Between These Walls Page 8

  She greeted him in the same manner as before, with the same effervescent smile. Hunter gave her eyes a quick perusal but couldn’t read whether she suspected anything. If she did, he hoped she wouldn’t make an offhand remark to Gabe before the appointment. But Hunter couldn’t control that.

  “You’re Hunter, right?”

  “Yeah, it’s—I—yeah, I’m Hunter.” No, keep your words steady! He took a deep breath to calm himself. Had she given his response a second thought? For extra coverage, he added, “I had my doubts, but the last massage helped ease my back. I decided to give it a second shot.”

  “Gabe works wonders,” the receptionist said, “so he gets a lot of referrals and repeat visits. Clients also tell me he’s easy to talk to.”

  Hunter gave a shrug of indifferent agreement, cautious not to reveal too much, and paid in advance. Several minutes later, he headed into the same small room as last time and closed the door behind him. He’d done everything according to the rules. He was confident the receptionist believed the only reason he’d returned was for the massage itself. A pure, platonic appointment.

  Yet Hunter knew the truth. Part of him felt like a trespasser who had wandered into territory where he didn’t belong. If he knew Gabe wouldn’t mind, or that Gabe had the smallest degree of interest in him, he wouldn’t have felt as edgy. But the mystery remained. Besides, the chances of Gabe’s interest in him were slim to nonexistent. Hunter was positive he’d misread any signals he thought he might have seen last week. Well, almost positive.

  Hunter prayed for God to settle the jumble in his belly. He wondered if God felt disappointed in him today. After all, Hunter could hide his motives from people, but God knew his every thought and action—and the intentions behind them. Nonetheless, whether right or wrong, Hunter waded into this scenario and trusted God for mercy.

  Despite his questions about God’s approval, Hunter sought temporary relief to his relentless battle. It’s not like he sought a relationship or to act on any attraction he felt. He just sought a taste of companionship, the sensation of touch from someone he found attractive rather than someone he should find attractive. For once, Hunter wanted to be happy, even if it lasted one brief hour.

  He undressed and laid down on the massage table. Hunter had decided to keep his undershorts on for this appointment. His decision rested less in personal preference than in the desire not to give away any clues about why he had returned. He could concoct an explanation if Gabe mentioned it.

  Hunter heard the door click. A grinning Gabe walked into the room.

  “So you decided to return, huh?”

  Immediately Hunter felt at ease. “Yeah. I had my doubts, but you were right. It helped so much.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Gabe chuckled. “You probably still have minor discomfort, but that can dissipate with time. Same music? Anything different?”

  “Heaven-on-earth works for me, same as last time.”

  Gabe hit the Play button on the boom box and began working his fingers and thumbs into Hunter’s shoulders. “Should I give your back extra focus again?”

  “I’d appreciate it.”

  Hunter shut his eyes and listened to the steel drums. The rolling motion of Gabe’s fingers summoned images of Caribbean ocean breakers.

  A minute later, he heard Gabe’s voice. “How’s your job going? Last time, you mentioned you were under pressure. You figured it might have caused some of the stress in your back.”

  “Not much improvement there.” Hunter weighed whether to open up further, then decided to step forward. “The truth is, I’m scared my job is in danger. Really scared. But I don’t have actual evidence of it, and I’m not one to sound an alarm for no reason.” Hunter opened his eyes and recounted his last few months. “I haven’t changed any of my methods, so that didn’t cause it. Do you ever feel like you’re doing everything you can do, but nothing seems to work?”

  “I can relate to what you’re saying,” Gabe said. “I have my ups and downs too. I have two business partners here, and all three of us go through our feasts and famines. People consider massages a luxury, which I can understand. People will put their kids, their food, their prescriptions ahead of a massage, and they should. When the economy hits a tough curve, our appointment schedules take a dive. That’s when it gets scary.”

  “It’s like you’re falling, but you don’t have a trampoline beneath you to break your fall.”

  “Trampoline?” Gabe said with a twist at the corner of his mouth. “The athlete in you has made its appearance for the day.”

