The Redemption of River Read online

He watched the tugboat make its way under the Ship Canal Bridge.

  Seattle was surprisingly great. He hated the traffic but loved how green it was—having grown up in California, the green was like a miracle. He loved all the water, parks, islands, and marinas. He loved the hip neighborhood eateries and the local university. He especially loved the Expanded Horizons clinic.

  The people at the clinic were an inspiration. Dr. Jack Halloran had been an Army surgeon until he was wounded. Poor guy could no longer operate due to the shake in his right hand, so he’d ended up training as a sex therapist. Michael Lamont was another surrogate with a sweet, light-filled spirit. River knew he worked with really tough cases and was also a nurse who cared for the elderly. He was married to a famous sci-fi author, apparently, though River had never met James. Loretta, the receptionist, was unintentionally funny. And Dr. Trudy Kaplan, who ran the place, was so dedicated to healing and so knowledgeable about sexuality.

  River loved that the clinic was focused on helping clients with real sexual problems. Working through the clinic, he could operate as a true tantric healer and not deal with people who just wanted kinky sex. He’d had some interesting clients so far.

  An image came into River’s mind of Brent McKay. Warm energy bloomed from River’s sacrum chakra and swirled in his belly.

  “River.”

  The need in Brent’s voice. The way he had stared into River’s eyes.

  River breathed out, allowing himself to feel it, to remember Brent fondly and then let it go.

  He’d never been attracted to a client before. Yes, Brent was handsome, with chestnut-brown hair worn longer than was fashionable in a shaggy style, eyes the dark mossy green of a mountain lake, and a trim body. In fact, he was a bit on the skinny side, probably due to prolonged depression, but nicely shaped, with strong shoulders and fine hands and feet.

  Still, River was not one to swoon over good looks. On the surface, Brent McKay should not appeal to him at all. He was a wealthy Seattle business man with a multi-million dollar house. River was not into materialistic people. Yet Brent was nothing like he’d expected. He was curious about tantra and asked questions, not dismissing it with a smirk like some Americans, or only interested in the sexual aspect, like pretty much all Americans. And he’d been a fascinating case.

  Brent had really low energy when they met, filled up with grief, holding the suffering of his late wife deep in his body. River had never felt a chakra blockage so clearly before. But then, Brent was very open, not guarded like most people, and that allowed River to tune in to his body.

  On Brent’s higher chakras, there’d been an electric flow between them, a tingling heat dancing from River’s hands to Brent’s body and back again. It was amazingly strong given that Brent had no previous experience channeling his energy whatsoever. Then, at his sacrum chakra, there had been a dull nothing, as if River’s hands touched a brick wall instead of a living body.

  It was so amazing that he could feel that!

  Better still, they’d been able to break through it, release that bound-up tension, until the energy was flowing again, and Brent was able to access his sexuality. It’d been crazy satisfying. Those were the experiences that told River he was on the right path, that he was meant to be a healer, and that reiki and tantra were the right medium.

  Just beautiful.

  The cause of Brent’s blockage was another way in which he was not a stereotypical rich business guy. He’d married his wife young and nursed her through a long illness, had felt her suffering so deeply he’d internalized it. Not many men were that sensitive to someone else’s pain or would be that devoted to a partner. It was hard for River to imagine it. Relationships drifted in and out of his life.

  Like dandelion puffs.

  Like houseboats.

  As he sat there on the deck, idly thinking about Brent McKay, another memory snuck in—the way Brent had pushed his ass up as River slid his chest over it, as if begging for penetration, his female yin energy rising up and calling to River’s male yang energy.

  Sexual fire awakened in River, just as it had at the time. He took a deep breath and let the hot energy flow through him, warm his belly and thighs, before pushing it up toward his heart and feeling the expansion there.

  Wow. Even the memory of that moment was powerful.

  He hadn’t felt a polarity that strong with anyone, had never gotten physically hard with a client before. But perhaps the sexual energy had flowed in and through both of them so intensely because it had been knotted up in Brent for so long, and it had burst free in a tide. So awesome.

