Saving Jason Read Online Free PDF Page B

being chased by a bison trumped the breathless excitement of a physical therapy clinic.”
    Skeli had been working on her doctorate when we first met. It was the beginning of a second career—or third if you counted the time she spent as Roger’s assistant. With backing from me and other moneyed friends, she had opened an office in SoHo, which now took up a lot more of her time than I had expected. That wasn’t exactly a problem—I was happy for her success—but I did miss lazy Saturdays and long, relaxed dinners together.
    “No, there were no mad bison running around the treatment rooms. We did get another new celeb client today, though.” She dropped a name even I recognized. New Yorkers try hard to be unimpressedwith fame, but a few signed celebrity photos in the waiting room were good marketing. People would flock to Skeli’s office on the slight chance of running into a Broadway legend with sciatica, or an opera diva with a twisted ankle.
    “How did she find you?”
    “Another referral from Paddy.”
    Patrick Gallagher was both a Wall Street wizard and a theater producer. He was also one of the friends I had convinced to back Skeli’s business.
    “Very nice. So business is booming.”
    “Do I hear a touch of mixed feelings there?”
    “Not really. I’m very happy for you.”
    “And you know it won’t always be this way, right? The start-up is the hardest part. Six months from now, the place will almost run itself. I’ll have normal hours and we’ll have lots more time together.”
    I laughed in spite of her earnest wish for me to believe. “No, I don’t know that. You love being fully engaged. You love helping people. You feel important, and that’s a good thing. I don’t mind. But in six months, you are going to have a baby to add to the mix and life will get exponentially more complicated. And that’s a good thing, too.”
    We smiled at each other in contemplation of our lives being turned upside down by the arrival of another family member.
    “Maybe we should just get a dog,” I said.
    “Too late, bud. You should have thought of that months ago. What kind of cheese is that?”
    I was eating a grilled chicken Caesar salad. When Skeli had started gagging at the smell of coffee or the sight of a rare and bloody steak, I had stopped eating anything that she wouldn’t eat—when she was present. If I needed a pastrami fix, or a good burger, I found it on my own time.
    “It’s Parmesan. Isn’t that what you put on a Caesar?”
    “That’s not Parmesan. It’s Asiago. It smells.” She gave a half grimace, half smile. “Sorry.”
    “No problem,” I said. “I’ll have them wrap it up. Maybe they’ve got some saltines I could munch on.”
    She laughed again and my heart soared.
    “No. Eat. Eat your dinner. Please. If you send it away, I’ll only feel like a crazy pregnant lady and start crying—or screaming. Oh, damn, Jason. I’ve been sitting on bad news all afternoon and I’ve got to tell you or I’m going to explode.”
    Roger and the Kid, with the impeccable timing that good friends and children always seem to have, arrived at our table. “We’re heading out,” Roger said. “The Kid wants ice cream and I’ve been sitting long enough. We’ll meet you back at your place, okay?”
    “’Nilla,” my son said.
    “That’s great, Roger. Thanks. You’re sure?”
    “I got it,” he said.
    I held out my hand for the Kid to sniff. He gave a rare smile and held his hand out to me. He did not like to be hugged, kissed, or even touched, usually, but we had discovered this mutually acceptable form of communicating affection. “You take care of Roger, okay? Don’t let him eat too much ice cream.”
    His brow furrowed as he processed this. Roger never ate ice cream. Therefore this gave onto two possibilities: (A) I was losing my mind; or (B) I was making a joke. He weighed these for a moment and responded. “Funny.”
    They said their good-byes, and Skeli and I watched them trundle