by Julie Blair
Jamie knelt by the woman’s head, her hand on her upper back. “I’m going to send my assistant in. Her name is Marci, and she’s going to put an ice pack on your back for half an hour. Then I’ll come back and we’ll see how you feel. And just between you and me, your husband’s a bit of a baby about getting adjusted.”
Priscilla laughed. “It doesn’t hurt.” She lifted her head. “Last night I thought I was going to die when I laughed.”
“That’s a good sign,” Jamie said, before she left the treatment room.
“Interesting table,” Carla said as she tried to keep pace with Jamie. It was a silly thing to say, but she felt tongue-tied being in Jamie’s presence. Renee swore by her, but would Priscilla really feel better just from that?
“There are a lot of ways to adjust patients,” Jamie said as she opened the door to the next treatment room. “I vary my technique based on what I think will be most effective for the patient’s problem.”
Carla shook hands with a middle-aged man in a business suit as Jamie introduced her as her new office manager. Did she want to be that?
Jamie opened the man’s file. “Did you get your HR department to have someone look at the ergonomics of your work station?”
“I haven’t had time, Dr. Hammond. I’m working sixty-hour weeks on this new project.” The man rubbed the back of his head. “I’ve been waking up with headaches the last couple weeks.”
“You were supposed to come in once a month so the problem I fixed six months ago wouldn’t come back.”
“I know, I know.”
“Your health matters.” The man lay on his back on the table without any prompting from Jamie, and she put her hands under his neck.
Carla stood in the corner again, listening as she surveyed the room. It was exactly like the last one, right down to stark-white walls, dark-brown adjusting table, anatomical charts on the walls, and plastic model of a spine sitting on a small cabinet that housed a variety of medical-looking instruments. Carla visualized a soft green on the walls, some art prints, maybe an orchid on the cabinet. If I stay. This time Carla heard a popping sound as Jamie adjusted the man’s neck.
“Marci will bring in a heat pack.”
“I need to get back to—”
“You need to lie here for twenty minutes. Are you doing your exercises?”
“I don’t have—”
“Time. I know,” Jamie said. “How ’bout if you show your son the exercises and you do them together at night while you’re watching the ball game?”
“That might work.”
“Don’t wait two weeks if the headaches come back. Call your HR department. Today. And set an appointment for next month.”
Carla hustled to keep up with Jamie as she went to the next treatment room. “Feel like a babysitter?” Her heart galloped for a minute when Jamie laughed. She wanted to hear more of that. The fun-loving woman she’d known for a night was much too somber, not that she didn’t have reason.
“Sometimes,” Jamie said. “I get that people are busy, but their well-being is my concern so I advocate for them to pay attention to it.”
Carla thought someone should advocate for Jamie to take better care of herself. She watched Jamie treat four more patients and then go back to check on Priscilla.
Jamie put her hands on Priscilla’s back and Carla wanted to know what she was feeling. This was nothing like watching a dentist work.
“I want you to wiggle around and lower your knees to the floor.” Priscilla’s head jerked up again. “Trust me. It’ll be easier than twisting to sit up.”
Priscilla gingerly did as Jamie instructed. “It’s not too bad,” she said as Jamie helped her stand. “Wow. It hurts but it’s a dull ache.” She took a tentative step, and a smile replaced the grimace she’d come in with. “It’s not stabbing me.”
“Let’s not test it too much. Here are the rules, Priscilla. Don’t lift anything heavier than your purse. Ice your back for thirty minutes every two hours. Lie down with a pillow under your knees as much as you can today. Sleep that way or put a pillow between your legs if you sleep on your side. Make an appointment for tomorrow. I’ll have Marci walk with you to your car. I think you’ll be on that cruise.”
“I don’t know how to thank you, Dr. Hammond,” Priscilla said, as she walked down the hall with them.
