Trust Me by Earl Javorsky Page B

taut from the ends of fiberglass poles, buckets of bait and chests of tackle on the ground next to them. Children gazed through the slats of the pier railing, impatient for the excitement of the next catch.
    “Used to be you could get a good-size halibut off this pier,” Art said. “Bonita, perch, the occasional barracuda. Now it’s mainly sand sharks and mackerel. Mankind has not been kind to this bay.”
    They walked on, the smell of fish mingling with the sea breeze, tinged with an aroma of hot dogs from the concession at the end of the pier. Up ahead there was a commotion as a fisherman’s pole bent double. The reel clicked loudly, feeding out line as something powerful pulled against it. A crowd of onlookers gathered, children darting in to be close to the action. She caught glimpses of the fisherman as he pulled up on the pole, then let it down and reeled. “Somebody give me a hand,” he yelled, and Holly could see that there was a pelican pulling on the line at the end of his pole. It flapped its wings, opening and closing its mouth around the bait it had tried to steal.
    The end of the pier was a peaceful scene. An Oriental family fished in silence and stared off into the horizon. She walked over to the north side, looking toward the surfers. The angle was different from here, and sometimes she could only see their heads streaming by over the tops of the waves. She leaned against the railing.
    Art moved up behind her.
    “That was horrible,” she said. “That poor bird.”
    “Yes, not a pleasant sight, was it? But the bird will go free, and his mind is too small to remember the pain.” She felt Art’s hands on her shoulders. They moved in toward her neck and began to knead the muscles there, firmly and expertly, knowing just where to dig in to dissolve tension she hadn’t even been aware of. She relaxed into it and closed her eyes and felt the afternoon sun as it streamed down onto her face and hair, the sound of the seagulls and distant surf lulling her senses.
    He stood close behind her now and massaged her temples in a smooth circular motion. The wind came up for a moment, and she took a deep breath, savoring the freshness of it. “As you progress through the SOL process,” Art said, his voice right behind her ear, his face in her hair, “you will no longer create this tension. Instead, you’ll awaken to new strengths and insights that you never imagined before.” He stopped the rubbing and just applied a light pressure with his fingertips.
    “I’m creating tension?” She couldn’t see how she could be responsible for a physical condition.
    “Oh, yes,” Art replied. “You carry your inner conflicts in the muscles of your neck and shoulders. Unresolved, they accumulate and compound. Eventually they will contribute to health problems.”
    “Does that happen to everyone?”
    “Some people carry anger in their gut. It can manifest as digestive problems, ulcers, even cancer. A person’s inner condition, the nature of their thinking, will be reflected in the physical dimension.” Art stopped the pressure on her temples and let his hands fall back to her shoulders.
    “Are you saying that all medical problems are psychosomatic?” she asked. She turned her head to the left and to the right, stretching her neck muscles.
    “No,” Art replied. “Not psychosomatic. The mind–body connection works at a much deeper level than simple neurosis. The good news is that Bobbi’s work can take us to that level, unlock the conflicts, and help us to heal on all levels, intellectually, emotionally, and physically.” His hands moved down her arms and came to rest on her hips. He moved even closer and she could feel a new pressure, the pressure of his erection against her.
    “I’ve really come,” said Art, “to treasure our little times together.”

CHAPTER 19
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    The Audi was starting to piss Jeff off. It would feel like it was out of gas and just quit, even though he knew the tank was full. He had