  Lily barked, and River rubbed her ears.

  After that, Brent hadn’t booked another session. Maybe he’d been uncomfortable with the way the practice drew out his female energy. Some men would be. Or maybe he felt he’d made enough progress. Whatever the reason, it was for the best. All for the best.

  Someone else’s life.

  Someone else’s Brent McKay.

  The door opened on the neighboring houseboat, and Mrs. Smythe came out onto her deck. She wore bedazzled velour sweats in a turquoise color and a matching headband. She filled up her watering can at the faucet and watered the array of containers that lined her deck.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Smythe,” River called out.

  She gave a little startle, as if she hadn’t seen him there, but River was pretty sure she had. She always showed up sooner or later when he sat on the deck.

  “Well, hello, River. How are your oats today?”

  He chuckled. “Just fine.”

  “I didn’t see you doing yoga on the deck this morning. I hope you’re not under the weather.”

  “No, it was just a little chilly, so I did it inside.”

  “Oh.” She sounded disappointed. “It did get cold last night. I was worried for my impatiens.” She peered over a container of flowers. Small pink and white flowers were arrayed all around her deck. Now River knew what they were called.

  “I’ve met plenty of impatient humans but never an impatient flower,” River mused.

  She giggled. “Oh, you! You’re a card.”

  “I’m going to go to the dog park soon. Want me to take Precious?”

  “She would love that! Yes, please.”

  “No problem. And I’ll probably hit the market later today if you need anything.”

  Lily had heard him say “dog park,” and she raced around the deck like a demented boomerang, barking ecstatically. Even Beauchamp roused himself from his bed and stood at the sliding glass doors, looking at River expectantly and shimmying his butt with its tight, corkscrew tail. River laughed. Guess they were going now instead of soon.

  River stood and stretched. He got Lily and Beauchamp into their harnesses and leashes, grabbed his wallet and keys, and locked up. He put them in the back of the BMW and went next door. Mrs. Smythe opened her front door and handed him Precious. She was a white poodle who’d seen younger days, but she still had a lot of nervous energy. She shook like a leaf with excitement.

  “Thank you so much, dear. And about the store, if you could get me a gallon of 1%, I’d be grateful.”

  “Sure. Nothing else?”

  “Oh, I don’t want to trouble you.”

  River tried to avoid Precious’s tongue getting in his mouth as she licked his face. “I’m going anyway. It’s not a problem.”

  “Oh, well, if you’re sure.” Mrs. Smythe slyly produced a list with about ten items from her pocket along with three twenty-dollar bills.

  River bit back a smile and tucked them in his jeans’ pocket.

  “You’re such a nice young man.” She patted his arm. “You know, the Reynolds have lived next to me for eight years and never once have they said more than ‘hello,’ much less offered to do something for me.”

  River wasn’t terribly surprised, but it was sad. “I’m sorry to hear that. It’s their loss.”

  “They’ve got busy lives, gone at work all the time. You’re much better company. Mind your manners, Pr
ecious! Thanks again for taking her.”

  “It’s a pleasure. She’s a doll.”

  That was a bit of a white lie. Precious was yappy, but Mrs. Smythe loved her, and it didn’t cost him anything to be generous with praise.

  River put Precious in the back of the car with the other two dogs. The older black BMW belonged to the wife, Mrs. Reynolds, and was the “dog car.” Brent had full access to it during his stay, which was great, since he’d sold his old clunker back in 2017 before going to India, and he’d just as soon not be encumbered with another one.

  They drove up the hill to the dog area in Volunteer Park.

  Capitol Hill was a terrific neighborhood, filled with big trees and large old houses. But it was sooooo out of his price range, even if he decided to stay in Puget Sound a while longer. Part of him wanted to stay. Expanded Horizons would be happy to let him continue to work there. Perhaps he could build up enough of a clientele over time that he could live off his therapy work. But, for now, it would never pay the bills if he weren’t house-sitting. Besides which, the idea of signing a lease, settling down into a normal life…? It didn’t suit him.

