My Remedy (Open Door Love Story Book 3) (15 page)

Aunt Nina and Uncle Stan are sitting at the kitchen table and dad is darting around chopping up vegetables and leftover chicken, checking the sauce on the stove, holding his hand above a bowl of proofing dough on the counter.

“All I’m saying, Stan, is you’ve got twenty years left on the job if you want to retire debt-free. I don’t know why you’ve got your heart set on sixty-two when you can easily work until you’re seventy.”

I sit down at the table. “Dad, have you been listening to Dave Ramsey podcasts again? I thought we’d agreed you were getting a little addicted.”

Dad gives me a stern look. “Not funny, Iz.” He stirs the sauce. “I’m making you a chicken bacon alfredo thin crust. Although, my brother’s oven is a P.O.S., so I’m not promising perfection.”

“I can’t promise perfection either, Daddy.”

My dad nods. “I know that, sweetie. I signed you up for an outpatient treatment program in Boise this time. Maybe that’ll do the trick.”

I look at Aunt Nina and she grins at me warily. Her eyes are red and puffy.

“Can I do it here?” I ask. “Do they have something like that in Beaverton, or Portland?”

“We just assumed you’d want to give things a go away from all your recent troubles,” Uncle Stan says, slipping his arm around Aunt Nina’s shoulders.

I shake my head, deciding. Feeling hopeful. “No. Despite everything, I like it here. I want to be here.”

“Izzy, if this is about getting Duncan back—” Aunt Nina starts.

“It’s not,” I say. “Not completely.”

“We’re listening,” Uncle Stan says.

“Stan you don’t have—” Dad says.

“We’re listening.” Aunt Nina reaches across the table and takes my hand.

I sit up taller in my chair. “I want to continue living with you guys and working at the kennel. Instead of using my money for community college, I will pay for an outpatient treatment program.”

“I don’t think you should give up on school,” Aunt Nina says.

“Well, because of me you’re out a trainer again. Why don’t you teach me how to do that job? Art school was a long shot anyway and this way I’ll be on a stable, useful career path.” I bring up Google on my phone and type in
outpatient treatment Beaverton OR
and several places come up. I pass them my phone. “Look, there are lots of options.”

“What do you think, Sunny?” Uncle Stan asks. “Will you trust us with your girl for a while longer?”

“I think it’s a stellar idea.” Dad smiles at me in a way I haven’t seen in forever – like he’s glad to be my father.

“Your phone is blinking,” Aunt Nina says. “You’ve got a text. Want me to see who it’s from?”

I nod. “Sure. I don’t know if ... if it’s Duncan just delete it, okay?”

Aunt Nina checks the text. “It’s from Hector.”

“Read it out loud,” I say.

“Hope capital U capital R, oh,
you are
feeling better today. I transferred your capital X fit, for the love, why can’t he just spell things out normally?” Aunt Nina rolls her eyes. “I transferred your CrossFit, I’m assuming that’s what he meant, membership to Rogue Raleigh Hills. Coach Hayley Gooding owns that box and she’ll do right by you. Take care. Duncan is sorry and wishes you the best. Capital C capital U around.”

“I didn’t understand seventy-five percent of the things you just read, Nina,” Dad says. He upends the proofed dough onto the floured counter and starts kneading it.

“It means I’m getting a fresh start ... again,” I say.

––––––––

“I
zzy, let’s talk about your first solo training appointment today. You mentioned yesterday that you were having some anxiety and feelings of not wanting to let down your aunt and uncle. Is that still the case?”

I’m sitting in my therapist Lori’s office on the smushiest couch in existence. I knew I was going to like her from the start because she has more variety of furniture in her space than any other therapist I’ve ever had. She admits to being indecisive and not giving a damn if people know it.

I’m not sure if it’s her or me or both of us, but I’ve finally found someone to talk to that I don’t think is a phony with an agenda. She’s like having a very practical mom who is interested in me, but will call me out on my shit. And she does, at least once a week.

“I talked to them last night at dinner about it. Uncle Stan said that he would be nearby if I needed him and that the client was aware they were getting a newbie trainer and weren’t going to expect perfection from me. So, I’m feeling pretty good. I have butterflies.” I shrug. “I’ll probably take a run before the appointment this afternoon.”