  “I didn’t say I was a gymnast,” Hunter joked in return.

  As each offered a halfhearted chuckle, Hunter peered behind him and caught a glimpse of that compassion he remembered in Gabe’s eyes. Gabe’s glance seemed to last a fraction too long, but Hunter figured that might be wishful thinking yet again.

  “I’ve got a solution for you,” said Gabe as he worked his way toward the middle of Hunter’s back. “You should quit your job and move to the Cayman Islands. Just you and a hearty bank account. Hang out on the beach and catch your own dinner at night. No luxuries, no bills. Sound good?”

  “I’m on board!” Hunter replied, playing along. “I doubt that would go over well with my girlfriend, though,” he added out of habit, before he’d given it thought.

  Hunter noticed a subtle shift in Gabe’s conduct. Gabe’s fingers didn’t stop moving, but Hunter detected a drag in their motion, a split-second difference. Gabe gave him a quick glance, then returned his eyes to his work. Something in Gabe’s countenance fell. It all unfolded in a few seconds at most, brief enough for Hunter to doubt the meaning behind it, but he was sure something had changed. Nonetheless, a grin returned to Gabe’s face.

  “Duty calls,” Gabe responded at last, his tone good-natured. “What does your girlfriend do for a living?”

  “Kara?” Hunter said, now regretting he’d mentioned her. “She’s a buyer for a chain of retail stores. She decides what merchandise people will see on the shelves.”

  “Does she enjoy it?”

  “Loves it. It comes naturally to her.”

  “I’ve always wondered how that works. Where does she find merchandise?”

  “By traveling. Name a major city in the world and it’s a safe bet she’s seen it. For the most part, she focuses on New York, Hong Kong, Tokyo, the usual suspects.”

  “She must rack up frequent flyer miles.”

  “She’s gone all the time.”

  “That can’t be good. For a relationship, that is.”

  “It becomes routine. I go into pseudo-bachelor mode. It’s convenient, if you think about it: You’re in a relationship, yet you never lose your freedom. Then again, how close can you grow to someone who’s seldom around?” Hunter shrugged. “In any case, it gives me time to think.”

  “About what?”

  “The relationship itself. A distance exists to it, but it has nothing to do with physical distance. It’s like my heart’s not fully hooked up to it.”

  “Like the two of you want different things?”

  Hunter considered that notion for a beat, but it lacked precision. “More like it’s a … I don’t know … a mismatch, maybe? The kind where a fraction of it is missing, or was never there to begin with.”

  That remark seemed to catch Gabe’s attention. With a quick look, Hunter noticed a slight edge to Gabe’s eyes, reminiscent of guilt or shame.

  Hunter realized he had confided in Gabe more than he’d confided in anyone—especially another guy—about his relationship with Kara. He had intended to release a sliver of the burden, not open up to the fullest extent.

  “Have you shared your job concerns with her?” Gabe asked.

  “No,” Hunter replied. “She’s not around long enough to have that sort of conversation. By the time she returns to town and we get together, she’s in a great mood. She wants to clear her head, have fun, no worries. If you knew Kara, how vivacious she is—she’s the kind of girl where you don�
��t want to pop her bubble.”

  Gabe’s strokes slowed. “Wouldn’t she want to know about your concerns, though? Just to be there for you?”

  “Sure, she cares enough to want to know. But I play a role in that, too. The way I’m talking right now—I don’t normally do this. It’s not my nature to open up, wear my heart on my sleeve, pour out my problems to anybody who’ll listen. I don’t know why I opened up about all this to you.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” Gabe smirked. “Besides, it happens all the time: People open up during these appointments. I guess they get relaxed enough to tell their life stories.”

  “Maybe you should’ve gotten your degree in psychology.”

  “No kidding. You’re getting a great rate for psychotherapy, huh?”

  Gabe resumed his normal work speed. He used his forearms to apply pressure to an area on Hunter’s back, followed by broad sweeps of his thumbs, his palms flat against Hunter’s flesh.