  Why should he pay to live in a tiny, static apartment, when he could live in million-dollar homes all over the world for free?

  Someone else’s life.

  Lily raced around the dog area with a boxer named Jerry, and Beauchamp ambled around sniffing out other dogs’ pee. River chatted with a couple of dog moms for a bit. When they left, he took out his phone and checked the house-sitting site for other Puget Sound listings. There were several, but they started before this placement ended in September, so that wouldn’t work.

  It didn’t matter. He could go anywhere. Maybe back to California for a while. Something on the beach. Or London. Tokyo. Rio.

  He got the dogs in the car, made a quick stop at the market, and drove back to the houseboat. He dropped off Precious and Mrs. Smythe’s groceries, brushed Lily’s long red fur so she wouldn’t get mud on the rugs inside, and got everything put away. Then he fed the dogs and fixed himself a rice, beans, and veg bowl.

  As he sat on the deck watching the sun set, the phone in his pocket itched. It called to him until he took it out and searched the local job listings.

  He was just curious. He wasn’t staying. Still. A little extra money for a month or two wouldn’t hurt.

  Chapter 8

  River

  “My boy, look at you! You are an Adonis.”

  Harrison Emmanuel greeted River at the door of his luxury apartment as if they’d known each other for years. He kissed River on both cheeks. He smelled of Vicks and red wine, and his lips were papery thin.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Emmanuel.” River set his black vinyl case with the portable futon and his duffel bag with oils, incense, and other tools of his trade just inside the door.

  “Please, call me Harrison. After all, we won’t be strangers for long, hmm?” Harrison looked at River coyly.

  “I hope not. What a beautiful apartment.”

  That was the truth. The luxury apartment on 4th Avenue overlooked the Seattle waterfront. All the walls were painted white and huge windows looked out over Pier 70 and the Puget Sound. A green-and-white ferry went by in the distance. Inside, round cement columns and an open floor plan with a white-and-stainless-steel kitchen gave the place an ultra-modern vibe. The furniture was all white and gray and Scandinavian sleek. Bright abstract paintings on the walls provided the only color.

  “Thank you. I’ve lived in this building for ten years. It’s a bit pricey, but, well, it’s not like I have anyone to leave my money to.” Harrison bustled into the kitchen. “What can I get you to drink? I have an excellent bottle of merlot open, or I have a fumé blanc if you prefer. I also have coffee, tea, water?”

  “I don’t need anything right now, thank you.”

  Harrison Emmanuel was eighty, according to his file from Expanded Horizons. He was tall and thin, with narrow shoulders and a head that was too big for his body. Wiry, white hair had been slicked back but was frizzily escaping whatever product Harrison had tamed it with. His long, narrow face with its big nose, thin lips, and small watery blue eyes was elegant. He wore a black silk robe over silky gray pajama bottoms and gray slippers. River didn’t know what his profession was or had been, but he obviously wasn’t hurting for money.

  River looked around, trying to figure out where he’d set up his futon. Normally, he preferred low lighting and candles to create a relaxing atmosphere, but there were no shades or blinds on the huge windows, and it was only three in the afternoon. Even the overcast day outside filled the room with light. Oh well. He had a black eye mask in his bag of tricks.

  “If I move the coffee table, I can set up in here.” River waved to the living room. “Or did you have another place you’d prefer?”

  “Oh, darling. I appreciate your work ethic, but perhaps we can get to know each other first, hmm? I’m not that kind of boy. Have a seat, and I’ll bring out drinks.”

  River considered saying that a tantric session always began with building a connection first, not just rushing into things, but he decided to follow the client’s lead. He left his bags by the door and took a seat on the gray linen couch.

  Harrison brought a glass of water with ice for River and red wine for himself. He sat close on the sofa, putting their drinks on the coffee table, a beautifully polished all-wood affair that probably cost more than River’s last car.

  “There now.” Harrison crossed his long legs. “Let me look at you. At my age, just looking is a thrill.”

  River gave him an indulgent smile.

