5
Emma relaxed against the wingback chair and willed her eyelids to stay open for what felt like the hundredth time. Had it only been an hour since Sam and the Donovens left for dinner? She enjoyed watching football, but her hometown team wasn’t playing so she didn’t have an urgency to track the score. Her host, who was dressed as a lineman with the number seventy-eight on his jersey, had been ignoring her. Why did she stay? She should have gone with Sam and ordered a double espresso.
Wade rubbed his left arm and grimaced at the screen. Her heart went out to the Donoven family and what had happened to them in recent weeks. She had helped her mother keep Home ScentSations running after her dad’s heart attack. Between college courses, supervising her dad’s care, and pulling the occasional shift at the candle store, she didn’t know how she stayed sane. She glanced at the ceiling. Sorry God. You gave me the strength to keep going .
The doorbell rang.
Her mouth pulled tight at the vision of crispy crust and tangy tomato sauce.
Wade glanced toward the foyer. His backside didn’t move from the cushion indentation. Whatever happened to Southern hospitality?
“I’ll get it.” She wasn’t in rehab. No sense letting Wade hobble with his cane and balance a box one-handed.
A young man verified the name on the order and handed her the pizza box. He hesitated. “Is there a tip?”
Money? Like cash? Like the finances she didn’t have?
“Oh, we always pay cash for the tip.” Wade didn’t move except to increase the volume on the remote.
Ripping the clicker from his hand and bopping his brown bedhead played like a movie in her brain. She had been a waitress for a summer and knew the importance of tipping.
“I’ll cover it.” She swallowed the citrus taste in her mouth. Lord, multiply my few mites.
Setting the pizza on the coffee table in front of Wade, she rummaged in her backpack. A crumpled five-dollar bill and two ones were nearly all she had left to her name. Her face grew hot. How had she gotten into this mess with her savings depleted, no income, and no job prospects? Ron Runyard and his scam. Chasing thoughts of bankruptcy away, she handed the delivery guy the money and gave a smile as fake as Ron Runyard.
“Thank you, ma’am.” The skip in the driver’s step bolstered her sagging spirit. At least someone was having a good day.
By the time she focused her attention on the living room, Wade had the box open and a slice of pizza in his hand.
“Shall we pray? We can throw in a victory ask for your team.” It was Sunday after all.
“I prayed to myself.” Wade addressed the television screen with a mouth full of their dinner.
Was this what girls who had brothers dealt with during football season? Her dad watched Green Bay games. Only Green Bay games. And only to be able to converse with customers.
After scouting the kitchen for plates, napkins, and cans of soda, she returned to the living area and placed the dining ware and drinks in front of her host.
Wade nodded. He swept dark bangs out of his eyes. His baby blues matched the color of his jersey. Wade had nice eyes. Too bad they were hidden under a V’d brow. “I should have thought about that. I didn’t want to miss the last few seconds of the game.” His apologetic tone smoothed the razor edges off of his gruff demeanor.
“Don’t worry. I know you’re into the game and didn’t want company. But their kicker is never going to make a fifty-five yarder against the wind. He’s too self-assured. Once your coach calls a timeout to ice him, he’ll botch the kick.” She grabbed a slice of pizza, placed it on a plate, and sat in her chair. In her peripheral vision, she could see Wade assessing her. She tamped down a grin. “I know this because I’ve seen it happen many times in Green Bay. Home of the Titletown Team.” She reached for her can of soda. The fizz tinked off the can as she drank.
“You do, do you? Oh. Oh.” He scooched forward and pointed at the screen. The football hit the goal post, cascaded sideways, and missed the end zone. “Yes! We win.”
“See. Told ya.” She bit into the cheese and savored the hint of salt, fat, and garlic.
He turned his attention toward her for more than a second. Exuberance enlivened his features, the ones hidden by a scowl most of the evening. He wasn’t bad looking when he was happy. “You should have bet on the game.”
