Page 24 of Opening Strain

“Bennett, I heard about your movie. Seems like your band has done something worthwhile for a change.”

My blood pressure rises, this time not from physical therapy. “UC’s done a lot of good things throughout the years. The movie was fantastic, though.”

“That girl, Quinn, seems to be getting lots of good press. She must be a bloody magician, considering what she had to work with.”

This is why I shouldn’t have picked up her call. Unfortunately, the memory of Dad pleading for me to take care of her always wins. Always. I change the subject. “How are you doing? Everything all right in New Jersey?”

“Oh, it’s okay here. Ramona is a bit of a nudge, but tolerable.”

At least this is good news. She needs to get along with the people around her. “Good to hear it. Try any new recipes lately?” The only thing Mom ever enjoyed is cooking. Dad used to give her a new recipe every morning, which usually made her smile. My tactic is rewarded when she goes off about three new dishes she prepared.

“All your talk about food has my stomach rumbling.” No joke. I need to get food STAT.

“I would give you some of these delicious potato pancakes if you were even in my state.” She pauses. “What stateareyou in, Bennett?”

“New York. I’m out in the Hamptons.”

“Oh,” she scoffs. “La-di-da.”

“It’s off-season, Mom. Not many people are out here.”

“Which means you have a mansion all to yourself. Plus the two, three, or five scantily dressed women waiting on you hand and foot.”

I suck in the air of my cozy rental. Not a single other person here with me, but I don’t correct her. Why bother? “It’s quiet out here. Relaxing. Good for my recovery.”Shit. Why the hell did I say that? I jump in, “I mean, it’s good for me to rest before the UC tour starts in a couple of weeks.”

“Recovery?” Of course she picked up on that word. “Are you in rehab for drugs? Alcohol?”

Fuck. Amazing how her mind would gothere. “Mom, I’m clean.”

“Ramona won’t let me live this down. My son is addicted to illegal substances. How could you do this to me?”

Ramona won’t believe her. Probably not. Will she?Fuck me. There’s no way out of this but to come clean. “Mom, calm down.”

“‘Calm down?’ How dare you tell me to ‘calm down?’”

I need to divert her attention before she gains a full head of steam. “I pulled a muscle and need physical therapy.”

Her tirade stops. I let her process what I told her. “You’re in therapy?”

My shoulders slump. “Physical therapy. We’ve kept it out of the press, so please don’t share this information.”

“If your sister were here, she wouldn’t have done something so stupid as to pull a muscle. Then go off to the sticks for therapy.”

I sigh. Here we go again. “The Hamptons are anything but ‘the sticks.’” I correct the only part of her statement I can. I don’t have the energy to deal with the rest. My stomach protests and provides me an excuse to end this farce of a conversation. “I need to eat, Mom. Remember, don’t tell anyone where I am. Or what I’m doing.”

“Your secret’s with me.” She disconnects the call.

I pick up the fact she didn’t add the word “safe.” I send up a prayer my injury will remain under the press’s radar. To divert my thoughts, I order food delivery and finish my bottle of water. My body lets me know I also need to use the bathroom.

Under my breath, I mutter, “Please don’t let this be as painful as talking with Mom,” and I stand. My steps are easier than before, and I make quicker work of this task. When I emerge from the bathroom, the front doorbell rings with my food delivery. At least it wasn’t left on the stoop. Picking up a baseball cap, I keep the bill plastered to the floor while the money-for-food exchange is made. My identity remains unknown.

At the island, I scarf down two slices of pizza before taking a swig of soda. With deliberate steps, I sit on a stool and eat a third slice. My mind wanders to Jenna this morning.

How determined she was to help me.

How well she explained each exercise.

How gorgeous she is.

---