Saturday Evening

© 2023 Duleigh Lawrence-Townshend. All rights reserved. The author asserts the right to be identified as the author of this story for all portions. All characters are original, any resemblance to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental. This story or any part thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the expressed written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a review or commentary.

The genesis of this story came to me several years ago when a Physician's Assistant that worked in a burn unit told me in gushing terms how much she loved her job. To me, working in a burn unit would be a terrible job, but she loved working there and helping burned and disfigured patients. Ever since then I began to look at medical personnel and medical specialties differently, because in the end, all the kidding I give my doctors aside, it truly is about the love. This story was written for the Literotica 2023 Summer Lovin' Contest and for the 2023 Crime and Punishment Event. It is an expansion of my 2023 750 Word Event story with a similar name. Please read and give me some feedback, good bad or otherwise.

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SATURDAY EVENING

All is Not What It Appears

If Steve Anderson had a complaint about the Treasure Coast of Florida, it would be the heat. The heat was overwhelming, and being a transplant to Florida Steve was told often enough, "it's not the heat, it's the humidity." He was sure it was the heat, but he let the natives taunt him because taunting newcomers is their favorite sport. How do you tell a native-born Floridian? You don't have to, they will eventually tell you.

This is a different world than anything Steve Anderson was used to; he was raised on a farm on the Upper Peninsula of Michigan where the snow and the cold reigned for half of the year. Now the snow-covered forests of his youth gave way to sun blessed swampland and beaches, or should I say beach. Florida truly has only one beach, it's over one thousand three hundred miles long, it starts at the Atlantic coast of Georgia in the northeast and winds its way all around Florida and doesn't stop until it reaches the gulf coast of Alabama. The coastline of Florida is beautiful and seductive, and its siren song drew Steve to its pure white sands. Steve tried chasing beach bunnies for a while, he even learned to surf, and he liked every minute of it, but that interfered with work, and Steve truly loved his work. There's something about physical therapy that has always been attractive to him. Helping injured people regain a normal life, helping to ease chronic pain, helping to fight back the ravages of time, it was all wonderful to him.

After serving his country as a field medic, Steve returned to school at the University of Florida in Gainesville FL (GO GATORS!) and once the nightmares of licenses and certifications were straightened out Steve found that there was a lot of work here in Florida or what is also called "God's Waiting Room." His reputation for physical therapy became so good that he was being asked for by name, and the dream of being able to work at patients' homes without direct supervision of a doctor eventually became a reality. Then one day she called Mercy General and said that a friend told a friend who told her that Steve Anderson was a miracle worker, and could she get an appointment with him? It's rumored that a large donation to the hospital had occurred, this woman wanted Steve.

Steve was working in "The Dungeon," the name that the patients gave to the Physical Therapy gymnasium because PT really stands for Pain and Torture. (The PT therapists and nurses lived for Halloween thanks to those titles.) The RN for his group found him in his tiny closet called a "work room" where the therapists did their research and reporting between appointments. She handed him a tablet and said "Here you go Steve, Mrs. D'Amato asked for you by name. She's a sweetie, so be nice."

Steve looked at her chart and slumped, spinal damage after being run over on a Manhattan sidewalk. A car jacker lost control of the car that he killed another woman to steal and hit Mr. and Mrs. D'Amato while they were visiting Manhattan. Guiseppi D'Amato didn't make it, and neither did the carjacker. D'Amato died in the arms of the woman he loved, and the carjacker died doing something he loved most of all - heroin. A broken, shattered Annamaria Giacinta Bellini-D'Amato was left on that frigid Manhattan sidewalk to try to continue her life and raise her daughters alone.

But that's just the beginning, the last dozen pages of her report were merely a rehash of her main complaint - multiple sclerosis. The poor woman ignored the warning signs of MS as merely GERD and the ravages of losing the love of her life had on her mind and body. As Steve was reviewing the doctor's recommendations for Mrs. D'Amato a young volunteer tapped on his work room door and said, "Mrs. D'Amato is here, I have her on bench number four."

