Tiffany

 

 

 

“David John Blackburn!” I yelled down the hallway.

Nothing. No sound. No movement.

“Okay, I guess I have to come find you,” I said in an even louder tone.

That’s when I heard his voice and some banging.

“Mom. Wait. Getting dressed,” David said with a crack in his voice.

I stood about twenty feet from his room and smiled. It was just six months ago that he couldn’t speak more than fifty words, often garbled so that only I could understand. Though he had trouble speaking the words, he understood tens of thousands, which was typical for a twelve-year-old.

Earlier this year, he also wouldn’t have been able to dress himself or walk to me. It may take him longer than other boys his age to do all those things, but he could accomplish them by himself now. And I couldn’t help the large grin on my face every time I witnessed him doing the most mundane tasks on his own.

“Hurry up because your new physical therapist is going to be here any minute,” I said and placed my hands on my cheeks trying to will back the tears.

For it’s those mundane things that brought me the most joy. David always had a smile on his face and loved life, appreciating everything. But, there were times when he didn’t think I was looking, when I saw him stare at his friend Matt.

Matt could walk.

They met at the therapy center several years ago. Matt had difficulty with communication and issues with social skills. They both had different speech therapists but the same appointment time. Sometimes they were in the same room, working on tasks together. Their therapists quickly learned that Matt and David challenged each other to work harder.

Though they went to different schools and Matt lived in a different neighborhood, those two were inseparable. That was, until last year when Matt moved to Virginia. He hasn’t seen David since before the operation.

Matt had never seen David walk.

“I think I heard the buzzer. That should be the therapist,” I said and turned toward the front door.

I pressed the intercom. “Hello?”

There was some crackling and static but I heard a male voice say Blackburn, so I pushed the open button for the front door of the building. I made a mental note to contact the landlord again about fixing the intercom so I could hear the visitors more clearly.

Just this morning I read in the paper about a thief pretending to be a visitor of a residential building nearby, but the intercom was broken so he was easily buzzed inside. Luckily, the tenant was unharmed, but the thief did steal some valuables.

What if that happened while David was here? We lived in a high-rise that overlooked Lake Michigan because we needed a building with an elevator. How quickly could we escape from someone out to do us harm?

The rent in this building was pricey enough despite the iffy neighborhood. The landlord needed to stay on top of safety. I was thankful my good friend and David’s godfather, Henrik Payne, helped me out with the rent, but I refused to take more than was necessary.

We met the night of the accident. The same accident that killed my husband and left my son disabled, killed Henrik’s parents and sister. Henrik blamed himself for the accident, but how could he have known that his mother was too drunk to drive that night? He wasn’t anywhere near his parents that night.

We grew close in our grief. In a way, he had helped David not just by making sure he got the best care but being the father figure that David craved.

But now that Henrik’s getting married I feared he wouldn’t be in David’s life as much. That made me more determined to find a man who could be a good father to David.

I walked over to the door when I heard a knock and glanced through the peephole. My breath caught at what I saw.

The man on the other side of my door didn’t appear to be a robber, but he also didn’t seem like a physical therapist, either.

Once I opened the door my eyes swept his long, muscular body. Something seized in my chest, and I rubbed at the spot wondering if it was disappointment or something much different causing the ache. Logically I knew that it required strength to help a twelve-year-old boy that had some difficulty with walking and bending and lifting. But my mind wasn’t going there. It was on the opposite side of the logical planet.

All my thoughts involved heat and touching and groping. As if I left stable Earth to land on the steamy, sexy party planet of Venus.

I frowned and shook my head trying to focus on the reason this guy was in my doorway. But when he smiled and the twinkle of his jade eyes sent a shiver throughout my body to my fingertips, I had to hold onto the door to steady myself.

The only thing that brought me back down to earth was his clothing. Particularly, his white button-up shirt, navy dress pants, and dress shoes. If this were a meeting in an office, he would be dressed appropriately, but it’s a physical therapy session.

He ran his hands through his shaggy brown hair as his eyes darted to the floor and I licked my lips. He must have realized he was overdressed.

“You must be the PT. I’m Tiffany, David’s mom.” I held out my hand and forced a smile that didn’t appear too lecherous.

His eyes shot up to mine and widened. But that was it. He didn’t shake my hand or say a word. The man stood there staring at me.

“And you are?” I asked tilting my head.

He blinked but still no sound.

“Okay, then. Please, come inside. David is getting dressed. He will be out in a minute. I can explain his history while we wait.” I moved and waved him inside.

He hesitated but after a minute decided it was safe to come into my apartment. We walked past my small galley kitchen to the right and straight into my living room. As he lowered himself onto my brown suede chair I had to pry my eyes away from his ass. The man had a nice butt but I reminded myself it wasn’t for staring at while I sat on the pale green sofa.

“I’m afraid I don’t know your name. I am sure I wrote it down somewhere but can’t seem to find it,” I said.

“Jagger. My name is Jagger,” he finally spoke.

The hairs on the back of my neck rose as he told me his name. There was something about his voice which was unexpected. Maybe it was because he refused to speak when he was at the door that I anticipated his words to be whisper-quiet.