  Hunter savored the touch. But Gabe’s touch didn’t ignite excitement in him today. Instead, his contact brought comfort to Hunter’s heart. This was how it felt to be touched by someone who cared. Someone who wanted to know you for who you are, where the sentiment was mutual.

  “I wouldn’t be much help in the relationship department,” Gabe said. “As far as your job goes, I don’t have answers. We never have all the answers, but we trust God to show up and cover our bases. He’s come through for me on my job more times than I could count. And suddenly, when things look darkest, you find yourself face to face with one of life’s surprises, one you never would’ve imagined. Better than you would’ve imagined. One you never would’ve considered if you hadn’t reached the low point.”

  Hunter allowed Gabe’s words to hang in the air as he considered them. He wondered how low his own situation could go. Then he shifted his thoughts to what Gabe had said, that an unexpected development could arrive around the corner when he least expected it. A surprise sounded nice.

  Then he remembered Gabe’s mention of God covering their bases, and he grew curious about Gabe’s faith.

  “I still can’t believe our paths crossed at the Youth Vision conference years ago.”

  Gabe looked up, his face beaming. “Small world!”

  “The drama you were in: Didn’t you play the part of a teenager who’d gotten hurt or caught in the middle of rough circumstances?”

  “A teen whose parents had told him they were getting a divorce.”

  “Yeah, now I remember it,” Hunter said. “That was an emotional scene. You must’ve practiced it a ton before the event started.”

  “We did. The role was natural for me, though. I grew up in a single-parent home.”

  “Your parents got divorced?”

  “My dad was in the military. He fought in the Middle East during the war with Iraq in the early 1990s, the one where we defended Kuwait. It lasted less than a year, but he died in the combat zone when I was a baby,” Gabe said. “I have no memories of him.”

  Hunter froze. So few military members had died in that war, you never ran into a family who had lost a loved one. “I’m sorry to hear that, man.”

  “No worries. Like I said, I don’t remember him. And now that I’m in my twenties, I’ve moved forward. The downside, besides the obvious one of losing your dad, is that you don’t have a male role model while you’re growing up. That makes it tough.”

  “What about an older brother?”

  “I’m an only child. And Mom never remarried. She remained committed to Dad after he died, even though she didn’t need to.” Gabe paused as if in reflection, then added, “My mom’s faith pulled her through.”

  “So she’s a strong Christian?”

  “Yeah. I owe my faith roots to her. I grew up in church. In fact, I don’t think we ever missed a Sunday service.”

  “Growing up without your dad must’ve made your faith that much more important to you.”

  “Let’s say God became my best friend. Where my dad couldn’t be present, God showed up and filled the void. It’s not quite the same, since God is invisible. You can’t feel Him wrap His arms around you—that’s the one thing I always wished for as a kid, the feeling of having my dad’s arms wrapped around me to bring me comfort. Even as an adult, it would be nice to have my dad’s arm wrapped around me. But you don’t always get what you want in life, right?” Gabe shook his head. He shaded his eyes with two fingers in an effort to hide embarrassment. “Whose therapy session did you say this is?”

  “I don’t mind.” Hunter sensed his heart draw closer to Gabe’s. “When you’re in a struggle, it’s good to know you’re not alone. That’s the worst feeling, when you feel like you’re on your own, with nobody to talk to—really talk to, even if you don’t know how.”

  Gabe said nothing in response. He offered a simple nod.

  Hunter perceived a bond had formed between them and didn’t want the chat to end.

  Yet, before he knew it, the appointment had wound down. Gabe had already worked past Hunter’s calves, down to his feet. And a few minutes later, Gabe finished.

  Hunter got up from the massage table. They said good-bye and shook hands. Gabe’s palm felt warm against Hunter’s.

  Standing still, Hunter studied Gabe as he headed toward the door.

  When Gabe looked over his shoulder with a lingering gaze, Hunter thought he saw a trace of disappointment in his eyes.

  Perhaps Gabe, too, thought the appointment had ended too soon.

  Maybe he felt the way Hunter did about him.

