Feeling like he was back in the gym again, he double-checked himself. Nope. Still very much not naked. What the hell—
When he looked up, one of them had gotten to her feet and come over. “Hi. My friend thinks you’re hot.”
Um . . . “Ah, thanks.”
“Here’s her number—”
“Oh, no—nope.” He took the piece of paper she put on the table and forced it back in her hand. “I’m flattered, but—”
“She’s eighteen—”
“And I’m forty-five.”
At this, the girl’s jaw dropped. “No. Way.”
“Yes. Way.” He pulled a hand through h
is hair, wondering when he’d decided to channel Gossip Girl or some shit. “And I have a girlfriend.”
“Oh.” The chippie smiled. “That’s cool—but ya coulda just said. You don’t have to lie about being an old fart.”
With that she sauntered off, and as she sat back down, there was a collective groan. And then he got a couple of winks.
Manny looked over at Goldberg. “Kids. I mean, honestly.”
“Um. Yeah.”
Okay, it was time to end this awkwardness. Looking out the window, Manny started to plan his exit—
In the glass, he saw the reflection of his face. Same high cheekbones. Same square jaw. Same lip-and-nose combo. Same black hair. But there was something different.
Leaning in, he thought . . . his eyes were . . .
“Hey,” he said calmly. “I’m going to hit the loo. Will you watch my coffee before we leave?”
“Of course.” Goldberg smiled in relief, as if he were glad to have both a departure strategy and a job. “Take your time.”
Manny got up and went over to the single unisex bathroom. After knocking and getting no response, he opened the door, and turned on the light. As he locked himself in and the overhead fan came on, he stepped up to the mirror with its little EMPLOYEES MUST WASH THEIR HANDS sign.
The light was directly over the sink he was in front of. So by all that was right and proper, he should have looked like shit, all holloweyed from exhaustion, with bags you could pack for a week away, and skin the color of hummus.
That was not what the mirror was showing. Even with the pisspoor fluorescent light shining down on him, he looked ten years younger than he remembered. He was positively glowing with health, like someone had Photoshopped an earlier version of his head onto his current body.
Stepping back, he stretched his arms out in front of his chest and sank down into a squat, giving his hip an opportunity to stand up and holler. Or his thighs, which he’d run hard less than an hour ago. Or his back.
No pain. No stiffness. No aches.
His body was raring to go.
He thought about what the head vet had said to him just now over the phone, the man’s voice confused and thrilled at the same time: She’s regenerated the bone and the hoof has spontaneously healed itself. It’s as if the injury never occurred at all.
Holy . . . Christ. What if Payne had worked her magic on him? While they’d been together? Without either of them being aware of it, what if she’d healed his body in terms of time . . . turning the clock back not just months, but a decade or more?
Manny grabbed the cross that hung from his neck.
When someone knocked on the door, he flushed the empty toilet and then ran some water to make it sound like he wasn’t doing something skeevy. As he stepped out in a daze, he nodded to the round woman who wanted to get in, and headed back to Goldberg.
Sitting down, he had to wipe his sweating palms on the knees of his jeans.