Lori nods. “That sounds like a great idea. Physical activity is always a great stress reliever for you.” She laughs. “I would die, running as much as you do, but it’s great for you.”

I chuckle. “I promise you won’t die. I know a whole group of ladies your age who can run holding a twenty pound weight over their heads, and they’re just regular mom-type ladies like you.”

“I think I’ll stick with my hot yoga and leave the feats of strength for Festivus.”

“What’s that?”

Lori shakes her head. “Nothing. Do you have anything else you’d like to talk about today? We’re reaching the ten minutes remaining mark.”

This is the other cool thing about Lori. I told her about my dealing-with-hard-stuff-for-ten-minutes-thing and if we have a session, like the one we’re having today, where I’m being sort of guarded or not talking a lot, she’ll count me down the last ten minutes. She’s even tried it with some of her other clients.

“Okay,” I say. “I did have a dream last night ... I don’t really remember the particulars. Duncan was in it. He was smiling and happy and I felt ... the same, but when I woke up this morning I had a lingering feeling like I’d done something wrong.”

“You’re continuing to associate your thoughts about him with feelings of disappointment even though for most of the time you knew him he was non-judgmental. Am I hearing you correctly?”

I stand up and then sit back down on the couch cross-legged. “Yes. I don’t want to feel like that every time I think of him or have a stupid dream and he’s in it. I honestly am not disappointed in myself for the decision I made. I wasn’t then and I’m not now. But I do still wonder if it was all ... if he was judging me the entire time and was good at pretending.” The tears start flowing and I let them fall. “I want to be able to trust my emotions. I want to be able to someday fall in love and know that it’s for real without a doubt.”

“Izzy, I know you’re frustrated by your emotions for Duncan, but you
have
made progress. You’re not angry at him like you were when you came to me a month ago. You’re not behaving as though you’re in a competition with him for ‘most recovered.’ You know my opinion is that he needs just as much help as you do. He was equally unprepared to enter into a romantic relationship.”

“But,” I say, sighing, “is it possible that it hurts more now because I’m not angry?” The tears are really coming. I reach for a tissue on the coffee table. “I’m sad for us. We ... ugh, it’s dumb, but I feel like we were made for each other and if it wasn’t for ... life, lives that we couldn’t handle ... God!” I pull in a hearty breath and blow it out. “My heart is broken and I’m starting to finally feel the full force of that because I’m messed up, because I’m slow and I pushed everything down for so long I don’t know how to process anything. I’ve got the emotional maturity of an eight-year-old girl with a crush!”

“So?” Lori asks. “So what?”

“So,” I drawl, “it sucks!”

Lori grins. “And who is telling you that you need to be further along in your healing?”

I dab at my eyes with the tissue. “I am.”

“Really, Izzy, I don’t think an eight-year-old could’ve figured that out. Being in competition with yourself is good in a lot of pursuits, healing your mental and emotional scars isn’t one of them.”

I stand and then sit down, crossing my legs the opposite way they were crossed before. “I lied. I remember the dream.”

“Okay,” Lori says, her voice even.

“I think I’m disappointed in myself for still wanting him – for wanting someone who hurt me.”

Lori tilts her head to the side, considering something. “What would happen if you talked to him? Maybe you can move forward at the pace you seem to want if you get the closure you’re craving.”

“That’s it. That question is the point.” I chuckle. “I eventually get there, huh?”

“Yes, you do.”

“If I talk to Duncan in order to get closure, then it’s ... for reals done. If I just talk about him every damn day, then there is always possibility.” I tighten my ponytail. “But one will help me move on and the other is keeping me where I’m at.”

“Exactly,” Lori says, setting her notepad on the table next to her chair. “Your hour is up. You have some things to think about tonight. Good luck with your training appointment and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I get up and toss my used tissues into the trashcan by Lori’s desk. “See you tomorrow. I’m going to have to run at least five miles to process everything we dredged up today.”

Lori smiles. “Don’t forget to stretch.”

~

“I
think this partnership is going to work out great,” Officer De Silva says, shaking my hand.

“Thanks. I was really nervous, but you and Marta are quick learners. You all made it easy on me.” I stoop down in the grass in front of Officer De Silva’s canine partner. “I promise to never give you the liver treats again now that I know you’re strictly a chicken kind of girl.”

