“Is that you, ZiZi?” Frank called out from the bike. “Where’ve you been?”
“Oh, hey sweetie!” Mrs. Z called back, her southern accent suddenly becoming much more pronounced. “Emily switched me over to mornings last week. How’ve you been?”
Across the room, Frank got off the bike and ambled slowly over, clearly trying to mask his limp. Mrs. Z sat up straighter and fluffed her hair our. I suppressed a sigh. Sometimes it seemed like I was running a senior rec center, rather than a therapy center.
“You look lovely today,” Frank said, approaching the table. “Is that a new hairdo?”
“Ooh, do you like it?” Mrs. Z crooned, batting her eyelashes at him. “I was hoping you would. Now where is that Philip? I haven’t seen him in days.”
“Whaddaya need Philip for?” Frank asked. “He’s an old sour puss. What you need is a man who can show you a good time.” He winked at her and she giggled.
Oh, dear Lord, I thought to myself. “Alright, enough social hour,” I said, taking Frank by the shoulders and steering him back toward the exercise bike. “We all have work to do.”
Frank grinned at Mrs. Z over his shoulder, and she giggled again. “Talk to you soon, sweetie!” she called after him.
“Sarah, ultrasound therapy, then the wet heat pack on that shoulder, okay?” I instructed, before turning back to Frank. “Mr. Carter, why do you insist on flirting with all of my patients?”
“Honey,” he said, leaning toward me conspiratorially, “when you’re as old as I am, you take it where you can get it.”
I snorted, and pushed him gently toward the bike. “Get on with it.”
A tinkling bell sounded, signaling the opening of the front door. I looked up to see Michael, one of the other PTs, enter the building. I waved as he headed past me to the office. Seeing that all the patients were duly occupied, I followed him back.
“The troublemakers are out in force today, I see,” he said, grinning at me as he dropped his bag on the desk.
“It wouldn’t be a Monday afternoon if we didn’t have the geriatric dating society going strong,” I muttered, making Michael laugh. The truth was, we were crazy about our patients. Sure, they got on our nerves sometimes, but they were also entertaining as hell. Between Frank’s stories about playing farm ball for the Tigers back in the 50s and Mrs. Z’s tales of her four clueless ex-husbands, there was rarely a dull moment.
“Speaking of which, I have a favor to ask you,” Michael said, grimacing a little in anticipation. I knew immediately where he was headed.
“Oh, please, don’t,” I said. “I haven’t even had lunch yet, don’t make me.”
“You’re the only one he works for,” Michael said. “Last week he told me to eff off, I’m not even kidding you. That kind of language should not come from a man that age. Come on, Em. You know you’re his favorite.”
“A fat lot of good being his favorite gets me,” I muttered. “Fine, I’ll take Philip. But you’re finishing up with the flirt patrol out there.”
“You’re a life saver,” Michael said. “I owe you one.”
“Don’t think I’m going to forget that,” I said, turning to leave. I headed out to the main exercise area. Sure enough, I could see Philip sitting in chair over by reception, his walker next to him and a scowl clear on his face, even from this distance.
“Hello, Mr. Jackson,” I said politely. “How are you feeling today?”
“I’m feeling like someone who had a hip replaced,” he muttered.
“Well, why don’t you head back here with me, and we’ll see what we can do to get you better.”
“Fat chance,” he muttered, just loud enough for me to hear. I decided to ignore him, instead helping him to get into his walker, an action that earned me a chilling glare. I pointed to the nearest therapy table and helped him get settled on his side. Philip had been coming in for out-patient therapy three times a week for the past four weeks. His recovery had been slow, which wasn’t uncommon for men his age. Personally, I felt his attitude was doing little to help him heal, but he wasn’t the kind of man who would take kindly to suggestions about mental health affecting his physical health.
“Philip! Helloooo!” Mrs. Z called from the other side of the room. Philip’s scowl became more pronounced. “Nothing worse than a bold woman,” he muttered.
“Watch out there, Mr. Jackson,” I said. “You happen to be talking to a pretty bold woman.”
