by Amber Foxx
“Slow down. We’re just exploring.” Gorman’s voice was soft but firm. “Take some time with your breath.”
Jamie closed his eyes and put a hand to his belly. The extra weight was reassuring now. The opposite of a sign of cancer. And though Ezra had dreamed him thinner, he’d dreamed him as the Vitruvian man. Balance and order personified.
When he had calmed down, Jamie opened his eyes. “Sorry. Not supposed to apologize for my feelings. But that scared me. Anything wrong in my body freaks me out.” He shuddered “Even feeling my heartbeat, y’know? Had a panic attack in Mae’s hot spring. Makes my heart and my head go funny. And I used to like it.”
Gorman let this statement sit a while.
Jamie wondered if his heat intolerance was a sign of illness. Stop it. You’re fat. Of course heat bothers you. “Fuck. I’m getting into the spin cycle. Everything’s a symptom. Turning into a hypochondriac.”
“You’ve been having more panic attacks lately. I’d like you to make sure there’s nothing physical behind it. You should see your doctor. Especially if the fatigue doesn’t clear up. You don’t need another source of anxiety.”
Will someone please not tell me to see her? Jamie jammed his hat onto his knee. Since when did Dr. G give advice? He never did that. “Nah. Not seeing her. I can’t have some serious illness. The last two years of my life have been one disaster after another. Any more would be statistically impossible, like lightning striking the same place ten times.”
Gorman leaned back, fingers interlaced, his rings clicking a few times, then got up, opened a desk drawer, and drew out some pages. “This stress scale might give us some insights. Take a moment to fill it out.”
He handed Jamie two papers, a clipboard, and a pencil. The paper was an inventory of life events with boxes to check off. Jamie noticed Gorman had given him two copies and started to hand back the spare.
The doctor didn’t take it. “It’s designed to cover one year. I’d like you to cover the last two years and get a score for each.”
Annoyed, Jamie filled out both surveys. He’d already told Gorman all the crap that had happened. It wasn’t like he’d left anything out. The long string of bad stuff and the good as well. Whoever had designed the stress scale didn’t seem to think anything was good. Even travel was a stressor. Which it was for Jamie, but some people did it for fun. Vacation was on the list. Not that Jamie and Mae’s vacation over the fourth of July had gone well, but most vacations were pleasant, weren’t they? Jamie handed the sheets back to Gorman.
The doctor scanned them. “You didn’t add up your scores.”
“Sorry.” Jamie read forms badly. Something about grids and squares made his brain stall out. “Didn’t know I was supposed to.”
“A high score often correlates with a higher risk of illness.” Gorman tallied the numbers, set his pencil down and regarded Jamie with—what was that look? Concern? Compassion? “Statistically, with scores like these ... I’m not saying you’re sick, or that you will be sick ...”
Gorman’s voice faded into the bottom of a well, echoing, drowned out by the pounding of Jamie’s heart and his struggle for breath. No. Sierra could not be right.
Chapter Eight
The children were having a rare quiet time, drawing. To Mae’s relief, they hadn’t mentioned her gift or tried to be psychic themselves since they’d gotten back. Oblivious to the fact that they had terrified Jamie’s birds as well as his cat, the girls had a new obsession: parrots. Observing their art off and on while she did a strength workout, Mae tried to figure out a plan for one more visit with Jamie before he left at the end of the week. Have him come to T or C? Bring the girls to Santa Fe? Go there for one night without them? None of the options was quite right.
Brook slid a picture across the floor so Mae could study it while doing pushups.
“I want to give it to Jamie,” Brook said. Her art portrayed a cross between his hyacinth macaw and a feathered T-Rex.
“Is that Bouquet?”
“No, it’s her ancestor. Dinosaurs had feathers.”
The fact was so odd and random, it was like something Jamie would say. “You’ll have to tell him that. He’ll think it’s cool.”
“Will he let us play with the parrots?”
“Maybe.” The twins were used to roughhousing with Hubert’s parents’ dogs and would need to learn how to behave around more sensitive pets. “But you’ll have to be patient.”
