of you and the band all the time. He was so proud to be part of UC. He loved being with you guys.”
Until he got hooked on painkillers . “That he did. This one time, Darren was onstage performing one of our hits, ‘Make Me Feel It,’ I think, when someone in the crowd screamed his name. He zeroed in on the boy, maybe fifteen years old, and motioned for our security to invite him to the meet and greet. Turns out the kid was learning keyboards and Darren was his idol.”
Jenna completes the story. “Darren paid for his lessons and now he’s a member of one of your opening acts.”
Our gazes lock. Her grey ones hold pride with an overlay of sadness. I’m sure my green ones look the same.
“He’s good on the keys,” I note. “Hey, I’m not feeling any pain. Can I try something new?”
Jenna seems to have an entire inner dialogue with herself before taking the medicine ball from me and asking me to stand on a mat. She folds a towel and places it on the floor. “I don’t usually move on to this exercise until I’ve been working with someone for at least five days. You can try it, but only one repetition.”
I nod and she shows me the exercise. “Bet I can do five.” As she demonstrated, I stand on my left leg with my right foot on the towel. Then slide it out and bring it back into the mat .
My pulled muscle screams.
My hand flies to my inner thigh. “Oww!”
“I knew it was too soon,” Jenna mutters. She grasps me by the arm and brings me to the table. “Lie down.”
I manage to man up and follow her direction. She immediately begins to massage my thigh, getting way too close to my junk for my—or Darren’s—comfort. “Whoa there. I can do that.”
“Stop it, Bennett. You’re always so reckless and over the top. Exactly what landed you here in the first place. Let me do my job.”
Holy. Shit. I’m not going to take her criticism lying down, despite the fact I am prone. “I’m neither reckless nor over the top.”
Jenna continues to massage my angry tendon, unclenching it bit by bit. She pulls away from me for enough time to rub her thumb and pinky together, then she’s back giving me the massage. In a clipped tone, she says, “Fine. Then explain why you’re here.”
“Because I did a stupid jump. I was amped up after the movie and our performance. Sue me.” I count the ceiling tiles above my body.
The massage continues in silence. Little by little, the pain in my inner thigh decreases. Frowning, she asks, “How’s your pain level?”
“Two.”
My petulant response is received without any fanfare. “Good. We’re not going to add more exercises until I know you’re ready. We don’t want a repeat of this fiasco that could jeopardize your recovery.”
Her assessment shuts me down. She’s right. I need this to go smoothly from now on. “Fine,” I grumble.
She walks to the other side of the room and pulls something out of what I believe to be a freezer. “Here’s an ice pack. I want you to ice this for twenty minutes.” She puts it on my leg.
The icy cold numbs my pull within moments. I take a deep breath and relax.
“Seems like I found something to calm you down.”
Just like that, my need to move returns. My hand lands on the ice pack and I’m about to throw it across the room when Jenna reappears at my side. Her fingers press the ice pack down. “It needs time to do its job.”
Knowing she’s right, I remove my hand. This is the second time this session she’s offended me. “Do you always insult your patients or am I special?”
Jenna fiddles with some papers. “I haven’t worked with patients in over eighteen months. I’m rusty.”
Since Darren died . “I’d say.” My mind churns. “I don’t need to calm down.”
The inside of her cheek clenches. “Bennett, you’re in perpetual motion. You never sit still for longer than a meal, and even then, you’re twisting in your seat.”
Because I’m always on the lookout for the next thing. A new place to visit, a new song to write, a new experience. Sitting still isn’t my forte. I refuse to dig any deeper into this. Not going to get lost in the morass that is my psyche.
“Darren was no better,” I challenge.
“You’re right. He certainly was the joker of your band, ready to lead the next prank.” A wistful smile crosses her face. Then her shoulders straighten. “He was the complete opposite of me.”
Her observation seems spot-on. Opposites attract and all. Still. She’s more akin to me, although we show it in different ways. No need to share this nugget with my physical therapist. “Darren was the life of any party.”