  CHAPTER 8

  Hunter inhaled the scent of coffee beans fresh from the grinder. The kind that permeates your clothes and leaves you with a memento from a carefree portion of your day.

  After meeting with a client in town, Hunter had decided to stop by his favorite deli for lunch. Regardless of what unfolded during his workday, an hour here felt like a miniature vacation. Even amid the bustle of the lunch hour, Hunter found this place conducive to leaning back and pondering. He often stopped here for a latte after work.

  Located in a small strip mall in Solon, the deli was a local, mom-and-pop variety that specialized in creating its own unique coffee blends. Unlike many coffeehouses, the ambience here emphasized light, from the bright florescent lighting to colors of spring that washed over its walls. The grill ignited an aroma of charred meats and bread that traveled throughout the dining area.

  Upon placing his order and paying the cashier, Hunter moved past the refrigerated display case of cream-cheese spreads, fruits and packages of lox. He eyed the baskets of bagels that hung behind the display case as he made his way to the pickup counter. The flavored brew of the day, pumpkin spice, gave him such a boost, he felt ridiculous for getting excited about a simple cup of coffee. The owner once told him they blended their coffee beans with real pumpkin seeds to capture their rich flavor and fragrance. By the time Hunter filled his cup, he found his order ready for pickup.

  When he made his way to the dining area to search for an unoccupied table, he looked toward his right and noticed Ellen sitting in a booth against a window. Focused on the open laptop computer before her, she poked at a salad with her fork and took a bite. She didn’t notice his approach.

  “Hey gorgeous! Looking fine,” he teased.

  He hadn’t expected Ellen to find humor in such a comment from a random passerby. And she didn’t.

  “Look, man, why don’t you kiss my—” She raised her eyes and caught sight of Hunter, who couldn’t hold back his laughter. “That never gets old for you, does it?”

  “I’m batting 249-0 with it. A perfect record, and an impressive one.”

  “Are you gonna sit down, or just stand there and volunteer your services as eye candy?”

  Hunter took a seat across from her and bit into his toasted Reuben sandwich. Its hot sauerkraut and corned beef exploded with flavor. Swiss cheese, which had bubbled beneath the rye bread, melted in his mouth.

  “How long can you hang out?” Ell
en asked.

  “A half hour or so. I’m headed to the office after this.”

  Ellen had a stack of paperwork beside her, printouts of recipes for dishes Hunter wouldn’t attempt to cook for himself. Ellen’s typical recipe contained an ingredient or requirement foreign to him. An odd spice or vegetable. A specific method of chopping, smashing or heating. Once, Hunter had watched a weekly cooking competition on television with her. The home cooks received an assignment to prepare a dish using a technique Hunter had never heard of. Yet the amateurs went right to work, as if everyone knew what the host’s rambling had meant.

  “Preparing a menu?” Hunter asked.

  “A company dinner at a winery. It takes place in early October, so considering the environment and season, I’ll propose a harvest theme. Maybe a special take on a baked ham, maybe a pumpkin bisque. I haven’t figured out how I want to tie it all together.”

  Hunter admired Ellen’s tenacity. After several years working in the kitchen at a four-star restaurant and observing chefs at work, she decided to branch out and pursue her dream of owning her own business. She started a small catering outfit in her home with a focus on local social gatherings and company dinners. Her first jobs were for friends and family members. As visitors passed along referrals, however, her customer base expanded.

  “Have you opened your office suite at the pinnacle of downtown Cleveland yet?” Hunter quipped.

  “Don’t I wish,” Ellen replied. “I’ve got a long way to go before I can rent my own office space. But I’ll get there one day. Slowly but surely.”

  “You seem to have a steady job flow. You must be earning a decent living from it.”

  “It’s enough to pay my half of the rent.” Ellen paused, then added, “My roommate isn’t thrilled when she discovers food and baking dishes spread all over the kitchen counter and dining room table every week, then opens the refrigerator door to find it packed with groceries we don’t get to eat. But at this point, it’s only a short-term situation for her.”