Mae switched to T-pushups, alternating between a pushup and a side plank. Stream waved a new picture at her. “I drew us with Jamie.”
Mae held the side plank and admired the art, which Stream had turned sideways to match Mae’s position. “That’s sweet. It’ll mean a lot to him.”
The drawing showed two absurdly tall adults and two monkey-like dancing children. Stream’s version of Mae bordered on a cartoon superwoman, and Jamie was also exaggerated, the width of his shoulders and the wildness of his hair making him look like a petroglyph shaman.
“When will we see him again?” Stream prodded as Mae resumed the exercise.
“I need to figure that out. He has a show in Santa Fe Thursday, and then he leaves on tour Friday.” Originally, Mae had planned for the twins to stay with Niall and Marty for one night, while she would go to Santa Fe Thursday. However, now that the girls had met Jamie and liked him so much, she was reluctant to go without them. And she didn’t really want to be away from them, either. “I’ll have to talk to him and figure out some plans.”
Mae finished her set and picked up a dumbbell to do bent-over rows. A pleasant memory surfaced, the children playing at lifting weights with toy dumbbells while Mae and Hubert used their old yard-sale workout equipment. “Do you still do exercises with Daddy?”
“Uh-huh.” Brook looked up from drawing. “Sometimes. Jen doesn’t do it with us, though.”
“She gets a free membership at Health Quest with her job. Reckon she likes to use it.”
“Yeah. She wanted Daddy to join. He tried it out once but he said it wasn’t worth the money. They argue about money.”
Not a good sign. Mae hoped Hubert and Jen had gotten that issue settled before their marriage. Marrying too fast, though, was something they’d both done more than once. Mae had married her first husband straight out of high school, a smart but troubled young man, a heavy drinker she thought she could help. At twenty she left him and soon connected with Hubert, whose first wife had taken off, leaving him with infants to raise. Mae had fallen in love with the twins as well as Hubert. As soon as both their divorces were final, they’d married again.
Brook resumed drawing. “Does Jamie do exercises with you?”
“No. He’d rather take yoga classes. It helps him calm down.”
“Granma Sallie does yoga,” Stream said. “She taught us some poses. We could do yoga with Jamie.”
“That’d be nice. Y’all could calm down together.”
Mae completed her workout and went into her bedroom to call Jamie, reminding the girls to stay inside while she was on the phone unless Niall came to work on the deck. They hadn’t tried hiding again, but she didn’t want to chance it.
Jamie was breathless when he answered.
“You okay, sugar?” Mae sat on the bed.
“Yeah, just got off my bike. Heading into Yoga Space for my private lesson. Working on my tour yoga plan.”
“Is this not a good time to talk?”
“Nah, perfect. I’m early. It’s convenient after Gorman, y’know? Off the same side of St. Michael’s. I’m sitting in the Zen garden. Lying on a rock, actually. Was going to just process therapy but I’d rather talk to you. A man can only tolerate so much introspection.”
She suspected Jamie’s tolerance for silent introspection was pretty low. He had to talk to think things through. “You still planning to Skype Dr. Gorman while you’re on tour?”
“Yeah, got it all worked out. Weekly appointment. As long as I don’t mess up with the time zones.” He let out a long exhalation.
“Jeezus. Scary, when I think about it. I’ll be unmoored.”
“Not really. You’ll be further off, but you’ll still be connected to everybody. It won’t be like your last tour. You’re in a much better place now. Your new van, therapy, yoga—you’ll be safer and feel better. And that kind of bad luck can’t hit you twice.”
“Yeah, it can. Look at my fucking biography. I’m a trauma magnet. And ... shit. Nah. Not going there.”
A warning bell went off in Mae’s mind. “Not going where?”
“Nothing. You’re right. Can’t have that kind of bad luck twice. I’ll have Gasser with me and we’ll be fine. Be nice having you see me off, too.”
“That’s what I called about.” Mae wondered why he’d dodged the topic of bad luck, but she put the question on hold and focused on the first order of business. “The young’uns really want to see you again.”