Officer De Silva laughs, “I’ve never known a dog to turn down food of any kind.”

I lightly stroke Marta’s muzzle. “Oh yeah, they’ve all got likes and dislikes just like we do.”

Uncle Stan comes through the gate into the training yard. “Success?” he asks Officer De Silva.

“Yes. I think Isabelle will be a good fit for us.”

“Glad to hear it.” Uncle Stan nods toward the office. “We’ve got two more forms for you to fill out and turn into the city, and then Nina will get you set up with your next appointment.”

“Thanks again, Isabelle,” Officer De Silva says, walking Marta out of the training yard to the office.

Uncle Stan drags me into a hug. “Proud of you, Iz.”

“We were due a win,” I say. I start stacking up the plastic cones we’d used during training and take them over to the storage shed in the edge of the yard. “If it’s okay with you, I’m going to go for a drive before my evening chores.”

“Just take your phone with you and make sure you’ve got the ringer on.” Uncle Stan tosses me an errant tennis ball.

“Of course,” I say, tossing the ball into the bin with the others.

I head the opposite way down Farmington than I used to. I’m not going for a leisurely drive – I’m going to stalk a box. Even though Hector transferred my membership to Rogue Raleigh Hills and everyone appears to be nice ... I haven’t set foot inside the gym or even talked to the owner, Hayley.

It’s another one of those things that I’m keeping on pause, and I can’t quite figure out why.

After a fifteen minute drive, I pull into the parking lot of a strip mall. CrossFit gyms are always in the weirdest places. Raleigh Hills happens to be between a gun store and a fro-yo place. I’m not super interested in either of those things, so I guess it is a healthier location for me than near a bakery and a bar.

I park the pickup in front of the fro-yo place, where I can get a good look into the gym without drawing too much attention to myself and my stalkery ways.

I’ve been doing this a few times a week for the past month, so I’ve grown familiar with the schedule. They have a class that’s supposed to start at 4:30, but it always starts closer to 4:35 because this one lady is late and misses the beginning of warm ups and so they go back through the things she’s missed. Everyone seems to accept and expect this. I call this the nurses’ class because I’ve spotted at least four people going into the gym wearing scrubs.

I feel underneath the passenger seat for my gym bag. I have every intention of working out ... one of these days. For now, I run and I stalk.

The 4:30 class begins and the herd of hotties bust through the open door. At this box the four hundred meter jog is running the length of the parking lot four times.

Like clockwork, the late lady pulls in at 4:35. She jumps out of her car, already dressed and ready to go, and joins up with the class for their last lap.

I’m so engrossed in watching them that it startles me when there is a knock on the passenger side window. A blond woman, Hayley – the one who owns the gym – smiles and waves.

I reach across the seat and open the door. She gets in the truck, closes the door, and then turns to me.

“Today’s the day,” she says. She reaches underneath her seat and pulls out my gym bag. “You’re still registered for the Takedown in September and you’re going to have to start working your ass off today to be ready to compete.”

“I’ve been running a lot,” I say feebly.

Hayley nods. “It’s good for your stamina, but isn’t going to do a damn thing for your back squat.” She shoves my bag toward me. “Come work out with this class and then I’ll give you a little personal training afterwards.”

“Really?” I ask. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

“I promised Hector I’d look after you. I owe him more than one.” She puts her hand on the door handle. “And now you do too.”

We both get out of the truck and hurry inside.

“Sorry about the late start. I had to give our stalker a pep talk,” Hayley explains.

Several people say, “hey stalker” or “welcome stalker.”

“My name’s Izzy,” I say, blushing and hightailing it to the single seater bathroom to change.

“Not anymore,” says a cute tatted up guy with curly sandy blond hair. He points a thumb at Late Lady, who is finishing up the stretch sequence that everyone else has already got through. “Just ask Caboose.”

She rolls her eyes good naturedly. “I’m Kelly.”

I glance at the W.O.D. board on the way to the bathroom. I change into my leggings and tank and sit down on the toilet to lace up my shoes. My adrenaline is pumping and I feel like I’m going to puke or have to poop or something. I’m amped and nervous and ... I just have to get through a twelve minute AMRAP. After a month away, I’m not looking forward to how sore my body is going to be tomorrow and the next day.