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She shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t honestly think we ever loved each other. In hindsight. I guess in one way that woman saved me from a bad marriage.”
“You’d have figured it out.”
“Maybe.” Constance had thought about this before. “I’m a different person now. Weaker in some ways, stronger in others. But I see people more clearly now. I was pretty good at it before, but I’m even better now. Feeling what others are feeling. Guessing what they’re going to do before they do it. I see more details. Which can be debilitating, but also saves me from a lot of hurt.” Constance finished her food and slid her empty coffee cup to the edge of the table. “What about you? How did you deal with...things?”
Rhett, who’d been staring out the window, shook himself. “Eh, I don’t know,” he said. “I was combative with my therapist. I hated taking the meds. I didn’t cry.” He let a beat pass before he smiled.
Constance laughed as she crumpled up her napkin. “Are you making fun of me?”
“Not one bit.”
The bakery had grown even more crowded since their arrival. Every available inch of space was now occupied by people sitting at the tables or the counter, standing in the line that wound out the front door or milling around, searching for a spot to settle. “C’mon.” Constance stood up. “Let’s go to my house. I owe you a massage.”
Stanzi had him lie faceup this time, and she worked his bad leg first. She started at the hip and worked her way down, massaging, stretching and rubbing cooling oil into his muscles that helped kill the pain and stiffness. Once she moved to the less painful side, Rhett felt himself starting to doze. He was aware of her in the back of his mind, when she moved up to his chest and arms, working his pecs and delts and the muscles around his ribs. Just when he thought he might slip away, she had him roll over, facedown, and started in on his back. Her hands were pleasantly cool on his skin, but warmed with her increasing pressure. Stanzi’s whole body flowed into her movements—her hands, her arms, her breath. The way she moved was kind of musical, with patterns, rhythm, repeats, a chorus. Nothing like the work he’d gotten as part of his PT. Nothing like anything, really.
As much as Rhett wanted to pay attention to every little second of her therapy, as soon as he was on his face and her hands lit on him, he started to drift. She rubbed and rocked at the same time, which gave him the impression of being swaddled in a giant quilt.
The last thing he remembered was wishing Stanzi could come over at night, before bed, and rock him to sleep. If he had her there, hands on his back, rocking and caressing him, he just might not hear the spiders in the corners, or the dust in the beams. He could sink away and not blink again until morning.
When he did blink again, the room was still dim, lit only by the yellow glow of Stanzi’s electric candles. Enya floated out of the speakers. Stanzi sat on her rolling stool, a couple feet away, her back against the wall, her eyes closed. Her shoulders rose and fell slowly.
Rhett sat up. As soon as the linens fell away, he felt cold. His skin was damp. So were the sheets. He swiped his forehead, which was clammy and cool.
“Oh, you’re up.” Stanzi stretched her arms and arched her back. “You’ve been out awhile.”
Rhett looked around the room for a clock, but there was none, and he’d stripped off everything, including his watch. He remembered the few massages he’d had at PT; the therapist had a ticking timer that she’d slap as soon as Rhett entered the room. After fifty minutes it would ding like someone’s order was up.
“You were having night sweats.” Stanzi wheeled over next to the table. “Shaking a lot. I just let you ride it out. Kept a hand on you.”
Rhett gathered the sheet around his waist and slid to the edge of the table. He sat there, thinking about her words. He didn’t know what to say, so he stayed quiet. He wondered if there was anything she wasn’t telling him. Had he talked in his sleep? And what did she mean by shaking? Was it a little? Or a lot? Rhett wasn’t sure how to feel. Physically, he felt like when you’ve been sick, finally fall asleep, sweat it out and wake up knowing you’ve broken through and you’re going to make it.
Mentally, he felt like he’d just fought his way out of a battle and successfully made it to the other side.
“It’s your body’s way of healing,” she said. “Getting it all out, through sweat and vibration.”
“Is that normal?”
Stanzi took a while to answer. “It’s normal for you, at this point in your life.”
Rhett laughed softly. “So no.”
“It’s not typical,” Stanzi clarified, “of the average Joe getting an average massage. But yes, the process you are going through right now is, in my experience and scope of practice, very normal.”
“I like how you say exactly what you mean. No more, no less.”
Stanzi stood up and put a hand on his shoulder. “You okay?”
“I feel weird,” he said. “It’s not bad. It’s actually good. But it’s weird.”
“Lie back down and I’ll do your neck. C’mon.”
Rhett allowed her to guide him on his back. She rolled her stool toward his head and slid her hands beneath his shoulders. Rhett breathed deeply into his stomach, held it, then breathed out just as slowly.
“Good.” Stanzi’s pressure was light and comforting. She drew her fingers up his neck, to the back of his head, and held there, cradling him. She scooped the back of his neck, one hand after the other, and told him it was called Mother Cat.
She talked a little while she worked, a few words in a low tone, just making sure he was okay while her hands and fingertips rolled around like magic on his upper traps, neck and head. She even worked some muscles in the front of his neck that he didn’t think anyone had ever touched. If he was honest with himself, he probably wouldn’t have let them, as they were too close to his throat. When her fingers sank into his scalp, he sighed aloud. That, she could do forever.
Eventually, her fingers slowed. After they stopped, she rested there before she gently drew away. “How are you feeling now?” Her voice came close to his ear.
