Page 235 of Share with Me

“If I pay you fifty dollars four times, it’ll be taken care of.”

“Deal.” Matt stretched out on the floor. “I’m dead tired.”

“You could’ve waited until tomorrow to give me this. I’ll be at work at eight o’clock.”

“A thank you would suffice.”

“Thank you, Matt. You’re a good friend.”

“I thought I was your best friend.”

Ivan smiled. “And best man.”

“How’s the therapy coming?”

“If I say painful, it’s an understatement. I’m quite confident my wrist will eventually heal, but the therapy could kill me before then.”

Matt didn’t say anything.

When Ivan turned to see what was happening, he saw that Matt’s eyes were closed. Slowly he began to snore.

* * *

Ivan prayed doubly hard—sometimes harder—every morning that he parked outside Vittorio’s boot camp. He still didn’t have his own car, but Matt was gracious enough to let him borrow his on therapy days, and to and from work.

He would come fifteen minutes early to prepare himself. The spurious name tacked onto the wall next to the front entrance of the center got him every time. East Beach Therapy Center. The center was neither east—it was at the south end of the island—nor was it beachy at all.Beachimplied a life of vacationing comfort. This was no beach. This was all pain. Pure pain.

Three times a week Ivan prayed for mercy and for God to spare his soul as he dragged himself to EBTC to have his wrist tugged and pulled and bent into compliance with human physiology. Sometimes Ivan wondered if he should—

“Art! What are you doing here?” Ivan stepped into the lobby and let the door shut behind him on its own. He went straight to Art and shook his hand. “You look good for a man near death.”

“That was four months ago. I’m back at work now.”

“That’s terrific. You seemed to have lost a bit of weight there.” Ivan had spoken to Art a few times since the Savannah attack, notably over New Year’s, but they hadn’t visited each other for reasons best left buried.

“Are you saying I was fat?” Art asked.

“I’m saying you’re ripped now. I’ll never be that buff.”

“I would have to agree with you.”

“Hey…” Ivan decided to let it slide. “So. To what do I owe this visit?”

“To whom. Mr. Brooks wants me to look in on you. See if you’re making any progress.”

Brinley’s dad.“Why?”

“Apparently he has a vested interest in you. I’m going to stay with you through your session today, and then we’re going for a ride.”

“A ride?”

“Yes. Mr. Brooks wants you to see something. Then I’ll drop you off back here.”

“You want me to follow you so you’ll save a trip?”

“No.”

“What? Ned’s afraid I’ll run off? In Matt’s car on its last leg?”

“Something like that.”

“How long are you staying with me? All afternoon?”

“And the next month or so.”

“What?” Ivan was curious now. “What’s going on, man?”

“You’ll have to ask Mr. Brooks that,” Art said as Ivan spotted Vittorio waving to them through an inside door.

“Let the torture begin,” Ivan muttered under his breath.

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