Elise Lanier - Treading Lightly

“That bad?”

“Well, no. The horrified look on your face for the entire time you were down there might’ve also given it away. And I didn’t think it was because you were alone, in the middle of nowhere, with a stranger.”

“I’m sorry. It’s nothing personal. I just have a fear of basements and sub-basements.”

“Taphephobia?”

“Excuse me?”

“Do you have taphephobia?”

“What’s that?”

“The fear of being buried alive.”

“Oh. No. Not really. I don’t think it’s that bad. I’m not afraid of being buried alive.” Although now that he mentioned it, she was upset by the thought. Being buried alive had to be horrendous. “It’s just a fear of being in basements and sub-basements. I’ve got an overactive imagination.”

He nodded. “I understand.”

She snorted a laugh, trying to push aside the thoughts of a predeath burial. “You’d be the first. Everyone else thinks I’m nuts.”

The elevator stopped at her floor and they got out, walking to her apartment. She pushed open the door that she’d left ajar.

“You really shouldn’t leave your door open like that. Anyone can walk in.”

“So I’ve been told. But I figure, what are the odds of some lunatic walking in the opened door of the fifteenth floor of this building at the exact moment I’m down in the sub-basement, looking for your grandfather?”

“Pretty slim, I’d suppose.”

“Yeah, and it gave me the added incentive to hurry back up from the dungeon. I couldn’t sit around with your grand-dad shooting the breeze. I could honestly say, ‘Gotta run, Mr. Franklin, I left my door open.’”

He followed her through her apartment. “Yeah, Gramps sure can shoot the breeze when he’s in the mood.”

She opened her bedroom door. Normally she wouldn’t allow anyone in there, especially with the mess that was the usual decor, but this was an emergency. She hurried to pick up the stray panties that hung off the lamp. She hadn’t bothered to clean up, assuming old man Franklin would take his time getting his arthritic body up to her apartment. She’d also had the added bonus of knowing his glaucoma-riddled eyes weren’t as sharp as they probably once were.

“So that’s it?” the young Ben Franklin uttered, pointing to the treadmill.

Considering it was the only treadmill in the room, and had the upper bar-thingie poking out perpendicular to the walking belt, she hoped his fixing talents were sharper than his observational gifts.

He was still looking at her for an answer.

“Yes. That would be the one,” she said, trying to remain calm.

He shook his head slowly. “Doesn’t look good,” he said.

“Ya think?” she said, feeling her sense of calm sliding away.

“Yup. Doesn’t look good.”

That’s all he had to say? Even she knew it didn’t look good! Why else would she have gone down to that horrifying dungeon in search of his grandfather?

“So what are you going to do about it?” she asked, trying to leave the challenge—and hysteria—out of her voice.

He shrugged. “Don’t know for certain till I look at it.”

“You are looking at it!” The hysteria was creeping in. She’d promised Harvey she’d walk every day to help fight the osteoporosis, but how could she do that if the damn thing was broken?

“And it doesn’t look good,” he said again.

“We’ve already ascertained that chosen tidbit of information,” she said with impatience. “Is there anything else you can say or do to get it fixed in—” she looked at her bedside clock “—the next half hour?”

“Nope.”

Great! “So what am I supposed to do?”

“About what?”

“My walking. I’m supposed to walk every day for at least a half hour.”

“Sorry, Ms. Ruvacado, but you won’t be doing that on this machine anytime soon.”

“So what am I supposed to do?” she demanded shrilly. At the look of fright on the poor man’s face, she realized she needed to tone it down a bit. “I’m sorry, Ben. I shouldn’t shoot the messenger. But, really, what am I supposed to do now? I have to walk daily, or my doctor will pester me. He’s already threatened to tell my mother and ex-husband to get them involved in making me walk if I didn’t do it voluntarily. Plus I’m afraid that if I stop doing it, even for a few days, I’ll never start doing it again.”

“Can he do that?” Ben asked with astonishment.

“Can who do what?” She was way beyond her frustration level.

“Can your doctor call your mother or your ex-husband like that?”

“Not ethically. But they’re both listed as my emergency contacts, so he figured he’d extort me.”

“I thought a doctor had to take a Hippocratic oath?”

“He must’ve stepped out to the bathroom or something during that part of the ceremony. He has no qualms about blackmailing his patients if he feels it’s in their best interests.”

“That’s not right!”

“Yeah, tell me about it. But he holds the strings, so I’ve got to dance his little dance like a marionette.”

“Or walk his little walk.”

“Yes. You’re catching on to my dilemma.”

“How about a gym?”

“Are you kidding? Do that in public?” Her hand waved at the broken treadmill.

“Sure. Lots of people work out in gyms.”

She looked sideways at him, her disgust clearly evident on her face. “I’m not ‘lots of people.’”

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