LITMIR.BIZ

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he sometimes got lost.

      Melanie raked her hands through her new short haircut and stared at the auburn strand that came away between her fingers. Why had she dyed her hair this color?

      Because it was different and she’d wanted a fresh new look to go with her new life.

      She did a few deep breathing exercises. How could she help Rolland Jones?

      She jotted down the standard treatment plan, but given his physical advancement, decided maybe Mr. Jones might like to do some of his therapy outdoors.

      He was handsome. Gorgeous, really and she wondered why she hadn’t spotted him before. She’d heard his name mentioned several times, but had never known who the women in the break room had been talking about.

      She tried to put Rolland to words and realized there weren’t enough. He was the mmmph women talked about with a shake of their heads and an open-mouth laugh. He was the reason for the raised eyebrows and the twisted lip at the laundry center. He was the double sigh, neck roll, wrist flick, teeth suck, hip switch, six feet of mocha-mocha, hot, scarred, but still fine black man.

      She rubbed her aching heart with her thumb, telling herself love was not in her cards. She was here to help make others whole so they could go into the world and become productive.

      Her time had decidedly passed.

      Sipping her wine, she closed her eyes and listened to the water and the sounds of the children playing around the man-made lake outside.

      It was September, typically hot in Georgia this time of year, but Kentucky boasted moderate temperatures with low humidity, and she was glad she’d chosen this place to relocate.

      The vacationing families had left after the holiday, and everyone who had stayed had already gotten acquainted.

      She’d been welcomed, and while grateful for the warm reception, Melanie liked that her neighbors respected her desire for privacy. After her initial refusal to be set up with everyone’s brothers, they left her dating life alone.

      She leaned back on her pillows, the file on her chest, watching the sun fade behind the Appalachian Mountains.

      How could she give Rolland Jones reasonable hope that he’d be all right in the world without any help? Most TBI patients had family to aid their recovery in the outside world. Having TBI wasn’t easy. It wasn’t like he was ever going to wake up and not have the debilitating condition.

      His brain would not be restored to its former state, but she could help make his life reasonably comfortable. Her job was to make sure he had the skills, but not to give him false hope. She’d teach him how to live within his limits.

      Resting her eyes, Melanie listened to the distant strains of Michael Bublé singing Me and Mrs. Jones on the stereo and dozed.

      Melanie stood behind her desk, then on the side, then sat in the visitor’s chair, then went back behind her desk.

      Where was Mr. Jones? He was thirty minutes late.

      Walking to the door she peered out and then decided she wasn’t going to search for him, but get some other work done. She had other clients to see besides him.

      Melanie sat down, then got up to adjust her fan to blow right on her, because her office got too much morning sun. She held her arms out so she wouldn’t perspire all over her summer sweater as she reviewed two client charts. Making notes, she reached for her diet soda.

      “Soda isn’t good for you.”

      His voice made her feel as if a hundred hands were bathing her with warm oil.

      “You’re late. I expected you at ten.”

      He looked at her, then down at the card in his hand. Large hands, capable hands turned the card over and she wondered what else they could do.

      She pulled her gaze away.

      “Melanie, I’m sorry. I can reschedule.” His sincerity made her feel guilty for being so blunt.

      “Oh. Okay,” she said taken aback. Her husband had never apologized for anything. “Of course not. I’ll see you.”

      “I get times wrong sometimes, but this says eleven o’clock. I can’t read numbers anymore. Although that may say ten o’clock. It looks like it says eleven.” He walked inside the office and came around her desk, the card extended. “You can see for yourself, I wouldn’t lie to you.”

      The last few months, she’d uncovered so many untruths that Deion had told, she’d stopped believing in anything. She had to remind herself that they weren’t the same people.

      “I didn’t mean to imply that you’d lied, Rolland.” She tried to rise just as he leaned down to show her the card.

      Their heads connected and the card fell to the floor.

      “Ow!”

      “Oh,” he said, backing up, a smile as big as sunshine on his face.

      “Are you okay?” she asked, up and out of her chair in an instant. “I’m sorry. Is there a bump? Can you see me? Are you having any trouble?”

      “Melanie?” His voice moved boulders in her.

      “Yes?”

      “My foot hurts.”

      She looked down and realized she was standing on tiptoe on his toes. “Oh my goodness, I’m going to kill you. No! That’s a figure of speech. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

      He laughed now, sidestepping his foot from beneath hers. “I think I’d better sit down.”

      “Of course. Come over here to the couch. I’ll get some ice.”

      “It’s just a head butt. You didn’t hit me with a Crown Victoria. Now that needed some ice.”

      Melanie hurried across the hall to the break room and was back in a few seconds with an ice pack.

      Rolland had sat on the couch with his head back. A knot the size of a pea had formed on his forehead close to his hairline.

      “A Crown Vic hit you? Who drives those these days?” Melanie studied the knot, trying to decide how to apply the pack that was now freezing her fingers.

      “Old people. Well, in my case their granddaughter who wanted to sneak out on the town. They’re paying for my care and offered a healthy settlement, which I accepted.”

      “I’m glad you’re being taken care of.”

      He touched her wrist. “You sound like you really mean that.”

      “Of course I mean it. Everyone here wants the best for you.”

      “Melanie?”

      “Yes,” she said, holding the pack by her fingertips.

      “I think we might need to cover that with something or when you take it off, you might peel off my new skin.”

      Mortified, Melanie stepped away. She was standing between his legs. Looking down into his eyes, all she wanted to do was cup his face and ask him where had he been all her life?

      She knew the thought was irrational and she’d have a serious talk with herself tonight over sushi. But for right now, she was not going to cause him further harm.

      “Rolland, I’m a very capable rehabilitation specialist. I didn’t mean to hurt you, but I’ve clearly started on the wrong foot. I’m going to get a towel, apply this pack and then call someone to check out your head.”

      “That’s not necessary, Melanie. I’ve had worse injuries playing football.”

      Melanie hurried to her desk and opened her lunch bag. “So you remember playing football?”

      “Yes, when I was a kid. I remember running with the ball and laughing. But not my name, the team and all that. A cloth napkin,” he asked,

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