Page 8 of The Wrangler
Amy comes up and hooks my elbow. “It’s too hot out here. Come inside.”
An elderly woman with a wash and set hairdo, lifts her chin when the sliding glass doors open. A warm smile brightens her face and she stands to come out from behind the curved faux-wood reception desk. She opens her arms wide. “Eliot.”
He bends in half to return the hug wrapping the small woman in his bare, dark arms. His blue short-sleeved shirt stretches across his back. “Miss Angie.”
Oh gosh. We’re at the reception desk and already I’m having all kinds of gooey emotions.
Eliot stands to full height, his hands in Angie’s. “How’s he doing?”
Everyone else is signing in to what looks like a guest book on the top of the reception desk. Amy hands me the pen. “They have to log visitors for insurance or something.”
I sign in as SJ and a scribble for my last name. And then I’m moving with the group down a large wallpaper and bead board hallway. Every so often two chairs flank a small end table. Framed artwork dots the length of the walls and a glass cabinet holds flyers and a calendar of events. We pass a huge dining room set with round wood tables for four with small vases of daisies. The decor is warm, upscale lodge or resort. But there is evidence of the institutional nature of the place in the tiny details, of wheels on the chairs and tables, and the people in white scrubs who are cleaning up after the mid-day meal. Subtle tells giveaway the real purpose of this place.
Eliot leads us onto an elevator big enough to hold a hospital bed or two. We drop one floor to a basement level. The doors open to a space that’s more clinical, less art and furniture, but still inviting with warm paint and wood accents. After a few twists and turns, we arrive at another set of glass doors. They part, and the sounds of what I assume is a gym waft out. Grunts. Coaches encouraging. But once past the partition, I see this isn’t an ordinary gym. It’s a physical therapy space based on the mats on the floor, the parallel bars for assisted walking, the walls of equipment, and the wheelchairs both with and without occupants. There are only four clusters of people in the cavernous space.
Eliot is moving full-speed to where a beautiful blonde man is laying on a mat while a woman with long, dark hair pulled into a ponytail is stretching his pitifully thin scarred leg. Two other men stand by, their features etched with concern. Eliot’s back is to us and I can’t hear what he says, but the woman stands and gives him a warm hug that lasts longer than I would expect for a professional relationship. The olive-skinned man with short dark hair is moving toward us. Tyler meets him a few feet before he reaches us. “Pierce. How’s he doing?”
Pierce scrubs his hair back. “Hard to say. His upper body is strong, but there’s still not much from the waist down. Although, he’s off the catheter as of a couple days ago.”
“That’s huge.” Tyler looks back to Amy and tugs her forward into his embrace like he needs to hold someone.
Pierce grimaces. “Tell that to Blake.”
Alex ignores our gathering, going to Blake. He drops to the mat on his knees and puts a hand on Blake’s shoulder. “Hey, buddy. Looking good.”
“You talking to me or Graci?”
Alex grins. “Good to see you again, Graci. When am I busting my friend here outta this place?”
Graci, the physical therapist, shifts to Blake’s other leg. “That’s up to this guy.” She smiles at Blake and shifts his leg back a bit farther. Blake groans. “He’s kind of grumpy about my workouts.”
“She’s trying to kill me.”
“Dude. You’re complaining about a beautiful woman at your feet, massaging your legs?” Alex nudges Graci’s shoulder with his. “Where can I sign up for this kind of abuse.”
“Sure, she looks nice now. In about two hours she’s gonna make sure I’m crying.” Blake scowls at the woman. “My favorite part is when she tells me to walk.”
The other man standing watch, younger, with big soft brown eyes, his arms crossed, chirps, “That’s because you will walk again.”
“Cade,” Blake says with an exasperated tone. He shifts his attention to Eliot. “So what are you doing here? Going to the club.”
Eliot nods. “That’s the plan.”
“Good, take this one with you. He’s driving me nuts.” Blake hitches his thumb in Cade’s direction. “Get him laid.”
Cade barks out a pained sound of protest. Eliot is flicking his gaze between them.
“I’m not going to a club without you.” Cade crosses his arms and looks like he’s about to cry.
“I don’t need a goddamned keeper. Go to the fucking club, Cade.” Blake closes his eyes and his hand ball into fists.
Graci adjusts Blake’s leg, deepening the stretch. “I’ll be around tonight. There’s anAlmost Humanmarathon starting this afternoon. They’re showing them in the correct chronological order. Will you be my geek TV buddy?”
“I don’t need a pity party,” Blake answers.
“Hey, now you’re in for it. We’re walking for sure today.” Her voice has a bit of an edge and an accent.
“Are you ever going to let anyone in again?” Cade demands.