He snorted. “Don’t see you throwing yourself at married men.”
I felt a little pang in my chest at his words. Philip often referred to himself as married, though I knew from his file that his wife had died five years ago. Determined to make his appointment as pleasant as possible, I pulled the curtains around his table, blocking the others from his view.
“Any new pains since you were here last?” He shook his head. “Would you say it feels better, worse, or the same since your last visit?”
“’bout the same.”
“Alright, I’m gonna go get the ultrasound machine. That might help a bit with your inflammation. Then we’ll have you do some simple exercises, work on getting that strength back. Sound good?”
“You’re the boss,” he muttered. I patted his shoulder and stepped out from behind the curtain.
“Emily, dear, how is that young man of yours?” Mrs. Z called from her table. She was leaning back against her pillows, her hair arranged perfectly around her, looking for all the world like a queen on her throne. I sighed. It hadn’t even been a week since our break-up, so I suppose it was only natural for my stomach to still drop every time Dylan came up. I hoped it would pass soon.
“We actually broke up, Mrs. Z.”
She gasped and held her hand to her heart. “Why on earth? He was so handsome!”
“He wasn’t quite right for me,” I said. I noticed that every eye in the place was on me now and felt my cheeks start to burn. I grabbed the ultrasound machine and moved back toward the safety of Philip’s curtains. Not fast enough.
“Are you sure that was such a good idea?” Frank said, walking over from the bike again. “You young girls all seem so picky. You’re not getting any younger, you know. What are you now, twenty-eight? Don’t you think it’s time you were settled?”
“I’m twenty-five, actually,” I said, a touch of acid in my voice. “And it turned out Dylan was an adulterous bastard. Still think I should have settled for him?”
“Oh! Oh, you poor dear!” Mrs. Z cried. I cursed my momentary lapse of judgment in telling them. The gossip around this place could be worse than in a junior high cafeteria. So not what I needed.
“You did the right thing, of course you did,” Mrs. Z continued. “I mean, just look at me—four husbands. Four! All of them good for nothings. You can never settle, dear. Life is too precious to be tied down to trash.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Z. I should get back…”
I edged toward the curtain, trying to ignore the loud stage whispers coming from Mrs. Z and Sarah. “I can’t believe it,” Sarah was saying.
“Wonder who he was cheating with,” Frank said.
I sighed and pulled the curtain back around Philip’s table. He lifted his head and locked eyes with me for a moment. “Gossipy old bags,” he muttered.
I grinned at him. Maybe Philip wasn’t so bad after all.
* * *
“Want some company?”
I had finally managed to take my lunch break and was just settling down in the office with a book when I heard Elliot approach. I looked up from my book and saw him standing in the doorway of the office, a blue insulated lunch bag in his hand. I smiled at him, moving over to make room for him at the small desk.
“By all means,” I said.
Elliot sat down and immediately began pulling his lunch from his bag. It was typical Elliot fare—sandwich on whole grain bread, fruit, carrot sticks, and water.
“You’re such a health nut,” I said, looking down at my frozen meal.
“I know unproces
sed food is pretty foreign to you,” he said, tucking a strand of his wavy, red hair behind his ear. “But you should really try it sometime.”
“Don’t start,” I warned, but he ignored me.
“Vitamins would be good too. Maybe a nice B-12 complex to perk you up.”
“Elliot,” I said firmly. “No selling in here. We’ve talked about this.”
“I’m not trying to sell,” he said, picking up his sandwich. “I’d be happy to give it to you for free. Anything to see you take better care of yourself.” He glanced at my reheated mac and cheese and gave a little shudder before taking a big bite of his sandwich.
“So, whatcha reading?” he asked, after he had chewed.
I felt a little flash of embarrassment as I turned the cover of my book so he could see it.
“Pride and Prejudice?” he asked, clearly surprised. “That’s a bit of a departure for you, isn’t it?”
I felt a blush start to rise on my cheeks. “I’m branching out a little bit,” I told him, shrugging.
He looked at me closely. “Okay, what’s up?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re not telling me something, I can tell.”
