by K. J. Dahlen
T.R. walked up with a tray carrying mugs, a bowl, and a blanket."
"Got you some fruit." He pulled a table over next to her chair. "That’s always good late at night. You probably didn’t eat dinner."
"How did you know?"
He lifted the blanket and wrapped it around her. "This will help." He set her mug and bowl on the table with a fork and napkin.
"I don’t know how to respond." Her voice hesitated. "I’m not used to being waited on."
"But you need it with all the stress in your job." He sat back in a chair beside her and looked back at the building.
"Let me know if that music gets loud. There’s only so much you can do with a cleaning crew from college."
He looked over. Her hands folded in her lap. But her eyes were closed. And her breathing was steady.
T.R. lifted both and set them on the table. Then he sat back and watched the water in silence.
~ * ~
Movement. Quiet swaying. That’s what Sara felt. Water sounds washed up against the pilings with the cry of sea gulls in the distance. She rolled over and tucked the blanket up around her chin and then opened her eyes.
The horizon was light colored. She was still on the deck. A tray sat next to her with a pot of coffee, bowl of fruit and cereal, glass of orange juice and a note.
Please forgive me for not waking you up. You were sleeping so softly. Enjoy the breakfast. I’ll be back soon.
She threw off the blanket and grabbed the orange juice.
"What time is it?" she wondered out loud and pulled the cell phone from her pocket. "6:55…A voice repeated the numbers within like a shout. SIX-FIFTY-FIVE! I have appointments at 8:00.
She stood up and pulled a hand through her hair. No time to head home. She swore. No time for a shower. No time to get ready.
She grabbed the coffeepot and poured a cup and started to drink it fast, then coughed. That’s what I hate about this profession. No time for myself. And everyone waiting for--my help.
She rushed for the car then started back and lifted the note from the table. She folded it in her pocket and left as she rubbed her eyes and fumbled for her keys. The radio came on in her car as she started it.
"We’re back on the morning drive with Phil and Lynn," the announcer explained. "We’ve got T.R. Stallion back for day two in his experiment."
"Glad to be here," he said. "I want to start off with a big thanks."
"For who?" Lynn asked.
"Dr. Sara Aspen."
Sara stopped her car in the parking lot. She looked at the radio dial.
"She’s a wonderful lady," T.R. said. "Last night was an incredible experience."
"Well…" Lynn drew out her words. "Sounds like there’s something behind that comment."
"There is," T.R. added. "We had an unexpected problem on the show last night. Sara, I mean Dr. Aspen handled it with professionalism and concern."
Phil sighed. "Well thanks for sharing that," he paused.
T.R. continued. "If you’re listening now, Dr. Aspen, you got my vote."
Sara smiled as she slowed at the driveway and stopped before pulling out in traffic. Cars approached from both directions at a fast rate.
"But what’s the clue for today?" Phil asked. "We’ve got ladies out there waiting."
"Yeah," T.R. answered. "Today it’s kindness. I’ll be waiting for some help in that."
Sara tried to ease out and slammed on brakes. A line of cars wouldn’t let her start.
"Give me a break!" she shouted. "I need a bathroom." She looked in the rearview mirror. Her make up was smeared. "Can’t believe I slept outside." She glanced at the road again and gunned out into the line of cars. "There’s not even time to change clothes…"
Her secretary was looking down when she walked in. "Good morning, doctor." She then looked up. "Wow. What happened to you?"
"Long story. Any calls?"
The woman had long blond hair and a peach colored shirt under a jacket. "No offense, but did you sleep in your clothes?"
Sara took a deep breath. "Who’s on the list today? I’m not in any mood for anything strange."
"Well," the secretary looked down and then bit her lip, "we’re starting with--Jeffery."
"No, please…" Sara rested her head on the counter. "I can’t take much more of this." She looked at the clock and then down at the schedule. "Who put him first on the list?"
"You did."
"Why would I do that?…" She closed her eyes.
The secretary looked at the door across the hall as if into the next office. "You can always refer to--Dr. Wilson."
