Page 1 of Scythe's Salvation
PROLOGUE
Tamara
“This looks great, Tam,”my best friend, Amara says, as she walks around the suite I just rented for my massage therapy business.
It has two rooms in addition to a waiting area and a bathroom. I had already set up the waiting room with two comfortable couches, a small desk for clients to sign in, and soft lighting to put them in a relaxed state of mind. A diffuser will be set up in the corner, with a special blend of essential oils to assist in that as well. The bathroom even has a shower stall, which I kind of find funny, but if I ever have to work a bit late or even on a Saturday, I could always freshen up before heading home.
“Thanks, Am,” I reply, folding the fresh from the dryer sheets I’m going to need for the table.
Ever since I found myself pregnant with my son right after I graduated from high school, I knew I would need to have a job that would allow me the flexibility to be available for him, especially once he began school. So, I enrolled in massagetherapy school, completed my required five-hundred hours of training then took the MBLEx exam. I found out pretty quickly that I had passed but had to wait for good old snail mail to get my physical license from the Virginia Board of Nursing, the regulating board for all massage therapists.
Since then, I have continued getting additional training whenever possible, and am now able to perform medical, neuromuscular, lymphatic, deep tissue, and Swedish massages. Word of mouth spread quickly in Roanoke, and I now have a full appointment book that starts around eight in the morning and ends by two thirty, so I can pick Chance up from school.
My days are long and exhausting but there’s nothing more fulfilling to me than when a client gets relief from an issue they’re having. Many of my recommendations are now coming from the Roanoke Orthopedic and Spine Center, which means that I was recently able to go out on my own. Before, I was just a therapist in a box, so to speak. Most of the people there were typically fresh out of school and newly licensed, but I have ‘the touch’ as my instructors used to tell me.
I have the ability to find the problem that a client is having and either get it completely worked free, so the muscles are no longer tight and knotted, or give them enough relief until they come back for another appointment. My rates are reasonable as well, and I’m checking into what it’ll take for me to possibly be able to file medical insurance claims. I’m not one hundred percent sure I wantthatheadache, because it would mean hiring someone to do the billing, but I want to make sure I check every angle out and make the best decision for me.
Because my weekends are for my boy. He may only be six—almost seven, Mommy,as he would excitedly tell me when discussing his age—but I know they grow up fast and I want toenjoy every minute of this precious time with him. I just wish he had a male influence in his life, but as soon as I informed the father of my child that I was pregnant, my then-boyfriend hit the road quicker than the dust could settle behind him and I haven’t seen him since. Good riddance to bad rubbish; I was apparently only good for a fun time, not a long time.
Whatever. Shaking my head at my wayward thoughts, I see Amara carefully hanging tiny fairy lights along the ceiling in the therapy room while I set up the speakers in the corners for the music that’ll softly play. The fairy lights will give off a soft glow that I hope is relaxing. “Better you than me,” I tease, pointing to her on the step ladder. I’m a bit of a curvy girl and being up on a ladder is definitely not in my best interest at all!
“Girlie pop, you’d be so off balance, I’d have to find someone to massageyou,” she retorts, snickering.
“Can I help it that Chance gave me a boob job?” I ask. At that, we both burst into laughter because no lie, before I got pregnant, I wasmaybea ‘B’ cup but now, I’m a generous ‘D’ with the hips and thighs to match. Eh, if anyone ever comes along, they’re gonna have to like this sassy, spicy, curvy girl, stretchmarks and all. Because I’m happy in my skin and not about to start nipping this or tucking that to fit into anyone’s idea of perfection. I’m proud of this hourglass figure; hell, I earned it.
My bestie clicks her tongue at me then begins teasing me, “He made you a real woman, my friend. You were skinny as a rail, no tits, no ass, no hips.”
“Now I’ve got all of that, plus stretchmarks, and a lovely scar from the C-section incision,” I reply, shrugging.
She gives me one of her scathing looks when I begin bashing myself. She’s not a fan of me degrading myself in any manner. “Alright, that’s done, what’s next?” Amara asks, dramatically dusting her hands together.
“All that’s left is my office,” I reply, winking at her to lighten the mood. “The desk is already in there, and I’ll bring my laptop back and forth, of course, but I figured we could maybe find some things to put in there in case Chance has to come with me for some reason.”
“Do you have the stuff yet?” she questions.
“Nope.”
“Road trip! Let’s hit the store. I think you need a mini fridge, maybe a small television set and game console, and a beanbag chair. You know how he likes the one he has at home. Plus, a small couch in case you get any downtime and wanna grab a nap.”
I snicker because based on my scheduler, I’ll be lucky to get in my daily water intake! “Fine, let’s lock up and head out. I’m glad your grandma took Chance for the day.”
“You kidding? You know Memaw loves him to pieces. I think they’re working in the garden today.”
“Sweet. Fresh veggies soon, I hope,” I say as I grab my purse and keys, then turn off the lights in each room. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand!”
“Good grief, my card took a licking today,” I mutter as we watch the clerk load everything into the back of my SUV. The couch will be delivered on Monday, which is perfect since my first client doesn’t come in until ten, and they’ll be there around eight. It means I can’t run late, but with an active little boy running around, I’m usually early if anything.
“But from what you were saying, you’ll get that paid off in no time flat,” Amara points out. “Plus, I like the idea of seeing what you have to do in order to take insurance formedicalcases so I’m going to research that for you. Worst case scenario, I do the billing and you can pay me by letting me spoil my godson.”
“You already do that,” I retort. “Frequently, based on the four games you bought for his game system. Seriously, Amara, you know you’re going to have to come over and download those for him. That’s beyond my ability because I’m from the era where you used a cassette and pushed it into the console. This newfangled shit is insane!”
Amara barks out in laughter before teasing me, “Ma’am, you make it sound like you’re in your forties and you’re fixing to turn twenty-five.”
“Yeah, but the group home didn’t have the newer systems that used WIFI. We got donated ones that had discs sometimes, and others, these weird looking cartridges that were nearly as big as eight track tapes,” I tell her. “I mean, how long did it take me to figure out how to use my iPad?”
Laughter once again bubbles from the both of us and the clerk even chuckles. He might be in his late teens, if that, so I’m pretty sure he learned how to use the latest technology before he left PreK.
“If you ever have a problem with any device, just bring it up here and ask for me, my name’s Chuck,” the kid says. “My dad works for a computer company and I’m tech savvy and know my way around most of the newer systems and software.”