I blushed harder. I so did not want to admit to Elliot what I was up to.
“Emily,” he said, “just spill it.”
“Fine,” I tossed the book back onto the desk. “Ashley and Ryan convinced me that the reason I’m such a joke with men is because I’ve never been into all this romance stuff.”
A funny look came over Elliot’s face, but he didn’t say anything.
“So I kinda let them talk me into this project.”
“Project?” he asked. “What kind of project?”
“Kind of a research project, I guess.”
“What exactly are you researching?”
I pointed at the book. “Romance novels. Chick flicks. Love songs. That kind of thing.”
“So it’s a romance research project?” he asked, his mouth flickering with the beginnings of a smile.
“It’s supposed to help me figure out what guys I should be looking for,” I said. “Apparently there are patterns.”
Elliot tried to cover a snort, and I had to smile. “You probably think this is pretty stupid, huh?” I asked.
“No,” he said, his smile wide now. “Bat shit insane is probably a better term for what I think.”
“Thanks a lot!” I said, laughing.
“Emily, come on. Do you seriously think you’re going to have better luck with men because you read Pride and Prejudice and listened to a bunch of sappy songs?”
“Don’t forget the chick flicks,” I reminded him, grinning. He had a point, of course. It was pretty ridiculous.
“Oh, yes, of course,” he said drily. “The chick flicks will make all the difference. Come on, why are you doing this?”
“Elliot, at this point, it can’t hurt,” I said, sighing. “I’m a total mess when it comes to men. I clearly have no idea what I’m doing. So I might as well listen to Ryan and Ashley, right?”
“Maybe you just haven’t met the right man,” he said.
“Well, yeah,” I agreed. “That’s kind of the point. I haven’t met the right man because, apparently, I have no idea what kind of man I’m supposed to be looking for.”
“And you think you’ll find out what ‘kind of man’ is right for you by reading and watching movies?”
“Who knows.” I shrugged. “It’s worth a try, isn’t it?”
He looked at me closely for a minute, before smiling slightly. “Sure,” he said. I felt a funny little dip in my stomach as my eyes met his. Must be embarrassment, I thought to myself. “So,” Elliot continued, moving onto his carrot sticks. “What have you learned so far?”
“Apparently, Dylan was a classic Wickham,” I told him, pointing down at the book. “The guy who seems so charming and perfect but is really a huge jerk. According to Ashley, I should have noticed this straight off.”
“If it was so obvious, why didn’t Ashley warn you?” he asked drily.
I laughed and grabbed one of his carrot sticks. “Good point. Anyhow, what I’m supposed to be looking for is a Mr. Darcy, but from what I can see so far, he’s kind of a jerk.”
“So according to your research you should ignore the guys who seem great and go for the ones that act likes jerks?”
I laughed again. “I’m hoping it becomes clearer before the end of the book.”
“I hope so too,” he agreed.
“Then tonight I guess we’re watching Pretty Woman, which Ash and Ryan assure me is essential to my education.”
“Awesome, now you’ll be on the lookout for men who hire prostitutes.”
“There’s supposed to be a larger theme,” I said, snatching another carrot.
“Want to finish them?” he asked, holding out the bag. “Clearly your body is trying to tell you something—you need more fresh produce in your life. And I didn’t even need to watch a Julia Roberts flick to show me that!”
I grinned, taking the bag from him. “If only true love was so obvious,” I said.
I thought I saw a reddening of the tips of Elliot’s ears, but he stood up before I could be sure. “Alright, I guess I better get back to work. Good luck with the research.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Good luck with the vitamins.”
“I meant it about the B-12,” he said seriously, looking down at me. “Stop by any time.”
I winked at him. “We’ll see about that. Bye, Elliot.”
“See ya, Emily.”
Chapter Five
“This is one of my favorites,” Ashley sighed, setting a giant bowl of popcorn on the table and taking her seat on the couch. “It’s so romantic.”
“What’s the premise?” I asked, leaning back into my own seat. Ryan walked by, handing me a wine glass. “Thanks.”
