Faking It. Dorie Graham

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СКАЧАТЬ on you all the time like this.”

      “Not to worry. I’m here to look after you.” He spent a few more minutes with the electrician, before he felt satisfied the man would do the job to his specifications, then he turned to his aunt. “Okay, Aunt Rose, I have exactly one minute. How can I help?”

      Fifteen minutes later he raced for his car. His aunt had had questions about everything from deductibles to flood insurance, with a sidetrack on term life insurance. In the end, she’d opted to renew her current policy.

      He shifted, trying to ease the tightness in his chest as he sat at a light on his way to pick up Bobby. Why had he told his brother he would get him? Jack would have to hurry and make every light on his way to meet his client.

      The light turned green and Jack sped on. Ten minutes later he pulled up in front of the garage where Bobby said he’d be, but his brother was nowhere in sight. Jack slammed his door shut, then hurried into the low brick building. A kid with a Mohawk greeted him at the counter.

      “I’m looking for my brother. He just dropped his car off here.”

      “Yeah, looks kind of like you. He ran across the street. Said he’d be right back.”

      “Across the street?” Jack turned to look where the kid pointed. An adult novelty shop. Jack’s frustration burned into anger. “Thanks.”

      He hurried across the street, running to avoid an approaching sixteen wheeler. Bobby’s platinum head was clearly visible through the wide front window of the shop. Jack entered to find his brother leaning over the counter flirting with the young woman behind it.

      He turned as Jack entered. “Hey, big brother, this is Deloris. She says they’re having a sale on whips. You want one?”

      “It’s time to go, Bobby. I have to make it to a meeting by one.”

      Bobby groaned. “Sorry, Deloris, got to go. Maybe I could call you some time?”

      “Bobby,” Jack said, putting the tone of authority into his voice that their father had used all those years ago and that Jack had perfected when he’d stepped in to fill his father’s shoes.

      “A guy can’t have any fun around here anymore.” Bobby cast Deloris one more look filled with longing, then followed Jack to the door. “Your timing sucks.”

      “You’re welcome,” Jack said as he slid into the car.

      “Okay, thanks for giving me a ride.” Bobby grinned, oblivious to all but the pretty brunette as he craned his neck to catch one last glimpse.

      “You can pick up where you left off when you come back to get your car,” Jack said.

      “If she happens to be working then.”

      “I have never known you to have trouble getting a date.”

      “True.” Bobby cranked up the radio as Jack drove to his brother’s apartment.

      A short while later Jack dropped off Bobby, then sped toward the interstate, his pulse pounding through the dull ache in his chest. The light ahead turned yellow. Jack floored it, rubbing his chest in an effort to relieve the growing pressure there.

      The radio disc jockey announced the time and Jack swore. He was going to be late, even if he hit all green lights. He should call his client. Steering with one hand, he reached into his briefcase for the file with the client’s contact information. The file spilled as he yanked it from the briefcase, scattering its contents over the front seat and floor.

      The ache radiated from his chest, with a sharpness that took his breath. Grimacing, he pressed his hand to his heart as the pain escalated to agonizing proportions.

      A horn honked. He glanced up, then jerked the wheel hard to the right to avoid an oncoming car. The road veered off to the left as the car careened over the shoulder. He braked hard, fighting to maintain control of the wheel. All the while, he clutched his chest and gasped for breath through the bone-numbing pain.

      His car hit an embankment and stopped. Adrenaline pounded through Jack as he peered at the back of the other car as it continued up the street, apparently unscathed. The pain eased, though his heart hammered and sweat beaded his brow.

      That had been too close for comfort. He could have been killed.

      This fatigue and these chest pains are your body’s way of warning you that all isn’t as it should be.

      Jack bowed his head, his hands still gripping the wheel. Dr. Carmichael was right. Jack needed to cut back.

      If he didn’t want to end up like his grandfather and father before him, he had to face that he could no longer be everything to everyone. It was time to help his family learn to stand on their own feet. Without him.

      He’d been wrong not to take his condition seriously.

      A FEW DAYS LATER, smoke curled from an oil burner on a shelf in the small but tidy shop. Jack wrinkled his nose, but the smell had a surprising appeal. Sunlight filtered through a window set above shelves of jars, boxes and packets of things he tried not to contemplate. He took in a deep incense-filled breath and rolled his shoulders in an attempt to relax.

      “Chamomile.” A woman with rosy cheeks smiled from behind a stack of books. “It’s good for lots of things, like insomnia and stress.”

      He nodded, not quite sure how to respond. He’d had his share of both in recent months, among other symptoms. He cleared his throat. “Do you have any books on alternative healing?”

      “Sure.” She gestured for him to follow her between two book-filled aisles. “Here you go.”

      He glanced at the assortment of titles. “I want something that’s more informational, not a how-to. I’m studying alternative healing methods—what they are.”

      “I see.” She peered at him through narrowed eyes. “This is for your personal use as opposed to research, right?”

      Unease rippled through him. “Yes.”

      Her face split into a smile. “You’ll be okay. Spirit gives us only what we can handle.”

      He laughed, a small strangled sound. Right, he could handle a bad heart and the near certainty of a shortened life. He rubbed his chest as though doing so might relieve the constant pressure there. “Thanks. Can you make a recommendation?”

      “Is there a particular type of healing you’re interested in?”

      “I don’t know. I’ve been to countless doctors. Have been poked, prodded and peered into more times than I care to admit.” He stopped.

      Why was he telling her this? He hadn’t breathed a word to his family. Yet something about the woman put him at ease, loosened his tongue. “A good friend suggested that I look into alternatives. She mentioned several things. I’m not sure where to start.”

      “Hmm, let’s see.” She ran her fingers across the book spines, muttering to herself. “Why don’t you try this one?”

      He took the book and read the title. “The Beginner’s Guide to Alternative Healing СКАЧАТЬ