Page 7 of Physical Therapy

FIVE

Boe

“Like hell, I’m going back for four sessions, Clara.” Mobile phone clutched to my ear, I pace the small space in front of my office desk. “How fucked up does she think I am?”

“All I’m saying,” she argues, “is that you might find the sessions useful, if not for your aggression, maybe to iron out some other kinks.”

“Like what,” I bark. “What things do I need to ‘iron out’?”

She sighs down the line. “Your tendency to believe everyone is against you, for starters.”

“It keeps me sharp at work.”

“It keeps you paranoid.”

I grunt and stop pacing.

“Also, your fear of commitment.”

Oh, now she’s lost it. I burst into laughter, finding my way back to my chair so that I can get my breath back. “Do you even know me, sis?”

“Of course I do. It’s you who doesn’t know himself,” she retorts. I’ve clearly pissed her off. “I need to go and organize lunch for these monkeys, Boe. Just go. Humor me.”

The smile slides from my face. “I’ll give her the mandated two. Then I’ll decide.”

“I guess some is better than none. Behave.” She disconnects with the cry of her twins in the background.

We’re poles apart, Clara and I, and yet we’re closer than most siblings are. She pursued the traditional role of mother and wife, content with filling in her days with craft projects and housekeeping. Whereas I barely lost the school uniform before I was on the street canvassing for my first job in sales.

I’m a talker. A manipulator and a greaser. I know how to turn a good person bad, and how to have the most cautious of customers loosen their purse strings.

I’m good at what I do because I don’t give a fuck. Uh-huh. Use your retirement fund or your kids’ inheritance, I really don’t care. As long as your name is on the bottom of that contract and mine is in the commission section, then we’re peaches and cream.

My phone creates a gentle swishing sound as I spin it beneath my palm on the leather surface of my desk. The uninviting lines of my latest pitch stare back at me from the screen of my laptop. I should be delving back into the best way to convince a retiree investment club to sink two hundred thousand into a new apartment development on the waterfront. Instead, my gaze drifts across to the gold embossed card that arrived in today’s office mail.

Four appointments, all a week apart. And all at ten in the goddamn morning.

It’s as though Doctor Edith couldn’t resist riling me up. Perhaps this is part of her plan? Go out of her way to anger me whenever and wherever she can to prove a point. Little does she know, though, I have a plan of my own.

With one flick of my wrist, I send the phone skidding over the desk until it collides with the side of a thick binder. My chair slides across the floor, fingertips on the laptop keyboard before the wheels have had a chance to dig into the carpet and bring me to a stop. The document containing my pitch shrinks down to the dock, a new browser window soon in its place.

Edith Potts. Not exactly the most common of names. This should be a breeze.

“Johanssen!”

Fuck. I glare out from beneath my brow. “What do you need, Rogers?”

The cheesy fucker swings into my open doorway. Fuck this place and the open-door policy. Any deal done behind closed doors is a deal not worth doing, or so our goddamn founder says.

“We’re arranging a few birthday brewskis for Susan, this Friday. Keep an eye out for the memo.”

“Sure.” Brewskis. Who the fuck still calls them brewskis? I release a sigh and straighten in my seat. “Did you need something else?”

Most days, I don’t mind Rogers. He’s a nice kid. A little green around the ears, but a few more years fighting for his commission will knock that right out of him. But today isn’t most days, and when I can see the face of the woman I hunt staring back at me from fifth in the search results, I’d rather he cut to the goddamn chase.

“Here’s the thing.” His hands slap together in front of him as he takes a step into my cramped office. Fuck. This could take a while. “I’m not sure if you’d heard, but Kendra and I have been seeing each other for a few weeks now.”

I draw a deep breath and recline a little. “No. I hadn’t heard.” But then again, I stopped following who was fucking who in our office when the lines became more tangled than an incestuous family tree.

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