Carla trailed behind, staring from Jamie to Priscilla. How had that happened? If Jamie lost her clinic because of what Marjorie had done, how many people like Priscilla would have to live with pain? There was more at stake here than her own conflicted feelings. She had to find a way to help Jamie.
*
Carla sat deep in thought in an uncomfortable chair in the waiting area, quiet now that it wasn’t full of patients. Sara had invited her to join the staff for their Friday lunch, but she needed to collect herself before they went out. She was emotionally worn out from so many people in pain, mentally fatigued from listening to the stories patients brought in with them about their families, their jobs, their personal problems. And she didn’t bear the burden of responsibility for relieving their pain. How did Jamie do this day after day?
Light filtered in through the blinds on the large windows, casting shadows over the brown carpet and white walls that were the same throughout the clinic. The boring colors fought the warmth and friendliness that both staff and patients contributed. The half-dozen chairs around the coffee table looked like leftovers from an old dining set. And the magazines in the rack mounted to the wall—Sports Illustrated, Architectural Digest, and the like. Some fashion or cooking or gardening magazines would appeal more to women patients. If I stay.
Sara sat down next to her. “You look kind of shell-shocked.”
“I shadowed Dr. Hammond this morning,” Carla said, grateful to have someone to talk to about it. “I like to think of myself as intelligent and open-minded about health care. I get a massage once a month, I do yoga occasionally, and I went to an acupuncturist a couple of years ago for allergies. But…I can’t believe what I saw this morning. The first patient who limped in, barely able to stand, and then walked out…that was impressive…but the fifth? Not to mention the patients whose headaches were gone by the time they left…” Carla shook her head.
“Kind of miraculous, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” It was hard to match the woman who’d taken her to that concert with this doctor who got people out of pain with her hands.
“My parents took me to a chiropractor from the time I was a kid. I can imagine how strange it seems to someone who’s never been adjusted. Come on. I’ll adjust you before we go to lunch.”
Carla followed Sara to one of the treatment rooms on the east side of the clinic. Sara and Don shared four treatment rooms on this side, and the three treatment rooms on the west side were all Jamie’s. The middle of the large space contained the front office, a physical-therapy room, and the break room. The layout had been well thought out and allowed for easy movement of patients and staff. Everything about the office suggested professionalism and efficiency. But the décor annoyed Carla. She had both a flare and love for interior decorating, and ideas were already forming. If I stay.
*
“Dr. Hammond isn’t joining us?” Carla asked when they were all seated. She loved the food at Mama Mia and to think Jamie’s clinic was just down the street. How had they never run into each other?
“Probably not,” Sara said.
Carla tried to set aside her disappointment. She’d wanted to see Jamie outside the clinic.
“She used to come with us but not in a while. A lot of things have changed since…you know, don’t you?” Sara asked.
“Yes.” Carla detected both concern and uncertainty in Sara’s voice.
“She holes up in her office poring over patient files. Don and I offered to help, but she says it’s not our problem.”
“I have great respect for Jamie,” Don added. “I’ll be a better doctor because of her mentoring. But she’s doing what we tell patien
ts not to do—she’s trying to diagnose herself and fix the problem with home remedies. I want to strangle her.” He laughed nervously and Sara put her arm around his shoulder, a sight that made them all laugh because of the height difference.
“What was she like before all this?” Carla couldn’t help trying to sneak a peek at a different Jamie, a Jamie without those dark circles under her eyes, a Jamie who smiled more.
“Serious, but funny and energetic,” Marci said. “It’s hard to explain. She takes patient treatment seriously, always demands the best of herself and all of us, but we had this, I don’t know, camaraderie in the clinic.”
Carla soaked up every tidbit of information about Jamie that came out during the lunch where conversation bounced easily from chiropractic to their personal lives. She liked Jamie’s staff and could see herself fitting into the fabric of the clinic. If I stay.
“I’m going to order something to take back for Dr. Hammond,” Carla said as they were finishing their meal. “Any suggestions?”
“She usually ordered pasta,” Don said.