“It’s about a poor orphan girl who goes to work for some rich landowner,” Ashley said, taking her own wine glass from Ryan. “They fall madly and passionately in love, but there are complications, forces set on pulling them apart.”
Her eyes were lit up with excitement, a dreamy smile on her lips. I was torn between a flash of affection for her and a desire to roll my eyes. She was silly, but there was something endearing about how seriously Ashley took all of this.
“When did this remake come out?” Ryan asked, studying the Jane Eyre DVD cover.
“Just a few years ago,” Ashley said. “It’s very good. Michael Fassbender is gorgeous.”
“Then let’s get it started,” Ryan said.
I was surprised to find that I liked the movie quite a bit. I found the heroine to be independent and smart, and I was impressed that she didn’t come across as a doormat or a swooning, silly love-struck girl. She was strong, and I liked that.
But I couldn’t for the life of me tell how it was going to help me with my project.
“What was I supposed to learn here?” I asked Ashley once the credits started to roll.
She looked at me in surprise. “That true love conquers all!”
“And that you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover,” Ryan said. “At first she thinks that Rochester is cruel and rude and ugly. But then she gets to know him and finds he’s her perfect match!”
I raised my eyebrow at him. “Her perfect match who’s hiding his real wife in the attic,” I clarified.
“Minor detail,” Ryan said, waving his hand dismissively.
“So I’m supposed to be looking for a guy who seems kinda like a jerk and fall in love with him, and then forgive him when I find out he was lying to me about another woman?”
Ashley sighed. “It doesn’t have to be so black and white.”
“But the not-judging-a-book-by-its-cover thing does work,” Ryan said. “So maybe focus on that part of the story.”
This was the fifth movie I had watched with Ryan and Ashley since they’d convinced me to participate in their little plan. So far, they’d had an answer to every one of m
y objections. Any time I pointed out some flaw in the story—a heroine who acted like a wet dish rag, an implausible plot, a leading man who seemed better suited to a Neanderthal folk tale—they had drawn me back to some larger theme. I wasn’t sure yet if I admired their persistence, or thought they were nuts.
“Okay, what’s next?” Ryan asked.
“We have a choice between When Harry Met Sally and An Affair to Remember.”
“Both very good choices,” Ryan said. He looked at me. “Are you in the mood for another classic, or a more modern day love story?”
I picked up the two DVD cases, studying their covers. “Is this Billy Crystal?” I asked.
“Yup,” Ashley said. “Not exactly your typical leading man, but it works.”
“Let’s go with this,” I said, handing her the case. I figured at least Billy Crystal would be funny. I wasn’t sure I had the patience for another overly sentimental film that night.
Before Ashley could get up, my phone rang. I plucked it up from the coffee table. “It’s Brooke,” I said, immediately standing. “I’m gonna go take this.”
“Might as well get some wine refills,” Ryan said, plucking up our glasses and heading to the kitchen.
I accepted the call as I walked to my bedroom. “Brooke?” I said.
“Hey, babe,” she replied. I smiled at the familiar sound of her voice. Sometimes I missed her so much it was like having a stomachache.
“How’s it going?” I asked.
“Oh, you know,” she said, and I pictured her rolling her eyes. “Not a whole lot is new in hopping Alpena, Michigan.”
I laughed, but felt a little pang all the same. I understood why Brooke disparaged our tiny hometown, and I had certainly jumped at my chance to hit the road, but I sometimes still envied her for being there.
“How’re your folks?” I asked. “How’s the inn?”
“They’re good,” she said. “Taking a cruise next month, if you can believe it.”
“Wow, that’s kind of amazing,” I said. Brooke had been helping her parents run their little inn on the shores of Lake Huron since we had graduated from college. She had spent two years at the community college at home before she had saved up enough money to transfer to Northern Michigan, a smaller public university in the Upper Peninsula. I had hoped she’d be interested in one of the schools down state, so she’d be closer to me. She was just happy to finally be away from home.
In Search of a Love Story (Love Story Book One ) Page 4