  Harrison looked him all over, his gaze avid in a way that made River want to squirm. He didn’t.

  “What a beauty. I bet you have a magnificent jaw under that beard. Still, the beard does add a certain masculine je ne sais quoi.” He sipped his wine. “Such broad shoulders. And utterly exquisite hands.” He reached out to turn River’s hand over and run a thumb along his palm. “An artist’s hands. No, stronger than an artist’s. Your palms have muscles. I can tell you’re a masseur.”

  Harrison was charming, but his interest made River feel uncomfortable. He preferred to be the one in charge, to keep the sessions focused on healing, not to feel like a slab of prime rib. He changed the subject. “How long have you been seeing Dr. Halloran?”

  “Oh, not long. Let’s see, we’ve had three appointments so far? He recommended a nutritionist. It’s a blood-flow issue, you know. Heart disease. Stents. So of course, they want me to give up anything remotely edible. Thank God red wine is allowed. I told Dr. Halloran, I’m eighty years old. My veins will never be what they once were. Give me those little blue pills and a patient, lovely expert such as yourself, and maybe the Lone Ranger will ride again, hmm?”

  That made River laugh. “Reiki can help with blood flow. And through reiki and tantric techniques, we can raise your energy levels and awaken the body. I also like to work on appreciating touch and sensuality whether or not there’s an erection or ejaculation. The goal is just to relax, enjoy the moment, and get back in touch with your body and your sexual energy.”

  Harrison gave a faux-shocked expression. “My dear, I’ve been a promiscuous gay man for sixty-eight years. That’s the first time anyone ever suggested getting a hard-on wasn’t the point.”

  “Well, it’s not the point in tantric practice. But if it’s your wish, I completely understand. What goals would you like to work toward in our sessions?”

  Harrison sighed. “Oh, just having you here is lovely. And I’m so looking forward to getting a nice massage. If we can ring the old tower bell, then God bless you, my dear. But if that doesn’t happen, please don’t take it personally. You’re a beautiful boy, and just know that the spirit is willing, even if the flesh is far from cooperative these days.”

  Despite Harrison’s playful words, sadness lingered behind his tone, and River felt a gush of compassion. He squeezed Harrison’s hand. “You don’t need to do anything ex
cept relax.”

  “I know, darling. That’s what ‘paying for it’ means.” The words were bitter and a little offensive, but Harrison rushed on before River could respond. “Dr. Halloran simply raves about you, and I’m so grateful you’re willing to work with an old goat like me. But before we start, I’d love to know something about you. Are you from Seattle? Or are you a refugee like myself?”

  “Mm. Just here temporarily. I grew up in California, but I’ve traveled a lot.”

  “Now you do look like a poster for California. All that golden skin! I never lived in Los Angeles, if you can believe it! I had the opportunity a half-dozen times. Potential films, some L.A. theater, but it never happened. Believe it or not, New Yorkers can be awfully snobbish about L.A. And Seattle! You’d think it was a backwater for all Broadway knows or cares.”

  Harrison was clearly in no hurry to get started on the massage. He was lonely, River realized. And perhaps he needed to talk more than anything. He also seemed to like just looking at River, touching his hand, knee, or arm.

  And, well, River had no other appointments that day. He let the conversation flow. He learned that Harrison was a theater director. He’d been on Broadway for over twenty years before moving to Seattle to work with the local theater companies. He’d never been married, claimed he “enjoyed playing the field too much.”

  Harrison told funny stories. He also kept refilling his wine glass, got a little drunk, and began to talk a lot too loud. The session was going to be a washout if this went on. So after a while, River set up his futon and plugged in his oil-warming pot.

  “How about we start on the couch?” he suggested, deciding it would be hard for Harrison to sit on the floor, even on a futon. “In a tantra session, we begin with establishing intimacy through being present with one another, gazing and breathing.”

  “That doesn’t sound too onerous,” Harrison joked. “Breathing is one of the few things I still do well.”

  River sat facing Harrison on the couch, took both of his hands, and stared into his eyes. He directed Harrison in tantric breathing.