“I’ll skip dessert and head back so Dr. Hammond has time to eat,” Carla said when the take-out order arrived. Someone needed to make sure Jamie ate lunch. She needed to get her full lunch hour, too. Anyone who wanted to come in got added to Jamie’s schedule. Putting a stop to that was another in the list of changes she’d make. If I stay.
*
Jamie answered the knock on her door and stepped back as Carla brushed past her holding a white Styrofoam box. Carla’s perfume matched her personality—sweet but not too, subtle, easy to like.
“I took a chance on rigatoni with meat sauce.”
“Thank you.” Jamie’s stomach growled its appreciation. “What do I owe you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You have fifteen minutes before your next patient.” Carla closed the door behind her.
Jamie opened the box and inhaled. Betty often brought her lunch, but Carla doing it surprised her. When was the last time Sheryl came by to have lunch with her? Last year? Jamie tried to remember as she ate the delicious pasta. They were drifting apart and she didn’t like it. She needed to get this business mess sorted out so she could pay more attention to her relationship.
Fifteen minutes later she took a deep breath, forcing her focus into the zone she entered when treating patients. It would be eight again before she finished because of the patients added to her schedule. Success came with a price. Her father had never turned anyone away and neither would she.
She started to turn off the iPod but stopped when she heard the opening lines of one of the songs from Melissa’s first album. She’d played it that night. Jamie had written down every song she remembered from the concert on the plane ride home. She still had that list and Carla’s note. Surely the memories would stop once she got used to seeing Carla every day.
*
Carla stared at the stack of insurance forms that needed Jamie’s signature. Betty must have forgotten to deliver them to Jamie’s office on her way out. Everyone had gone home except Jamie, who still had another hour of patients. Maybe she should stay until Jamie finished for the day. She could take payments, work on the billing. Maybe afterward they could go out to dinner.
She heard Jamie’s voice from the treatment room as she walked past. Just dinner, she told herself. No expectations. Stepping into Jamie’s office, she tried to fit Jamie into the somberness of the room—a heavy Mission-style desk, an old brown leather couch and chairs, dark paneling on the walls, and a hideous Oriental rug.
She set the forms in a neat pile on Jamie’s desk next to a stack of patient files. Fingering through them she noticed the most recent was five years ago. Marjorie. How did Jamie manage her patient load and find time to piece together what Marjorie had done?
Carla couldn’t resist sitting in Jamie’s chair. She closed her eyes as she rubbed her palms over the arms. Jamie might not let Sara or Don help, but she wouldn’t be able to turn Carla down. In fact…she wouldn’t even have to know what Carla was doing. She could surprise Jamie with…what…the solution to her business problem all neatly tied up in a bow? Silly. But possible.
She opened her eyes and looked at the two pictures on the corner of Jamie’s desk. Her heart stopped for a beat and the excitement drained away. The older man was Jamie’s father, the facial features unmistakable. The woman in the other picture had to be Jamie’s partner, the smiles and arms around each other marking them as a happy couple. Jealousy drove her out of the room, and tears wet her cheeks by the time she reached her car. Whatever hope she’d had of ever being part of Jamie’s life tumbled to ruins, leaving her with a terrible emptiness inside.
*
Jamie was bone tired by the time she pulled into her driveway. Lights were on and the yawn became a smile. She wouldn’t be eating alone. Steaks, wine, hot tub…
She set her keys and the grocery bag on the kitchen counter and went to the liquor cabinet. Her father had always ended his day with a Scotch—to ease away the day’s tension, he’d say. The voice of some country singer Jamie didn’t recognize blasted through the house. Turning down the volume she called out, “How about steaks for dinner?”
“Just a minute,” Sheryl said from the bedroom. Jamie hummed along with the lyrics about lovers reunited. Maybe Sheryl would come out in that new silk robe, the one that clung to her body in delicious ways. Maybe give Jamie one of those long, slow kisses, then pull the tie at her throat and slide the robe suggestively off her shoulders and tell her how much she loved her.