"Thanks Grace, I'll be right there." He pulled on a work-out jacket grabbed the tablet and headed over to therapy bench number four where he found a smiling woman who appeared to be in her mid-forties, maybe fifty making Steve doubt the hospital records that put her age at sixty one. Maria D'Amato appeared to be in very good shape for her age, long flowing black hair done in waves and ringlets, a pretty face with big, warm, brown eyes and a million dollar smile, and Steve was going to have to work very hard to avoid staring at those large breasts of hers. She unzipped her own workout jacket revealing her tight t-shirt and Steve realized that she wasn't going to make avoiding them easy. Then looking further down he saw those metal braces on each leg, and the wrist-cuff crutches, and he realized that they had work to do.

"How ya doin'?" she asked in a barely disguised Brooklyn accent extending a hand. They shook hands and she had an incredibly strong grip which came from years of walking on crutches.

"The question is how are you doing, looking at this chart here it shows a startling recovery from what was thought as paralysis."

Maria smiled a sweet, heartwarming smile and said, "If I was paralyzed you wouldn't have seen me, so I put in a little effort so I could see the amazing Steve Anderson."

"Flattery will get you everywhere Mrs. D'Amato, including a long hour of work, can I see what you got?" the young "Yooper" asked with a grin.

"And on first date too!" said Maria with raised eyebrows. "The young man moves fast!"

"I'm just trying to keep up with you ma'am. Now looking at your..."

"Maria."

"Hmm?"

"Maria, my friends call me Maria." There was a very long pause as their eyes met and Steve's mouth went dry. Mrs. D'Amato's eyes were beautiful, expressive, and they were calling to him as she continued, "I would love it if you called me Maria."

"Maria it is, and please call me Steve," and they shook hands again. A bridge was crossed and a patient-therapist bond was created in an instant. "Ok Maria let's take the metalwork off and lay back and lay back on the bench. We're going to do some range of motions."

The first appointment always goes long; the therapist needs to evaluate what the patient can do then compares that with the doctor's expectations. In that very long first appointment while Steve put Maria "through her paces," a friendship began to take shape. "I have all the numbers I need, next time we see each other I'll have a plan of therapy together."

"You medical people, always with the numbers. You convert everything that people are into numbers."

"That's the doctor's job," said Steve, "my job is to convert those numbers into something that makes your life better, like a solid plan of therapy."

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"How did the appointment go?" asked Darlene Colella. Darlene has been Maria's friend and nurse since she was released from the Manhattan hospital where she lived for months after she was run down on that Manhattan sidewalk a week before Christmas. Darlene was Maria's home nurse, a gift from Domonic Calvetta, Maria's and her late husband's employer. She helped Maria with everything including Maria's daughters Giannina (Jeannie) who was twenty two, thirteen years older than the younger Nadia who was nine at the time of her father's death.

Darlene helped not only with Maria's physical needs but was an extra pair of hands to help with Jeannie's wedding which was put off for months due to her father's death and Maria's hospitalization, and Nadia's needs. Nadia was a daddy's girl and she never fully recovered from her father's death. Nadia still insists that it was murder.

"The appointment?" Maria shrugged, "it went," she said and she tried to hide a grin as she put a pot on the stove then swung the pot filler out over it and filled the pot with water.

"We're making a dinner tonight, he must have worked up an appetite," grinned Darlene, then as Maria took a sip from her wine Darlene added, "and a thirst, as the kids would say."

"Oh hush, he's a very nice young man."

"... said the cougar on the prowl," grinned Darlene as she took the marinara and a block of parmesan out of the refrigerator.

"When we were done he gave me a leg and foot massage," said Maria, trying not to blush.

"Rrrroooowwww! Fffft! Ffffft!" exclaimed Darlene clawing the air like a cat.

