Belonging (12 page)

After depositing the canvas bags in
the kitchen, I noticed Zan’s phone was plugged in on the counter.
It was fully charged, so I unplugged it and went to bring it to
him. Zan was in his den, of course, working out on his elliptical
machine like a man possessed. He was barefoot, like always, and
dressed in a tight tank top and ratty gym shorts, his elbow-length
hair tied back in a messy ponytail. He was listening to an iPod,
and the exercise machine was angled so he was looking out the
windows, his eyes focused on some point in the distance. He had
absolutely no idea I was there.

I took a moment to watch him. I’d
never seen him in anything other than 501s and the long-sleeved
button-down shirts he wore every day of his life. It turned out
that was a shame, because the tight, muscular body usually
concealed under those baggy clothes was smoking hot. The why behind
that was no mystery, given how hard he was working out. His
breathing was ragged, his skin glistening with sweat, but he just
kept pushing himself.

I decided I should probably leave him
alone and went to set his phone on an end table before returning to
the kitchen. That movement must have caught his eye, because he
turned his head toward me, his lips parting. In the next instant,
his coordination totally failed him, and he tumbled off the machine
with a little yell.

“Oh shit,” I exclaimed as I rushed to
his side. “Are you alright?”

He pulled the earbuds out and let them
dangle around his neck. He’d been listening to Zeppelin, I could
just barely make it out. “Bloody hell Gianni, what are you doing
here?”

“The same thing I do every Saturday.
Are you okay?” I held a hand out to him. He hesitated before taking
hold of it and letting me pull him to his feet.

“You’re never this early.” Several
strands of hair had escaped the ponytail, and he pushed them away
from his sweaty face. He seemed really rattled.

“I know, my morning workout got pushed
back. I texted you to let you know I was on my way.”

“I didn’t check my phone. You’re
always here around midday.” He seemed surprisingly vulnerable for
some reason as he stepped back from me, then looked down at himself
and raised a hand to touch the sweat-soaked tank top.

Seeing him so shaken made me want to
reach for him and soothe him, but I knew how that’d go over. I
tucked my hands in my pockets and said, “I’m really sorry. I just
assumed you got my message. I’m going to go put away the groceries,
and then I’ll be out in the yard.” When I left the den, I closed
the door behind me.

As I unpacked the shopping bags, I
could hear him go through to the bathroom. A minute later, the
shower started running. I finished my tasks quickly and went
outside to give him some privacy.

I retrieved a full gas can from my
trunk, which I used to fill the tank on the riding lawnmower. I
then donned my baseball cap and sunglasses, wheeled the mower onto
the driveway and climbed aboard. It started up easily and I drove
it out past the landscaping surrounding the house. When I reached
the grassy field, I engaged the cutting blades and went to
work.

There was something almost Zen-like
about this task, and I actually enjoyed it. I drove back and forth
in tidy rows, the machine mulching what I cut down and dispersing
it behind me. I was able to go for a couple hours, working farther
and farther out from the house before the gas gauge told me I
needed to wrap it up.

When the mower was back in the garage,
I took a few minutes to wipe it down before splashing water on my
face and cleaning myself up a little at the utility sink. I planned
to make a little progress with the tree trimming next, but first I
really needed a bathroom break and a glass of water, so I headed
into the house. Not surprisingly, the door to the den was closed.
After I used the facilities I hesitated, then knocked on Zan’s
door.

It took him a minute to answer, and
when he did, he just stared at me. He’d washed his hair, and it was
still slightly damp and combed out neatly, a few strands of grey
standing out against the dark brown. He was back in his uniform,
Levis and a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled back. Zan was
nothing if not consistent.

“Sorry to bother you,” I said. “I just
wanted to make sure you were alright. You took a pretty nasty
tumble earlier.”

“I’m fine.”

“What about your shoulder? I noticed
it came down right on the machine.”

“It’s sore, but it doesn’t
matter.”

“You should put some ice on it.
That’ll keep it from swelling.”

He knit his brows at me. “Did you
learn that in your three semesters of nursing school?”

“No, I learned that from my
grandmother. How bad is it?”

“Like I said, it’s sore.”

“On a scale of one to ten, where one’s
no pain at all and ten’s having your balls chewed off by a dozen
piranhas, how bad does it hurt?”

Despite himself, his lips quirked up
at the corners and a little spark of amusement lit his eyes. “Hell,
I don’t know. A four? What’s that on your scale, a couple piranhas
coming in for a nibble?”

“Yes. Can I take a look at your
shoulder? I want to see if it’s bruised.”

He sighed and said, “Fine,” before
turning his back to me and unbuttoning his shirt.

When Zan pulled the right side down, I
carefully swept his thick hair over his left shoulder and said,
“Shit. Your shoulder blade is starting to bruise up, it looks like
it’s going to be pretty bad. Why don’t you go sit on the couch
while I bring you an icepack?”

“There’s no need for all this fuss,”
he said. “So it’s bruised. I’ll live.”

“But why not reduce the pain and
shorten your recovery time?” He looked at me over his shoulder and
started to open his mouth to protest, but I said, “Come on. Let me
assuage my guilt over startling you and making you hurt yourself by
at least minimizing the damage.”

He grumbled about all of that being
unnecessary, but did as he was told. I returned to the kitchen and
found a zip top bag, which I filled with ice cubes and wrapped in a
clean dish towel. When I brought it to him in the den, he tried to
hold it in place by wrapping his left arm over his shoulder. I
could tell it was awkward and uncomfortable for him, so I sat down
behind him and held the bag for him as I said, “We need to leave it
in place for twenty minutes.”