“Love to see them, too. But ... um, my guest room’s not the best. Ezra doesn’t complain, but that futon is hard as a rock. He’s sort of padded, but your girls are skinny. I should have put a proper bed in there but I never thought I’d actually have guests, y’know? It was just a room.”
“Sugar, don’t worry about the futon. It’s too soon for us all to stay together like a family.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Mae wished she’d phrased the problem differently. Though they’d only been dating for a few months, Jamie had already mentioned marriage, and she was far from ready. She added, “They’re going through a lot of adjustments with Jen and Hubert getting married, and they’ve only met you once.”
“My last night before I leave and you’re not sleeping with me? It doesn’t feel right.”
“I wish we could, but if we can’t, we can’t. We’ll have lots of nights together when you get back in October, but I won’t see Brook and Stream again ’til Christmas.”
“Yeah. Sorry. Jeezus, I was whining. You’re right. Just feeling a little ... insecure.”
“You’re such a warm, loving person, sugar. There’s nothing for you to be insecure about. Not with me. I love you.”
At the sound of voices in the backyard—Niall and a neighbor arriving to work on the deck—the twins came scurrying into the bedroom. They barely paused at the back door. Turning the knob, Brook said, “You told us we could go out if Niall came.”
“Yes, go ahead. But don’t get in the way.”
“No. We’ll help.”
They dashed outside and Mae headed into the living room to see if they had picked up their art projects. They hadn’t. Maybe they meant to come back to them. She resumed her conversation with Jamie. “What was it you started to say about bad luck? It wasn’t about Sierra and your karma, was it?”
“Not exactly. Just catastrophizing, y’know? Had to switch gears. I don’t have bad luck anymore. I’ve got you, right? Makes me the luckiest man in the world.”
“I’m lucky to have you, too.”
Mae sat on the floor with the children’s pictures. The twins saw through Jamie’s anxiety to the kindness and the joy in him, and they brought out that side of his nature. “How would you feel about me and the girls staying at the Sage Inn?” The motel on the corner of Don Diego and Cerrillos was within a couple of minutes’ walk of Jamie’s apartment. “We could see you in the afternoon, go to your concert, and then I’d let the girls stay up a little late and visit some more. Or you could come to T or C Wednesday and spend the day with us and stay with Niall and Daddy, if that’s better.”
Silence.
“Jamie?”
“Dunno.” His voice sagged. “You decide.”
“You sound kinda moody. Was therapy hard?”
He snort-laughed. “Is it ever easy? Come Thursday. I’d love to see Niall and Marty, but I’ll be driving for two months starting Friday. Don’t think I can stand an extra drive.”
“Fine. We’ll come up, then. The young’uns have never slept in a motel before. It’ll be an adventure.”
Jamie agreed to the plan, and they wrapped up the call. Mae lay on the bed, wishing she could hold him close. He’d come through his moody spell and his disappointment about their sleeping arrangements, and she was proud of him for it. Every small step toward mental health and balance, toward discovering the strength she knew he had at heart, gave her hope that he would not only survive on his tour but thrive.
*****
Motels, an adventure? Jamie hated motels. He changed into his yoga clothes in the studio’s bathroom, avoiding himself in the mirror. The fitted shorts and tank top did more for his sense of humor than his self-esteem. At least in his motel rooms he could wear anything comfortable, practice yoga in his underwear, and no one would see him. The loneliness of that prospect bothered him, though. Two months with no classmates, no teacher. Jeezus. Stop whining. Touring is your job.
He emerged into the quiet, slate-floored lobby and put his street clothes in a cubby. Gwen was behind the counter doing something on the computer. She was a thin, freckled woman in her mid-forties with straight brown hair pulled up in a messy bun from which strands poked out like weeds. Inexplicably radiant as usual, she looked up with a smile. He was going to miss her. Not just her classes, but her presence, her inner peace. If I was a healer, I’d need to be like Gwen.
“I e-mailed you the basic structure for your personal practice,” she said. “So you won’t spend this class stressed out about memorizing. We can focus on form and breath. Are you ready?”