"No, Bret has enough problems of her own." She paused. "Okay, send him back when he gets here."
Sara walked slowly into her office then looked back. "I fell asleep on a dock. Long story."
Jeffery arrived ten minutes later. Sara was at her desk and tried to wipe the make up out of her eyes. He walked in with large glasses, dress pants, and a bow tie. His hair was bright red and stood up. His shirt was dark blue.
Sara pointed at the chair. "How are you?"
He looked over his glasses. "Forget me. What happened to you?"
"Long story." She opened his folder. "How was your week?"
No answer.
"Come on, Jeff." She scanned the page. "We’ve been working on your tongue issues."
"You’re looking at my tongue now."
"No, I’m not."
"I can see your eyes."
"Jeff, I can’t see straight. It was a long night."
"I see."
Sara paused to read the notes in front of her. "We had some homework for you."
"Didn’t do it."
"You’ve been complaining about your girlfriend. It seems you can’t go out anymore because of the fears."
Jeff leaned closer. "They’re all the same. They stare at my tongue."
Sara felt her jaw tighten. "Let’s look at that."
"MY TONGUE!"
"No, your assumptions."
He leaned in and widened his eyes. "It’s coming back on me." His jaw locked down, lips opening over the clenched teeth. "I can’t force this."
"Would it help if I turned away? I’m not looking at your tongue. How about if I face the window and you can talk without any worries?"
She spun in her chair and sighed as she scanned the city below, river winding like a ribbon, sea gulls in flight over a fishing boat heading in.
He’s out there. We’ll talk again tonight.
"Well, to start with…" Jeff had a shrill tone, "I don’t like anchovies."
"What does that have to do with anything?"
He bunched up his fingers in front of his face. Sara could see it in the reflection of the window.
"I hate them on pizza. They squirm with their little rotten eyes looking up at you…"
Please God, she prayed, you’ve got to help me today. It’s getting to me.
"So, I’m sitting there with Janice," Jeff continued. "She’s my girlfriend. And she orders this strange combination of toppings on a pizza. I felt like hurling on the spot. But I looked out at the window and Janice was starring at my tongue. Really."
"WHAT IS IT ABOUT YOUR FRIGGING TONGUE?" Sara spun in the chair. "REALLY! GET OVER IT MAN."
Jeff sat without movement. "You okay today?"
She threw her pen down. "No." Her hands shook as she shut his folder. "So, I’m going to suggest something very unprofessional."
Jeff didn’t move.
Sara stood up. "Stick out your tongue."
"You serious?"
She leaned across the desk and gritted her teeth. "DO IT!"
He swallowed hard and stuck the tip out half an inch.
"More."
He pointed the rest at her.
She raised her eyebrows, eyes wide open. "Was that so bad?"
"No." He kept the tongue out.
"You’re still breathing--right."
He nodded, tongue flapping.
"OKAY THEN." Sara began to soften. "
This is not the issue." She stood up and started out. "I’ve got to get some coffee, Jeff. Want some?"
He shook his head. The tongue was still out.
The secretary had a phone in her hand and lifted it at her as Sara passed. "For you."
Sara covered the mouthpiece. "Anything fresh in the coffee pot?"
"No."
Her face squinted again. She lifted the phone. "Dr. Aspen. Can I help you?"
"Yeah." It was T.R.
"Well, hello… stranger."
"Please forgive me for calling you at work."
"I heard that comment on the show this morning." She smiled.
"I meant every word of it."
"Say, are you going to be in the studio tonight?"
"Listen, I know you’re busy, but I’ve got to ask you something."
Sara leaned on the counter and covered the phone, one eye back at the office door where Jeff waited. "What is it?"
"There’s this girl."
"Oh."
"Just met her."
Sara exhaled with a lean forward. "How nice."
"I’m head over heels, but can’t bring myself to--tell her. I just get caught up in knots."
"Well… there’s a lot we could work on. I’ve got a patient waiting on me. A…what’s her name?"