Had he? She’d lost enough money without placing a bet. If her life had gone as planned, she would be home in Wisconsin instead of lounging in Linda’s house with her recuperating son. In some sense, she felt a sort of déjà vu. She knew what it was like to have an ill family member and try to keep a business running. She wished there was a way she could be of more help to the Donovens.
The room grew quiet as they watched the post-game analysis.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Wade hold a plate in his right hand and cautiously lift another slice of pizza with his left hand. She tried to remember the injuries Sam had mentioned over Christmas and earlier the day before. Obviously, Wade’s right leg had been broken since the cane hung near that side of him, but had his left arm been injured? Is that why Cole had to help with service calls?
A low rumble came from Wade’s throat as if he was trying to hide a cough during a sermon. He flinched and arched his back.
Was he in distress? Staring wasn’t polite, but she wanted to help him if she could. She knew a little about holistic medicine from her mom.
Euphemisms for curse words escaped Wade’s lips. He grabbed the pizza slice from his left hand and flung it into the box. He secured his left wrist with his right hand and grimaced.
“Are you all right?” She jumped from her seat and hovered near the couch. Her heart boomed as she pushed up the sleeves of her red sweater. She didn’t want to embarrass Wade, but if he needed help, she was ready to assist. Somehow.
“Do I look like I’m all right?” he snapped. “My hand is seizing.” He closed his eyes and squeezed his wrist. Perspiration glowed above his lip.
Emma scanned the table and living area. Her body temperature rose to boiling. “Do you have medication?” Her parents hardly took aspirin.
He shook his head. “Doesn’t work.”
She remembered how her mother relieved pain. Her mom had massaged pressure points in Emma’s hand to relieve headaches brought on by studying for final exams. Using essential oils and acupressure, her mom had made taking tests pain-free. Emma doubted that the Donovens had scented oils, but pizza grease might work. Maybe she could stop the seizing of Wade’s hand.
Sitting down next to Wade, she grabbed the silver tortoise charm hanging around her neck and rubbed its shiny shell. Lord, I could use some wisdom here. What had she learned in Sunday school? Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.
Wade, hunched over tight as a ball of twine, didn’t chastise her closeness.
“I might be able to help.” She bit her lip and when Wade unfurled a tiny bit, she grasped his clawed hand and managed to get a thumb in the middle of the closed fingers. She began a circular massage.
Wade let out a muffled scream. “What are you doing?” His look of horror made it seem that her touch was worse than the pain. Hadn’t he had a manicure or a pedicure? Nah, probably not.
“I’m helping relieve your spasms. Relax.” She shifted her thumb beneath Wade’s middle finger and stroked toward his ring finger. She prayed the acupressure worked.
“Stop!” The man breathed like he was in labor. He may have asked her to stop, but in his eyes, he was pleading for relief.
“Just give me five.”
“Minutes?” His jaw nearly hit the sofa.
“No, rotations. I finished one.” Please, Lord, let this work. She continued to massage his skin, applying more and more pressure. The aroma of a pizzeria wafted from her massage. “And two.” Come on prayer and ancient medicine. “Three.”
He blew out a long breath and slouched against the cushions. At least he wasn’t rigid with fright anymore.
She applied a little more force. The claw opened wider.
“Four.”
“I think it’s working.” Surprise riddled Wade’s statement. For the first time all night, he looked at her like she was someone worth knowing. His trust was better than that double espresso.
Thank You, Lord . “How’s the pain? I’m at five, but I’d like to try a point above the wrist.”
“Keep going. My hand feels better. The shooting pain is down to a throb.” He moved his arm ever so slightly. “I’m afraid it’s going to cramp again later.”
“With the blood flow improved, you should be fine for a while. I’m surprised your doctor or nurse didn’t put you in some physical therapy. You injured this in your accident, right?” Was she prying into personal issues?
Wade turned his body toward her as she caressed above his wrist. Had she softened his demeanor with her pain relief tactics? His thigh wasn’t soft where it bumped her knee. He could play on any offensive line with his broad shoulders and defined muscles.
“I broke my arm in the crash, but the doctor said this hand seizure may be coming from my shoulder. Nerve damage or something. My bruised shoulder healed fine. It doesn’t bother me.” He shrugged to prove his point.