“Yeah.” He took a ponytail holder from the basket on the counter and collected his hair in a fuzzy wad at the nape of his neck. “I could use some breath. You’d think a singer would know how to breathe, y’know? But when I’m not onstage, I tense up.”
In the studio, they worked on basic asanas and attention to how his breathing interacted with each. Gwen, as always, had him sustain the poses for longer than he would ever make himself do it, while paying attention to the sensation of his muscles, bones, and joints. Challenging though it was, it calmed his mind. Until his body ceased to cooperate.
“Sorry, need to lie down. My legs are shaking.”
“Of course. That was a long standing series.”
Jamie lay on his mat, damp with sweat. “I shouldn’t be that weak. Jeezus. I’ve been doing this for five months now.”
“Relax. Give yourself time to recover. Sometimes too much coffee or not enough food can make that happen.”
“I always have too much coffee. And I never have too little food.” Not anymore. There hadn’t been a place on Gorman’s stress survey for being so broke you only ate once a day. A year ago that had been Jamie’s situation. Had he felt worse back then than he did now? Better? He’d been in too much psychological chaos to be sure how he felt physically, but Jamie recalled that he’d been in better shape. Had more endurance. Of course, he’d been forty pounds thinner then.
Gwen sat cross-legged. “Were you breathing?”
“Think so. Dunno. I heard you telling me to.”
She waited for him to feel better, then guided him into some more relaxing poses, during which he remembered to breathe. The shakiness faded. Did I just have a panic attack during yoga? How could his panic disorder be getting worse when he was doing all the right things to get better? It was like his body was refusing to listen to his mind. What had Gorman said? Make sure there’s nothing physical behind it. You should see your doctor. The thought made Jamie want to cry for some reason. He closed his eyes and focused on the feeling of the pose, the tug of a gentle stretch in his right hamstring as he held his leg up in a strap.
Gwen said, “Relax your face, your tongue, your throat. Notice if your hands are choking the strap. Just hold it. Keep some energy in both legs to hold the knees straight and the spine neutral ... Put the effort where it helps and let it go where it’s just tension.”
He did as she said and a layer of unnecessary gripping in his muscles released. Though he didn’t stretch further, he felt as if he’d been given a new leg, longer and lighter. His neck was softer, his breath fre
er. When Gwen told him to change legs, he didn’t want to. But the flow of prana, the life force, wasn’t broken by the movement. For the rest of his lesson, gentle though it was, his energy flowed.
At the end, he embraced Gwen. “Thank you. That saved me. You have no idea.”
She gave him a quizzical look as he let go.
“Been so bloody tired I was starting to think I was sick. But I was just that tense.” Tension crept up and he let it go again. “I finally got it. How to actually relax.” A smile took over his face, a smile so wide it almost hurt. “I’m all right. There’s nothing wrong with me. I just need to breathe. I’m all right.”
Jamie glided into his manager’s office at her day job, carrying a bouquet. Absorbed in a phone call with a customer who apparently needed placating, she acknowledged him and the flowers with a quick smile and kept talking. The graceful young Chinese-American woman wore a simple sleeveless black dress, revealing tattooed arms. Her new asymmetrical hairstyle, curving to chin-length on one side, virtually shaved on the other, was more sedate than her prior style, but she still looked out of place in the setting. Wendy Huang worked in mid-level management at one of Santa Fe’s best downtown hotels, its décor a mixture of Spanish Colonial and Pueblo Revival. She wanted to work full time with musicians, managing careers, booking tours, finding and nurturing new talent, but she still had only a few clients. A year ago, Jamie had become her first.
He whispered, “Nice hairdo,” as he placed the vase on her desk and gave the lilies and carnations a minor adjustment.
Wendy mouthed thank you, then said into the phone, “We’ll have a new room ready for you. With one night free.” She finished the call and blew out a breath, then came around the desk to give Jamie a hug. “What’s the occasion for the flowers?”
“Anniversary.”
“Has it been a year?”
“Yeah. Year ago today. I’d still be starving if not for you.”
Wendy grinned and looked him over. “So ... this is my fault?”