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Steve Anderson set the que ball on the "kitchen line" close to the right rail, gave it a bit of top English to drive it through the balls then let fly with the que stick. With a solid crack the queue ball hit the formation of 15 balls between the second and third rows and drove its way in, striking the 8 ball and driving it toward the pocket. The 15 balls all scattered madly, the 8 ball nearly pocketed which would have won the game for Steve. "Not this time Captain," said Bruce McLaren, as the 8 ball stopped in front of the left corner pocket. "But you probably did fuck me over," he said as he studied the table. "What's with the shit eating grin?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," said Steve with a poorly hidden grin.

Bruce studied the table and realized that all the best shots that he could have taken would have been toward the pocket that was guarded by the 8 ball. He took a shot at the 2 ball which was woefully weak and didn't hit a pocket, in fact it didn't hit a rail. Bruce was a detective with the Vero Beach PD and Steve's best and probably only friend. They served two tours in Afghanistan together and the one romp into bandit country that he missed was when Steve got injured. Bruce picked up the que ball and handed it to Steve. "Ball in hand, open table."

"There's fifteen balls on the table, I can't see how you missed all of them." Steve place the que ball exactly where he wanted it then in rapid succession sank the two ball, the five ball, and the seven ball, then missed an easy shot leaving Bruce with the high balls.

"You're still grinning and you left me with a shot. That's not like you at all," said Bruce as sank the eleven ball. "Who is she?" Bruce and Steve shot a game or twelve of 8 Ball every Tuesday at the VFW, neither was a member but they both hung out there. In Afghanistan Steve somehow ended up in charge of a small group of men even though he was just supposed to be their field medic. Eventually he ended up doing things that should not have been done and Bruce was his "wing man" through most of their adventures. Bruce sank two more balls and said, "You found the one."

"She might be," said Steve, as Bruce chalked his que stick.

"Yeah, she is," said Bruce, "wanna know how I can tell?"

"How?"

"You just sank the eight ball and gave me the game."

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"It's starting to get warm out there," said Maria as she arrived for their appointment, early as usual.

"My dear, I'm a Yooper, our ideas of getting warm out there are probably two different things," said Steve as he helped her out of her "iron maidens" as she called her leg braces.

"Water dripping from the icicles," said Maria, "that's what getting warm always meant to me."

"That's a good indicator, I didn't realize that it gets very cold on Long Island."

"It doesn't. It snows maybe twice a year, it's just that all the networks are in New York City so if it snows it becomes news. Imagine if the networks were all based in Minneapolis."

Getting serious for a moment Steve sat on a roll-away stool and looking at her chart he said, "Maria, what is your number one goal?"

Maria's beautiful, soulful eyes softened, and she smiled gently. "I want to dance at my granddaughter's wedding."

Sudden terror overtook Steve, he will do everything he could to help a patient achieve their goals, but if her granddaughter is engaged, there's no way Steve could get this beautiful woman ready in time to stand, let alone dance without her crutches. Even if they... "Steve? Is there a problem?" Maria asked, breaking through his wall of worry.

"How old is your granddaughter?"

"She just turned thirteen."

Relief washed over Steve as he said, "Ok, so we have a little time to prepare, let's get going," and thus began a provider/patient relationship that many healthcare professionals dream about having. They would meet twice a week, every Tuesday and Thursday. At one appointment Steve mentioned that he has rarely had Italian food other than infrequent visits to the Olive Garden or the occasional pizza parlor. Maria would then describe her favorite Italian dishes and how she learned to make them, which drove Steve mad with hunger, it all sounded so good. "So where are we today?" asked Steve as Maria lay on her back, and he began to flex her stiff legs.

"Pasta carbonara," grinned Maria. "I take three eggs, a cup of Parmigiano Reggiano, a half a pound of Pancetta..." she went on and on about her Italian recipes; simple, classic dishes that she loved to make but no longer could because there was no one there to cook for.

"Ok, ok, Maria stop, you're killing me. I'll come by and you can make a meal for me but only if I can repay the favor somehow."

"You come by Saturday and bring your bathing trunks..." a grin spread over her face, "I need a good pool boy."