She tidies up the room. “Well, I think we’re done for today. Feel ready to go home?”
I follow the whirlwind change in conversation and agree.
“If you wait here for a few minutes, I’ll collect my things and show you the back elevator, so you’ll know where to meet me tomorrow morning.”
Coming to a sitting position, I say, “Thanks.”
We take the back elevator down to the street level, then exit the building. The privacy here is exactly what I need. I appreciate her thoughtfulness. “This will be perfect. I’ll give you a five-minute heads up before I arrive.”
We walk a few steps. “How’s the leg?”
I query my limb. “It’s not hurting too much.” I’d give it about a six.
“Want me to drive you to your house?”
Because her tone is open and not sympathetic, I agree. We get into her Lexus SUV—grab bars are my friends—and I direct her toward my rental, to which we pull up minutes later.
“I’m happy you found something nearby.” She puts her vehicle into park.
“Me too. I let King and Angie pick the one nearest your clinic.”
“As in the Huntes?”
“Yeah. I’ve met his father and brother, but I hadn’t met King until now. Angie said you two are in the same Chamber of Commerce?”
“We are. They seem nice, but I haven’t had too much interaction with them.”
My fingers curl around the door handle, not excited at the prospect of eating all alone. Being by myself allows too many thoughts to swirl—ones I don’t want to revisit. “Want to join me for dinner?” I replay my ask, realizing I sounded desperate. What would Darren say? Do Not Fuck list, remember? I force the mask over my face again. “I’ll be going out, not cooking. But you don’t have to join me, if you have other plans.”
“I actually do.” She bites her lower lip. “I usually get together with Ma once a week, and tonight’s her night.”
“I get it.” Although I don’t. Her connection to her mother is foreign to me. However, I do need to come clean to her about one thing. “Darren was blown away by you, you know. He couldn’t believe his luck when you agreed to go out with him. Even on the night he, well, you know, he was proud you were on his arm. I wanted to be sure you knew this.”
She stares at the steering wheel. “As I said before, Darren was my total opposite, with his big personality and oversized thirst for adventure. I’m a homebody, Bennett, an introverted one at that. I think I was caught up in his aura. He made me feel special.”
Because you are . I keep this errant thought to myself. “He had a way about him, for sure.” He was the first guy to cheer from the sidelines. When I got my GED, he led the charge to celebrate my accomplishment. He saw life as a big adventure to be enjoyed to the fullest.
“He did,” Jenna agrees. “Those days are long over for me. I need someone safe, who doesn’t rock the boat.” She sighs. “Who follows instructions.”
This last statement makes me think she somehow blames herself for Darren’s actions. I turn in my seat. “I’m sure Darren forgot he took pills before he went drinking that night.” He never seemed like he was addicted to them, although looking back, his behavior did become erratic following his injury.
She smacks the steering wheel. “I told him not to drink. He was on oxy, which you shouldn’t mix with alcohol. Why couldn’t he listen to me?”
Her anger speaks to me. “Don’t blame yourself. We were touring with him and should’ve picked up the signals. In the end, it was his decision.” Shitty one, but his.
“He made me believe in more, you know? Truth is, someone like me needs to stay in my lane and not try to be part of a worldwide phenomenon.” She shakes her head. “This is where I belong. I’ve carved a nice life for myself in Aroostook. I have two clinics now, you know. With a third one in the works.”
“I think we all can be whatever we want to be. It seems to me you enjoy physical therapy and working with patients, so that’s a great reason for you to stay here.”
“Exactly.”
Is she trying to convince herself? Not going there. “Well, I better go. Enjoy dinner with your mother. See you in the morning?” I open the car door.
“Sounds good. Have a good night, Bennett.”
I stand on the sidewalk and watch as she drives down the street. Our conversation lodges deep into my soul. She tried to help Darren, and when she failed, it changed her life so much that she’s barely recognizable. Not for the first time, I wonder how far and wide the ripples of his death go.
If it were me instead of him, I’m sure the ripple would be more of a trickle. If that.