“It’s been a lot, but I’m fine. Things will slow down in the fall and winter.”
“Jazz, you don’t know the meaning of slow down,” Amanda teased with a sigh, but there was a note of seriousness there too. Jasmine knew Amanda wanted to take on more responsibility, but it wasn’t as easy as that.
“You do a great job, Mandy, but I feel like I’m letting students down if I don’t show up. I know them, their issues, bad habits, goals, etc. It’s not that I don’t want you to take more classes, but maybe if you started taking new sign-ups, that would work better.”
“It wouldn’t lighten your load much.”
“But it would mean I don’t have to turn people away.”
“Good point. Okay, we can look at the schedule. Do you have many new students waiting for a spot?”
Talking as they walked in the warm August sunshine, Jasmine’s thoughts immediately went to Leo.
He hadn’t come by, as he said he would. No big surprise there. Once he realized she wasn’t an easy mark, he’d probably set his sights elsewhere.
“What was that?” Amanda said as they got in line for ice cream.
“What?”
“That face you made. Like you ate something sour.”
“Oh, nothing.” Jasmine waved it off. “Just when you mentioned new students, I was thinking about this guy who hit on me at the morning class today. What a tool. What a pickup story he had…”
Jasmine engaged in some healthy girl talk, telling Amanda about her conversation with Leo as they got their ice cream.
“Oh, that looks amazing,” Amanda said, eyeing the watermelon-chocolate chip cone Jasmine had ordered as she received and paid for her usual Turtle Sundae.
“My very favorite. Thanks for dragging me out.”
“Hmmm.” Amanda stared out into space as Jasmine finished the tale of Leo the amnesiac investment broker.
“Hmmm what?”
“You know, what you said about that guy rings a bell.”
“What? Sleazy guys trying to hit on us?” Jasmine joked, licking her ice cream.
“Well, that happens at least twice a day in tourist season,” Amanda agreed with a laugh. “But I meant the office shooter and the amnesia. I remember something about that in the news about a month or so ago. Several people were seriously injured, one woman died, that I recall. Security guards shot the guy before he could get anyone else. It caused a lot of discussion on Twitter and the net, since so many people think the investment brokers are basically villains, but no one deserves that.” She shook her head sadly. “I could swear they mentioned one of the victims having some kind of weird amnesia, but I can’t be sure.”
A little ripple of unease moved over Jasmine’s mind. Could Leo really have been telling the truth?
“He had a scar, but I don’t know if it was a bullet wound.”
“How many of those have you seen?” Amanda asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Point taken. Only on TV. But he was coming on to me, no doubt there.”
“You should probably trust your instincts. I need to do that too, where men are involved. Besides, the guy I read about pushed another person out of the way and that’s how he was injured. I don’t think that’s the kind of man who would make this up in order to score,” she said, shrugging. “But then again, who knows? Men can be jerks. Even ones you think are the good ones.”
Amanda’s long-term boyfriend had left her a month before, suddenly deciding that he wasn’t willing to settle down. Amanda wanted the house, kids, white picket fence, and he didn’t. Too bad he hadn’t saved her several years of thinking that was what they both wanted.
Jasmine nodded, but in her heart of hearts, doubt grabbed at her. The sadness and shadows in Leo’s eyes had been real.
She meditated on loving-kindness, a central tenant of her yoga practice, and she’d shown none of that to Leo. Even if he had been coming on to her, he wouldn’t be the first student who had done so. She could have easily redirected him toward a more positive interaction.
That was her job as a teacher. Her job as a human being was to have compassion and empathy. But for some reason, she’d reacted more strongly to him. Pushing him away. She’d let her old wounds dictate her response to him. Her old self, who was defensive and fearful of loss and hurt. But Leo couldn’t hurt her. No one could unless she let them.
“I have to get back for class. Thanks for the break—I feel much better. We can go over the schedule tomorrow?”
“Sure, that sounds good.”
“Okay, thanks.” Jasmine tossed her napkin into a sidewalk bin.
“Hey, Jazz?”
“Yeah?”
“Was he hot? You know, the amnesiac investment broker?”
Jasmine sighed and broke into a grin, shaking her head.
“Smokin’.”
“Well, if he comes back in, you can sign him up for one of my classes, then, since I’m taking over new sign-ups.” She left Jasmine chuckling as she made her way back to the studio.
Leo had returned to the beach house after talking to Jasmine, half-turned-on and half-pissed-off. It had been clear that she thought he was lying in an attempt to pick her up.
Who lied about an office shooting or being shot, or losing their memory? Did she really think he was that desperate to get laid?
Apparently so.
Ice had formed over her expression almost immediately, and she’d been clipped and cold when he mentioned having coffee. It appeared that along with losing his memory of his job, he’d also lost any ability to communicate with women.
He wouldn’t bother her again. He’d tried and failed, and he was going to leave it at that, or she’d think he was some kind of stalker.
He’d spent the rest of the morning working on the bookcase, but it wasn’t enough to relieve his agitation. He could take apart some of the toys in the kitchen—there was a box of old Tonka trucks and Matchboxes that he’d picked up that needed to be sanded down so he could repaint them. But that wasn’t an appealing prospect either.