“You really don’t have to sit there
and hold it.”

“I know, but I’m going to do it
anyway.” I pulled out my phone and awkwardly set a timer with one
hand, then put it on the couch.

We sat in silence for a few minutes.
At one point, his hair fell across his back and I swept it over his
shoulder. It was surprisingly soft. It smelled good, too, which
wasn’t news to me since I was the one who bought his shampoo. I
could see the edge of a big, round tattoo between his shoulder
blades and was curious about it, but decided it was none of my
business so I didn’t ask to see more.

After a while, he said, “You would
have made a good nurse. Maybe you should think about going back and
finishing your studies.”

“I can’t, I’m way too
squeamish.”

“Can’t stand the sight of
blood?”

“That’s bad enough, but even worse is
vomit. It makes me throw up instantly, every time. It’s like
flipping a switch. I’m fine, I see vomit, I puke. That’s a terrible
attribute in a nurse.”

“So, don’t get a job in a hospital. If
you worked in, let’s say, a podiatrist’s office, your chances of
encountering upchuck would be pretty negligible.”

“I know. But I’d have to make it
through nursing school first, and that means hospital
internships.”

“Is that the only reason you dropped
out? There’s probably some way around it.”

“No,” I admitted, “it’s not the only
reason, it’s just the one I tell people. I messed up a patient’s
meds when I was interning and I realized that wasn’t the right job
for me. I can’t be responsible for anything that
important.”

“What happened to the
patient?”

“Nothing. My supervising RN caught the
mistake. But God, what if I messed up again and no one caught it?
I’d never be able to live with myself if someone got hurt because
of me.”

“But you were a student, you were
still learning. That was why you had a nurse supervising you in the
first place.”

“Still, I’m not smart enough to be a
nurse. At least I had enough sense to realize that and walk away
from it.” Zan pivoted around and stared at me. “Hold still,” I
said, reaching around him to keep the icepack in place. “It hasn’t
been twenty minutes yet.”

“Who told you that you weren’t smart
enough?”

“Nobody needed to tell me, it was
obvious.” He stared at me for another long moment. We were in an
awkward position, since I was partially embracing him to keep the
ice on his shoulder.

“I never would have guessed that, not
in a million years,” he murmured.

I grinned a little. “That I’m
stupid?”

“Damn it Gianni, stop saying that.
You’re not even sort of stupid. What I meant was, I never in a
million years would have guessed that you’d have self-esteem
issues. Everything about you exudes confidence. And now to find out
you think this about yourself? It’s just
incomprehensible.”

I lowered my gaze embarrassedly and
suddenly, I became acutely aware of our proximity. I was close
enough to feel the warmth of his body and breathe in his clean
scent, which I tried to ignore as I muttered, “I don’t think I have
self-esteem issues, I’m just really self-aware. I see my
shortcomings clearly, and even though you’re being nice to me right
now, I’m sure you see them, too.”

Zan’s voice was low and gentle as he
said, “You’re stubborn as hell and you have a temper on you, but if
I’m being honest, I look at those things as pluses, not minuses.
Beyond that, from where I’m sitting, you’re pretty damn perfect,
Gianni.”

I tried to laugh that off, even as
some sort of strong emotion welled up in me. “Which just goes to
show that you really don’t know me at all. Perfect has got to be
the very last word I’d ever apply to myself.”

“And you think you’re self-aware,” he
muttered.

I had such an overwhelming urge to put
my arms around Zan and hold on tight, but that was insane on so
many levels. So what if he was showing me a moment of kindness?
That was only because I’d stirred up some pity by talking about my
total failure as a nursing student. The fact that he couldn’t stand
me surely hadn’t changed.

“Here, hold this in place,” I said as
I picked up his left hand and draped it over his right shoulder so
he could grasp the edge of the icepack. “If you lean back with this
between you and the couch, you can keep it on your shoulder without
tiring your arm.”

I got up and grabbed my phone. “You
have eight more minutes. Please use an icepack a few more times
today, and take some ibuprofen if you have any. Both of those
things will minimize the swelling and bruising.”

“Where are you going?” he asked as I
headed for the door.

“I’ve bothered you enough for one day.
I’m going to get out of here and give you some space.”

“I live all alone in the middle of
nearly a hundred acres, Gianni. About the last thing I need is to
be given space.”

“
Well, I’m giving you some
anyway.”

He came after me when I left the den
and asked, “Did I do something wrong? I mean, more than
usual?”

“No, of course not.” I turned to look
at him and said, “Shit Zan, that wasn’t twenty minutes. Go back and
get your icepack.”

“Close enough.”

“No it wasn’t. Go ice.” I scooped up
the canvas shopping bags and started to leave the
kitchen.

“You’ve forgotten something,” he
called after me.

I stopped at the far side of the room
and turned to look at him. “What did I forget?”

He went up to the kitchen island and
offered me a little grin as he touched the center of it. “My
fruit-based irritant.”

“I think I’ve annoyed you enough for
one day. And for the love of God, go ice your damn
shoulder!”

“Come on. What did you bring me? You
were so disappointed when I took the lychee fruit in stride, so
I’ll bet it’s really feckin’ crazy this time.”

I frowned at him and crossed the
kitchen to stand on the other side of the island. “If I show you,
do you promise to ice five more times today?”

“Five times? No chance.”

“Right. Because you have something
better to do.”

There was that little grin again. “I
do, as a matter of fact.”

“While watching Blade Runner for the
six hundredth time is admittedly important, you could ice your
shoulder at the same time.”

“That’s not what I do all
day.”

“So, how do you pass the
time?”

“Show me what you brought me and I’ll
tell you,” Zan said.