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Steve found that Maria's neighborhood wasn't far from his apartment, it was a nice quiet neighborhood built long ago in an area that was once all grapefruit groves. After a few blights and a huge increase in the cost of farm labor and the owner of the groves went into real estate. Although pines and palms were the kings, the neighborhood was also populated with sycamore, weeping willow, southern live oak and many other types of shade trees. It was a great neighborhood, not far from Vero Beach, close to the Indian River which paralleled the ocean and created the barrier islands.

Nervous as a schoolboy he stood at the door shifting foot to foot, somehow, he had expected her to live in a gated community with guards, fountains, and chrome wheeled golf carts buzzing about, not in what he considered to be Real America. He found himself in front of a medium size three bedroom ranch dwelling next to a manicured, tree shaded open lot. Finally, he rang the bell and a call from within said, "Come in! The door is open!" Entering he found a very neat living room which looked like it had never been lived in, then behind that was a kitchen and dining room which looked like Maria's primary abode.

He stepped into the kitchen and raised his gift and Maria's heartwarming smile broke into a cry of "Two bottles of wine! Are you trying to take advantage of me?"

"Well... I..."

"As Virgil once wrote, beware of Yoopers bearing gifts."

"I think that was Greeks."

"Don't be silly," said Maria as she kissed his cheek, "Greeks never even heard of Yoopers. Come here, let me show you the pool," and she led him through the kitchen where she and Darlene were preparing dinner. Maria introduced Steve and Darlene to each other and showed off her kitchen. Everything was so neat and orderly as she prepared to prepare dinner, it looked like she was going to film a cooking show. "Right through here!" just outside was a nice, shaded patio with grill and sink built into what looked like a coral wall with a large refrigerator nearby. Wine glasses hung over the sink and there were plenty of cabinets. The pool was kidney shaped with seating all around the sides except for the deep end which had a rock feature wall with some sad looking plants growing on it.

Indicating a storage area Maria said "All the equipment and chemicals are here. There are refreshments in the fridge, and I'll be right here in the kitchen if you need me." Maria crutched back into the kitchen and began to make her late husband's favorite, chicken scallopine. First came the slicing, she sliced every mushroom perfectly, she's not going to trust her scallopine to a machine cut mushroom. She's making dinner for a man, not warming a hot pocket for a gamer boy.

As she worked, she could see Steve through the window working on the pool. He disappeared while she was pounding the chicken breasts to their proper thickness, but he soon reappeared as she dipped the chicken breasts into milk, coated them with flower and pan fried them golden brown and delicious. When finished with that she again turned to the huge windows and saw Steve in the pool with a scrub brush scrubbing the "bathtub ring" from the water edge tiles, she also heard water running, he was adding water to the pool.

She crutched her way out to the pool deck and said, "you're adding water?"

Steve looked up at her and said, "If we raise the water level up about three more inches it will make it easier for you to get in and out of the pool."

"Oh, I don't swim," she insisted, "this is for the girls and the grandkids," but Steve just smiled and went back to scrubbing and Maria went back into the kitchen. She peeked out one other time and he wasn't around. "Steve?" she called but he was nowhere to be seen until she looked into the pool and there he was at the bottom of the deep end. Before she could scream, he rose to the surface wearing a dive mask and snorkel and bringing up a hand full of leaves that were stuck in various drains.

Seeing the look on her face he said, "Did I scare you? I'm sorry, I should have warned you that I dive when I'm working on pools."

"You really are a pool boy?"

"Pools and gardens," he said with a nod and a smile. "It's how I worked my way through the University of Florida."

The look of relief and joy that washed over her face was priceless as Steve took a deep breath and went down to finish cleaning out the intake drain.

Later that evening the dinner Maria served was spectacular! Steve had never had chicken scallopine, chicken cutlets on homemade linguini with a spectacular mushroom sauce. "Oh God, that was a feast!" Maria just smiled as Steve wolfed down his dinner, it was so good to cook for an appreciative audience. "Where did you get these noodles!" gushed Steve, "they are delicious!"

"I didn't get them, I made them."

"You made them?" Steve sounded shocked that she made the noodles. "You have to show me how you make noodles."

"You've never had homemade noodles?"

"Never, I've heard of noodle making machines and always wanted to try though."