It was after lunch, and his frustration grew until it was broken by the phone ringing.
Neal.
“How’s it going, Leo? You like the house?”
“The house is great. Gorgeous,” Leo said with more conviction than he felt. He was playing a part; with his memory loss, he didn’t know Neal any more than he knew anyone else at the office. Neal acted like his friend, and tried to help, but as time went on, Leo sensed Neal’s impatience. He wanted him back to work. Back to normal.
“That’s great. Any breakthroughs, yet?”
Leo pinched the bridge of his nose, but kept his tone calm and friendly. He so didn’t want to have this conversation right now.
“You’d be the first to know if there was.”
“Right. Listen, you know we’re taking on a new partner soon. I’ve kept your name in the running, but the sooner you can get back here, the better.”
No pressure. Right.
“Thanks. I appreciate you doing what you can, but—”
“I don’t know how much longer they’ll wait. There’s been nothing? You haven’t remembered anything at all?”
“Nope. Not a thing.”
“Huh. Okay. Listen, maybe if you emailed them or saw your doctor again, and let them know what you’re doing to make progress, that could help, or—”
It was like someone was pounding nails into his brain.
“Neal,” he said a little too loudly, commanding the other man’s silence. Then, more easily, “Neal, let me make this easy on you. I quit.”
Stunned silence was the reaction for a moment.
“What? Are you sure?”
Leo smiled. No argument from his so-called friend, not even an attempt to talk him out of it. That made him sure.
“Yeah. I am. I don’t know if my memory is ever coming back, and if it does, well, maybe we can talk again. Until then, you don’t have to cover for me anymore.”
“I guess that makes sense,” Neal said
, at least having the grace to sound somewhat regretful. “We’ll miss you around here, man. We already do. You can stay in the house, though, as long as you want. It’s not like I’m using it.”
“Thanks, Neal, but I’ll find my own place as soon as I can. I’ll be talking to you.”
They hung up, and Leo found his hand was shaking as he did so. Something huge had just happened, something devastating. Something inside him felt like it had broken.
Another part of him felt free. Like he was falling.
Was he stupid? Had he made the stupidest decision ever? Maybe.
Grabbing his sneakers, he headed down to the beach. He needed to move. He’d go crazy if he stayed inside, in his own head, for any longer.
Leo had no idea what was next. His life was a blank slate, and it was terrifying.
He started at a slow jog, working off some steam. It felt good, so he picked up the pace, running harder, letting the physical demands on his body push away the stress of the morning.
About a mile or so down, he was overheated and decided to stop, stripping his shirt off and wading into the water.
“Damn, that’s cold,” he muttered to himself, pausing briefly.
But he’d been raised on Long Island beaches where he’d swum in plenty of cold water. Taking a deep breath, he jumped in, head first, letting the icy dark of the Atlantic shock the heat from his body.
“Holy shit!” he exclaimed, surfacing about twenty feet out, choking on some salt water as a wave took him by surprise.
But it felt great. Maybe the shrinks were right about him gravitating to the water because it was where he felt comfort or pleasure, since this was the best he’d felt in a long time. And he knew that was true even before the shooting.
He missed this.
Not wanting it to end, he started swimming, cutting through the water in strong strokes, unsure when the last time was that he’d swum outside the pool at the gym.
Not for years. After his mother passed away, he sold the house and had no reason to go back to the beach. That he couldn’t remember much about the last few years, specifically, suggested that he didn’t do much other than work. Now that was all gone.
His mind wandered and Leo didn’t pay attention as his body tired. Out of nowhere, a sharp pain started shooting down his left arm. Not a heart attack, that he knew, but it got worse, even though he stopped to tread water.
He was maybe fifty yards from the shore, in deep water. Even in the numbingly cold water, his shoulder ached with a hot pain that left him gasping. Unable to keep himself afloat, he dipped below the surface and then pushed himself back up again.
Stay calm, he instructed himself, old habits taking hold. People who panicked in the water were the ones who died. His mother had drilled that lesson into his mind daily when he was a kid.
The pain didn’t pass, but his panic did, and he managed to turn himself around, easing into a weak sidestroke that was enough to bring him closer to shore—far away from where he started—as the longshore current dragged him. His feet finally landed on sand, where he could stagger out of the water.
“Hey, are you okay?”
Leo felt a hand on his sore shoulder and looked up to see two young people, a girl and a guy, staring at him in concern. He yanked his shoulder away and stumbled, falling back on the sand.
“I’m fine. No problem. Just overdid it,” he managed, wanting them to go away and stop staring at him.
When they didn’t leave, he waved them off.
“I said I’m fine.” He didn’t care that he sounded ungrateful and unfriendly. This time, they did back off.
Leo closed his eyes, feeling helpless, and hating it. He was fit, strong, young. Or he had been. Everything was different now.