They certainly weren’t soft. In fact, they were the opposite. Hard with a dark edge that pricked at my skin. But there was something else, too. My heart beat a little faster as if I knew him.

“It’s nice to meet you, Jagger. Now about my son,” I said as I put my instructional face on. “He was in a car accident when he was two that left him unable to develop at the same pace as his peers in regard to motor skills. He is twelve now, will be turning thirteen in a few weeks, and this year he took his first steps.”

I found that when speaking with professionals about my son’s history, it’s easier to remove the emotional element. Like reading from a textbook, just the facts.

Jagger’s brow creased. He appeared uneasy but let me continue.

“The accident affected his primary motor cortex. This past winter he had a fairly new procedure to try and reverse what the accident had done to him. It worked. He can now speak and walk and do most of the stuff a kid his age can do.”

“What’s the PT for?” Jagger asked.

Wait . . . What? Was he serious?

“Why wouldn’t my son need physical therapy?”

Jagger’s face lit up with merriment mixed with surprise. “Oh, physical therapy. You think I’m a physical—”

He was cut off as my son entered the room.

I got up and walked to David. He was my height, not so little anymore. Now that he could tell me anything he wanted, he decided he had to let his hair grow. The boy who stood in front of me was tall, skinny, and had a big brown mop of hair.

“Hey.” David’s blue eyes stayed focused on the floor.

“David, this is Jagger. He will be your new physical therapist.” I took David’s hand and helped him onto the couch.

“As you can see, while David can now walk,” my smile widened as I gazed at my son’s reddening face, “he is still building his strength and coordination. That’s where you come in.”

Jagger’s eyes bounced between my son and me with a strange expression on his face. The best way to describe it was that he appeared to be holding in a fart.

The man stayed silent. Was this how it was going to be with him? Am I going to have to show him how to do his job?

“David. Is there anything you would like to ask Mr. Jagger?”

“No,” my son said as his eyes stared at the gray block-patterned rug.

I was so happy when I found out my new insurance would cover most of the cost of home visits from a physical therapist. Who knew that I would end up with the worst PT in the world. Maybe I could request a new one from the group I contacted.

“Is there anything you would like to ask me, Mr. Jagger?”

“Yes, I mean no.” He paused and held his breath. I expected him to continue but he didn’t.

“We do have a room with some equipment in it. Perhaps you would like to see it, and then you can get started with David.”

I stood and helped David up. As we moved toward the hallway, I turned my head to find Jagger still in the leather chair

“Mr. Jagger. Are you coming?”

His jaw tightened as he stood and it seemed painful for him to answer, “Yes.”

Once we stepped into what used to be the master bedroom, David leaned against a wall as I waved my hand around.

“As you can see, we have a bucket of various sized medicine balls, hand and foot weights, foam rollers, a few PT bars, a balance board, the three steps in the corner with a handrail,” I moved to the larger equipment, “and our newest item, the treadmill.”

“Wow. You’re really serious about all this.” Jagger chuckled and gazed around the room.

What was wrong with him?

“Yes, I take my son’s health very seriously, Mr. Jagger.”

“It’s Chance.”

“What?” I asked.

“My name. It’s Jagger Chance. So, I would be Mr. Chance. But feel free to call me Jagger.”

I was about to call him a few other names too, but Jagger decided now would be the best time to finally start talking.

“This stuff is awesome. You’re one lucky kid, David.” Jagger winked at my son.

Lucky? He had the audacity to call my son lucky? Did he really think my son was lucky to have an idiot for a therapist?

My jaw fell open. I was in such shock that I couldn’t even form words.

“Huh?” David said, and I was grateful my son was confused.

“Imagine all the sick moves you can learn with this stuff. I bet you know some cool ninja moves.” Jagger went over and grabbed a blue foam roller, placing it on the black mat that covered our beige carpet.

He then took a red PT bar and swung it around between his arms. Finally, he rolled his body over the foam and hopped back up as if he were in a movie battle.

“Cool,” David said and walked over to him.

Jagger gave him the red bar, and David tried to imitate his moves but the bar quickly fell from his hands.

“Let me break it down for you. It took me a while to learn this, too.” Jagger bent down to pick up the stick.

“You’re a ninja?” David said with wide eyes.

“Not quite, but I did learn tae kwon do and parkour. Which is what you need if you ever decide to be a ninja.”

“I don’t know if that’s appropriate for David. He’s still building his strength and core muscles.” I crossed my arms, worried that this would be too much on my son.

But the look in David’s eyes had me doubting myself. I was used to protecting him; it’s my job as a mom. But he wasn’t a little boy anymore.

“Mom, please,” David said with a tone filled with worry bordering on desperation.

I stood there staring at my son and realized for the first time that my job had changed. It still included protecting him, but the job description grew to include letting him take risks so he could learn to be a man.

I let my arms fall as I faced Jagger’s mossy green eyes. “All right. As long as you make sure he doesn’t get hurt.”

“I’ll make sure everything I do with him is safe. When I’m done with him, he won’t need protection from the most evil of villains,” Jagger said with a wink.

I could feel the heat in my cheeks and wondered if it was because there would be a day when my son no longer needed me.

Or, perhaps, it was the tall man with the strong arms watching me for slightly longer than he should.