This Is Not How It Ends(40)

Unwilling to accept his secrecy, I thought about calling Natasha directly, believing she might be willing to provide some answers. Philip distanced himself from me often, but this wasn’t business travel, this was a different form of isolation. I found myself noticeably short, and he was unusually anxious. We argued over things that had always been inconsequential: the volume of the television, leaving the toilet seat up, and the temperature of our room at night.

“Why don’t you invite me on your trips anymore?” I asked, when the thought had occurred to me that he hadn’t in weeks. The trips were always important. There was always an appointment to be had, a client to meet. He scoffed. “Oh darling, you’ll be bored to tears.” Still, it mattered to be asked.

I asked myself if I was being difficult, remembering how our close relationship had always been about space. And that became our great contradiction. The further I dove, the deeper I plunged, the very things I spent my life avoiding became the ones I craved. I was changing, but I thought we would change together. So how could I be upset with him for being who he always was?

Work kept me busy, and the clinic was bustling with appointments, though the problems continued to brew in our relationship. Philip checked in less frequently. When we spoke, he was serious and short. There was nothing humorous about the funniest guy I knew. One time I was certain there was a woman very near to him, so near I could hear their combined breaths in my ear. Apparently, I’d interrupted him in a meeting. “You must have the schedule mixed up,” he’d said. Blaming me, blaming Elise.

Once he asked if I had heard from my father. “You really need to talk to him.” The strange number from Nashville called two more times, but I hadn’t picked up, and he didn’t leave a message. I lied and said, “No,” resenting the intrusion and how Philip led him back into my life in the first place. Philip was the connection I craved, not my father.

And while I was quite certain of our love for each other, beneath this sea of “rubbish” we were swimming through, I attributed the strain in our relationship to stress—Philip’s workload—and focused on the things that I could control.

Like Jimmy. Jimmy arrived for his first treatment dressed in a uniform shirt and bottoms, with a backpack slung over his shoulders. Following the trend across the country, schools start ridiculously early in Florida. While some states still relish a reprieve through Labor Day, Florida’s students return in late August, when the steamy weather translates into breezy bathing suits, not polyester. “Where’s your dad?” I asked, curious.

“Carla brought me,” he said while a youngish woman with pointed features and a long dark ponytail stepped through the door.

Jimmy pulled off his shoes and washed his hands. I ushered him into Liberty’s treatment room, prepared to leave him there, when he reached for my arm. “Will you stay?” His fingers pressed my skin, and the need in his eyes almost knocked me over. I sat in the crowded office, close enough, but not too far away.

Liberty placed tiny vials of allergens in Jimmy’s right hand and instructed him to raise his left arm to shoulder level. “Resist,” she said, putting gentle pressure on his forearm. “Don’t let me push the arm down.”

“You’ve got this, Jimmy,” I said.

Clenching, cheeks brightening, he resisted, but the arm slung downward, indicating a weakness. “It’s normal, Jimmy,” Liberty said. “These are the allergens we’re treating today. We already know your body is sensitive to them.”

With the vials still in hand, Jimmy lay on the table while Liberty used her mini massager to apply acupressure on points along Jimmy’s body. The treatment concluded in the relaxation room, where I gathered the warm blankets from the heater and fluffed the pillows. Most of the young ones want their parents to stay, but Jimmy surprised me, saying he’d be fine alone. The session meant fifteen minutes in the dark under the blanket. After that, he couldn’t eat or touch anything with vitamin C for twenty-five hours.

I handed Carla the list of allowed foods, thinking maybe I should explain it all to Ben, when Liberty said she’d phone him—just to be sure.

After the allotted time, Jimmy exited the relaxation room with sleepy eyes and rumpled hair. “I fell asleep,” he said.

“That’s good. You’re comfortable. Remember to follow the list or we have to repeat the treatment a second time.” He was so proud of himself. I could already tell he was going to be my favorite patient.

The following afternoon, I walked Sunny after work near the Moorings and caught sight of Jimmy entering Morada Bay. I was curious to see how he was doing. The day was blistery hot, and I spotted him seated at a purple table with his papers spread out.

“Hey, Jimmy! How’s it going?”

He didn’t look up. His fingers tightened around the pencil, and he wrote across one of the worksheets.

“Is something wrong?”

He shook his head and erased a problem, rewriting the answer.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked.

His swallow was long, his eyes forcing back tears. “Today’s her birthday.”





CHAPTER 18

April 2018, Back Then

Islamorada, Florida

Philip announced he had something special planned for my birthday. The last few months, his travel schedule had been excessive, and I was pleased he’d be home to celebrate.