Fritz and I were now alone in the kitchen. Our previous conversation hung in the air between us, as did our previous physical contact.

“My back … it’s killing me.” Fritz rubbed his shoulder. His hands looked masculine, like they belonged to a blue-collar worker. The way my father’s hands looked. The way my uncle’s hands looked.

“I used to be a masseuse.”

He glanced at me. Perhaps he interpreted my statement as an overture. Perhaps it was.

“It’s probably in spasm,” I said. I stood behind him and placed my hand on his shoulder. His shirt was still cold from having been outside. “Is this where it hurts?” I pressed my thumb down on what I thought might be a pressure point. The Australian masseur I’d dated several years earlier had shown me a few. That relationship lasted longer than most, until his roommate made absurd accusations and changed the locks on their apartment.

My fingers lingered on the carotid pulse in Fritz’s neck and I could feel it quicken.

“I have a headache too.” He put his hand to his head.

“Usually tension in the shoulder contributes to a headache. The constriction of blood flow.” My hands moved to his forehead and his temples, often the source of a headache. I used my fingers to place pressure on his temples and his jaw, all potential causes of tension. “Here is the problem,” I said, “right here.” Then I moved down his arms to his hands. He released his tight hold on the bottle and a few drops of beer spilled onto the floor.

“Delta, you’re really good at this.” He shifted on his stool. “Thank you.”

I massaged one of his hands, then the other. I felt the calluses covering his palms. “The hands have pressure points connected to every part of the body. Pain in one part of your hand is an indication of a larger problem.” After his hands, I massaged his lower back. Then I turned his body on the stool so that he was facing away from the counter and toward me and I would have more access to the front of his body. His face was flushed and damp with perspiration. I wanted him. My desire for Fritz didn’t completely align with my grander vision, but I couldn’t talk myself out of it. I wanted to be in the center—with no secrets between Amelia and Fritz that I didn’t have access to.

I willed Fritz to put his hand between my legs. He needed something to take his mind off the failed adoption and Amelia. I closed my eyes and imagined his hand on my thigh, then further up on my crotch.

How long would Natalie be on the phone with Piper?