"You’d love her."
"That so?"
His voice dropped. "I’m sorry to interrupt your work. This is so new for me. I’ve been single all along and…" He stopped. "Can I talk with you about this later?"
"Yeah," she whispered. "Sure. I’d like to get your perspective on someone I met recently."
"Really."
"Just happened." She put her hand up to her head. "It’s crazy but I don’t even know his name."
"Where did you meet him?"
"This café at the river. I think he owns the place. Every time I’ve been there he goes out of his way to be so thoughtful."
"Lucky man," T.R. whispered. "What would you like my input on?
"What goes through your mind when you first meet people."
"Sounds good."
"Is that the sense you get when you write?"
"Sometimes," he said. "I’d be glad to talk about it later."
"Stop by the station tonight," she stopped. "I’ve been wanting to meet you. I’ve got this mental picture after our conversations."
"I’ll be with the girl… but thanks."
"You’re still calling, though--right? You do plan to link up during the show."
"Wouldn’t miss it."
"Well, thanks for calling." She hung up the phone and felt a deep sense of tiredness that moved throughout her head and body. It was like the current of a river. And it didn’t stop throughout the day until she opened the front door of her own condo and looked in.
~ * ~
"Neil…." She looked into the living room. It was spotless with new leather furniture, silver framed modern pictures, and large glass doors that opened onto a porch that faced the city and river in the distance.
The condo was on the ground floor with a small backyard that dropped in a slight slope with a view without fencing. Harwood groves scattered down the slope toward the city like a ribbon of yellow and orange. Autumn was picking up speed with the sound of leaves falling, scattering and scraping like brown snow.
Sara released the lock on the glass door and slid it open. "NEIL!"
A slight breeze entered the room. It smelled like hickory and oak. She took a deep breath and turned. The cat stuck his head around the corner of her bedroom.
He moved closer, tail up and twitching. The cat was white with long fur and an awareness that saved him from encounters with dogs outside.
"Hey, Bud," she leaned down and scratched the back of his ears. "Sorry, I’ve been gone."
She lifted the cat and moved into the kitchen with a glance at the floor. "Look at you…. out of food and almost," she lifted the water bowl and poured it out in the sink, "out of water."
She filled it and opened the cabinet where she reached in and scooped out some dry food. Sara filled his dish and set it down while she walked into the bedroom and started to unbutton her shirt.
The cat watched her movements from the kitchen as he dipped his head into the food bowl and began to eat. Sara went into the bedroom, opening and closing drawers then turned on the shower. The cat continued to eat but glanced up as he chewed.
The glass door was still open in the living room.
Chapter Six
T.R. was at the café. He wore khaki dress pants and a blue knit shirt. A large box sat open on the counter as he lifted several containers inside: plastic mugs of coffee, bowls of salad, wrapped sandwiches. The fry cook watched him with both arms crossed over his chest and a spatula in one hand.
"You’re not acting like yourself," the cook said.
"As in?"
He pointed a spatula at the box. "Pic-nic?"
"What’s wrong with that?" T.R. closed the box. "She’s too busy to cook a meal. Why not drop one by?"
"You media people crack me up." The cook lifted a hand, removed his paper hat, and ran his fingers across his gray hair. "Here the woman’s got a radio show and you show up with--goodies."
T.R. lifted the box and looked back. "Do me a favor, okay? Turn on that radio in the kitchen. Listen while you work. You just might learn something."
The cook nodded with a smile that turned into a head shake. He started back into the kitchen. "Whatever."
T.R. placed the box in the front of his truck. Bob was in the back, tail wagging, mouth open, eyes alert.
"No," T.R. looked back. "You’ve been fed already."
He climbed in and started up. The voices inside his head were already talking as if in conversation with Sara.
Wow, thanks for the meal!
It was nothing, really.
You’re so thoughtful.
Well, I’ve been thinking about you.
There was one car in the radio station parking lot when T.R. arrived. He got out and lifted the box as he walked in, eyes scanning the windows.