As if to prove it wasn’t so, he pushed himself up and started walking, albeit slowly, back to the beach house, which was at least three miles away. His legs were shaking under him by the time he made it inside the sliding doors, his humiliation complete, if private. He peeled off his shorts and collapsed on the sofa, utterly exhausted and demoralized.
His shoulder ached like a raging bitch, the pain grabbing at his arm and chest, even reaching up the side of his head. Pushing up again, he went to the kitchen and found the pills he hadn’t touched since he’d gotten the prescription, and shook a few into his hand. He swallowed them dry and made his way back to the sofa. Eventually, sleep solved everything.
Chapter Three
Jasmine was ashamed of herself, and it wasn’t a feeling she was used to or happy about.
Back home after her classes, she’d eaten a small takeout dinner and had failed in resisting the compulsion to look Leo up on the internet. Sure enough, there it was.
The shooting, the funeral for the one person killed, and a story about Leo Fischer. Leo, in particular, was the focus of several articles since he had been hit by a bullet when he pushed another man out of the way.
He was a hero.
She’d treated him like pond scum.
Leo’s contact info on his business pages with his firm had been removed, probably to keep the press and other people from bothering him while he recovered. But his picture and his accomplishments were listed—all impressive, especially at his age.
But how did a person recover from something like that, exactly? Jasmine pondered the thought as she put the dishes in the sink.
Apparently, Leo’s brain thought it best to forget it all. Jasmine couldn’t blame him. She’d been through her own share of bad times, though nothing as terrible as what he’d gone through, and she sure wished she could forget some of it.
And here he was, alone—in the truest sense of the word, she figured. If he had family, wouldn’t he be with them?
He’d clearly been devoted to his success in the firm, and that had taken a central place in his life. She’d lived on the other side of that for seventeen years. Her father had been a virtual stranger to her, the man who supplied the money that paid for their life—until it had all crashed down around them.
Then when things had gone bad, he’d taken the coward’s way out, evading charges from the Securities and Exchange Commission, leaving her and her mother, effectively, with nothing.
Her mother had a nervous breakdown and moved in with her sister after a long, expensive hospitalization; after that, Jasmine moved on and built a new life.
Which was probably what Leo was trying to do, and she’d been cold. Suspicious and bitchy.
That she was tired and stressed or that she’d been hurt in the past were not excuses. She tried to model the yoga lifestyle and all of its principles for her students, and that meant showing kindness and compassion towards others.
The best way she knew to make up for her gaffe was to bake; it also eased her own stress. Pulling a bunch of ingredients from the cupboard, she went to work on some dried cranberry and dark-chocolate-chip oatmeal cookies—her own Cape Cod invention.
Slowly the aroma of the dough and the process of the baking calmed her mind, and when they were done, she arranged them in a basket, looking at the clock. It was only a little after eight in the evening—more than enough time to deliver some cookies—and an apology.
After a quick shower and a change of clothes, she headed back out to the car, stopping for a moment to take in the lovely evening. How long had it been since she had paused and noticed the world around her?
The roses were ripe on the bushes all along her clamshell driveway, their scent floating around her. Her house was only a ten-minute walk from the beach. Not quite close enough to hear the surf, but close enough for her to smell the salt that hung in the air.
The small cottage had been a find. It was a foreclosure that needed a lot of work, and she’d picked it up for a song. Over the years, she’d worked on renovating it as she could. When she’d bought it seven years before, there had been less money, but more time. She’d gone to auctions, garage sales, and had learned a lot about remodeling. It was fun.
It had been a while since she�
�d done anything to the house, though. Time was in short supply these days. She stood looking at the paint peeling on the edges of the porch and the torn screen in one window. She could at least fix up these small things before winter, she vowed.
Walking by her car, she shoved her keys back in her bag. Leo’s beach house was only a short distance down the beach, and it had been a while since she’d been out for a walk in the evening. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone for a swim.
Never mind that.
She’d done well; her business was thriving, and she’d built a stable platform for her future. No one would ever pull the rug out from under her again, like her father had done. Jasmine made her own life, and it was a good one. She just had to balance her time a little more.
Heck, maybe she could actually afford to hire someone to fix the screen and the porch for her, she thought with a satisfied smile.
As she made her way to the beach house, she frowned as she noticed no lights were on. Maybe Leo was out.
Climbing up the back steps to the deck, she peered inside the sliding glass doors—there was one light on inside, though everything was quiet. She knocked.
No response.
Knocking again, she pulled at the door, and it slid open easily. Something blocked her view—a mammoth bookcase was in the middle of the room, newspapers spread out all around it, sandpaper and some tools lying on the floor.
Leo’s?
“Leo? It’s Jasmine, from the yoga class. Are you home? Hello?” she called inside. Seconds later, she heard his footsteps before she saw him turn the corner.
“Leo?”
He looked like hell. Shirtless, in only his boxer shorts, his hair was a mess, and he stared at her like he didn’t know who she was.
“I’m Jasmine, we met this morning,” she said awkwardly, wondering if she’d overestimated her place in his memory.
“Right, sorry.” He spoke sluggishly and looked down as if realizing he was wearing only his underwear.
Bending Over Backwards Page 2