“I already ate. Sorry. You’re always so late on Fridays.” Sheryl walked into the kitchen and spun in a slow circle, her legs bare. A taupe-colored suit jacket covered a gold silk blouse. “Colors good together? On sale at Macy’s.”
“Very nice.” Jamie slipped her hands inside the jacket. Not that robe but… “How about if I help you out of it?”
“I have two more outfits to try on,” Sheryl said, a frown settling on her face. “Please don’t be mad at me, Jamie, but I’m going up to the city for a leadership seminar tomorrow.”
Jamie stepped back. “You’ll be home in time for the concert, won’t you?”
“Um, that’s the thing. It’s a two-day seminar—”
“Sheryl.” Jamie’s disappointment changed to anger. “I bought those tickets for you.”
“I know, but I just found out about it this morning. The speaker’s a leader in the field.”
“It was supposed to be a date, Sheryl, where we focus on each other and not on business problems or promotions. I’m scared we’re drifting apart.” Jamie waited for Sheryl to come to her, wrap her arms around her and say, “Of course I’ll go to the concert with you.”
“We’re not drifting apart. We’re pursuing our goals.”
“You’ve been going to seminars for years. How does one more make any difference?” Her question came out harsher than she intended.
“Nice support.” Sheryl’s voice was clipped. She folded her arms across her stomach, and Jamie almost laughed at Sheryl’s attempt to look officious with no pants on. “After I get the promotion I won’t have to work so hard and we can do more things together. You’re the one who just got home.”
Jamie stared at Sheryl’s feet, at the nail polish that was a different color than it had been last week. How often did she get pedicures?
“We’re so close to getting—”
“Everything we want. I know.” Fatigue engulfed Jamie. Was she overreacting? Maybe the knowledge that her business wasn’t as solid as she’d thought was making her look for problems in her relationship that weren’t there.
“I’ll be home Sunday afternoon. Doing things separately lets us miss each other.” Sheryl kissed her cheek and took a sip from her glass.
Jamie nodded. They’d had too many opportunities to miss each other lately, but it wasn’t all Sheryl’s fault. “We’ll do a concert another time.”
“Come keep me company while I pack.”
Jamie stepped awa
y from Sheryl, away from the irritating perfume. “I’m going to barbecue.” She unwrapped the steaks. “Come join me if you want.”
“You know I don’t like being out there at night. Too many bugs.”
Jamie watched Sheryl walk away, resisting the urge to follow her. Don was right, and tonight she was going to take care of herself.
Chapter Eight
Carla sat in the boarding area waiting to see if she’d get a seat on the eight o’clock flight to San Diego. Her carry-on was on the seat next to her, a buffer against the middle-aged man in jeans and cowboy boots who looked like he wanted to engage her in conversation. He better not ask her if she was all right. If she hadn’t let Jamie into her life in another airport she wouldn’t be sitting in this one, an emotional wreck because she’d seen a picture of Jamie’s partner. The tousled, sun-bleached blond hair, those piercing blue eyes, the smiles on their faces. Of course Jamie would have a partner. Some start to her new life. Right back where she’d been twenty years ago—wanting someone she couldn’t have.
By the time she’d driven home she was crying one minute, then laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation the next. Thinking of Lissa was the only thing that calmed her. She’d changed into her favorite white blouse and new jeans, tossed some things in a bag, and scribbled a note to Mike: “Gone to visit the girls. Will call tomorrow.”
Could she find love again? Not unless she looked for it. The thought shriveled her. Any doubts she’d harbored over the years that she’d fallen in love with Jamie in a single night had been put to rest this week. That part of romantic comedies was true. But the picture of Jamie and her partner squelched any fantasies Carla had to admit she’d been encouraging. She wouldn’t have a second chance. She checked her watch and tucked the book into her purse, too keyed up to read. When her name was called she practically sprinted to the counter. She let out her breath when the woman handed her a boarding pass.