She continued her circles toward the side of his elbow.
“How do you know that massage stuff?” He glanced at her fingers making their way up his forearm. He hadn’t pulled away from her yet.
“My parents own a candle shop and several years ago my mom got into essential oils and aromatherapy. From there, she took a few massage classes and then studied acupressure. Let’s just say my parents like alternative forms of medicine.” Her parents didn’t fit the suburban mold. In elementary school, she cringed when her dad wore leather pants and a flowing white shirt to a classroom play. The pirate jokes went on for weeks. Though, if her mom hadn’t studied the pressure points, she wouldn’t have been able to help Wade.
Wade’s brows furrowed. “What kinds of medicine?”
Her body temperature spiked with his inquisitive blue-eyed stare. “Nothing illegal.”
“I didn’t mean…”
“Botanical supplements, vitamins, that type of stuff. What you’d find in a health food store.” Was Wade blushing? Flushed was more like it. From the improved blood flow.
A noise sounded at the front door, and it opened.
The Donoven family and Sam entered.
Caught in the act. What would they think about her massaging Wade’s arm? She scooted farther from Wade and clasped her hands in her lap. The warmth of his skin lingered on her fingertips.
Wade sat at attention on the sofa and rubbed his arm where she had caressed the pressure points.
Cole held a package high. “We brought your favorite ice cream, bro. Tin roof. There’s vanilla swirl, too. Mom says she’ll make hot fudge sauce.” Cole traipsed toward the kitchen.
From the warmth she felt, her cheeks could rival strawberries and cream.
Linda hurried toward the couch. “Is something wrong with your arm?” Her nurse-o-meter hovered over “extreme concern.”
“No. nothing. A spasm. That’s all.” Wade focused on the television, but the football talk had turned into an infomercial. “She, uh…”
He pointed in Emma’s direction. Did he forget her name? He had ignored her when she arrived. Was she still invisible to him? She scooted further from Wade. So much for using her skills.
“Did Emma help you?” Sam came over and created a wall of Wisconsin-born women at the couch’s end. “She knows a lot about massage techniques.”
“Yeah, Emma.” Wade’s attention ping-ponged between his mom, Sam, and her. When his gaze found her, she quickly looked away. She hadn’t been close to a handsome bachelor in a long while. The man’s face was glowing enough for the both of them.
“Was it like yesterday?” Mike sauntered over and perused the screen.
Linda whirled on her husband. “What do mean? What happened yesterday?”
“It was nothing, Mom. My hand twitched.” Wade grabbed his cane and pushed to a stand. “Where’s my ice cream?” He headed after Cole.
“What do you mean twitched? That doesn’t sound like nothing?” Linda crossed her arms. Mama bear wanted an explanation. “Isn’t Francine’s last day tomorrow?”
“Yes.” A growl of an answer rumbled from Wade who had reached the kitchen.
“Are you going to be able to run the office if your hand is twitching?” Linda’s voice strained. She shook her head and cast a glance at Sam.
How long had Linda been taking care of her son? More than six weeks, at least. Emma’s heart filled with sympathetic pain. She recognized the weariness of caring too much and caring too long. She had pushed her own sanity limits when her father was ill. Linda looked and sounded exhausted.
Mike joined his wife and took her coat. “Maybe I should have called the temp agency. Francine does a lot of filing and handles the phone calls. She writes out some invoices. I thought his arm would be one hundred percent by now.”
Sam nudged Emma’s shoulder, and it wasn’t about fudge swirls. “This may be an answer to prayer?” she whispered. “You could use a job.”
“You’re looking for work?” Linda didn’t need a hearing test. She was fluttering closer like a fairy godmother.
Mike slung his wife’s coat over the back of the sofa. “Really. What line of work are you in?”
Sam’s eyes rivaled the size of golf balls. Emma imagined her eyes did too.
“I, um, was an office manager.”
A loud clunk could be heard in the kitchen.
“Dude.” Cole’s disgruntled shout carried into the living room. “You dropped the tin roof.”