Running Lean

by Diana L. Sharples

  Maybe he knew something. She tried again. “Charlotte?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Charlotte.” The tube in her mouth wouldn’t let her make the right sounds. It came out har-whu.

  “I don’t know what you’re trying to say.”

  Never mind.

  “My dad says we need to get home soon.” He chuckled. “I missed my first day of work. But it’s okay. I’m pretty tight with the boss.”

  Humor. She grunted. All she could do under the circumstances. Or maybe a little more. She wiggled her fingers to tickle his, and was rewarded with a smile that reached his eyes.

  It didn’t last long enough. “I’ll come see you as often as I can.”

  Something cold rushed through her. He was leaving. He spoke these polite words and made a joke, but he’d leave and maybe be too scared to come back.

  “Don’ go.”

  “I’ll come back—”

  She shook her head. The tubes pulled. “Don’ ‘eave me!”

  “Shh! Shh.” He reached up to touch her face, stop her head from moving. “It’s okay, Stacey. I’m not leaving you. I promise.” He took a deep breath. “I’m not going away. No matter what happens, I’ll be here for you. But …”

  A tear ran down the side of her face and pooled in her ear. But what? Why was there a but?

  “I need you to do something for me, baby. I need you to promise me that you’ll get help.” His breath trembled. “I need … just that.”

  Stacey’s throat convulsed. She had no moisture in her mouth to swallow. She whimpered. Fingers she barely had control of raised to touch her cracked lips.

  “Here.” Calvin stretched over her bed to reach a big cup on a metal tray. He dug out a chunk of ice and brought it to her mouth, rolled it gently across her lips. So cold, wet, and soothing. He moved away, dropped the leftover ice into something that made a thunk. He came back, but didn’t sit down. Calvin tilted his head and stared at her through eyes so heavy and red. Like hers felt.

  “Promise me, Stacey?”

  She nodded and pulled air into her lungs for a big effort. “No mo’ di-e-ing. I promiff.”

  Beneath his scruffy mustache, Calvin’s lips spread into a sweet, sleepy smile.

  The promise was easier to speak than to keep. The thing that had stampeded like a bloated elephant into her life and relationship with Calvin hung on, fighting for its own survival, whispering she would become a blimp once again.

  Stacey stood on the scale, wearing baggy pajamas from home and a pair of thick hospital socks. Nurse Cathy pushed the counterweights until the bar leveled out. Ninety pounds.

  “That’s good,” Cathy said. “Getting better every day. I’ll bet by the time I can push that hundred weight over, you’ll be going home.”

  A hundred pounds? Wasn’t ninety good enough?

  “You can step down now.”

  Stacey held her breath and stared. The numbers on the bar blurred.

  “Step down, hon.”

  “But, this … it’s …”

  Nurse Cathy came back to her side. “For your height and bone structure, this is way too thin.”

  “I have big bones.”

  Her mother had always said so. Big bones from Daddy’s side of the family. She’d quickly realized it was a polite way of explaining why she was fat.

  The nurse touched the small of her back. “It’s okay, baby girl. I know this isn’t easy. But you’re getting better. And your skin is looking healthier. You got that youthful glow coming back.” She chuckled and took Stacey’s elbow to help her down from the platform. “Wish I still had young skin like you. You’ll be knocking that boyfriend of yours off his feet again in no time. Come sit back down in your chair.”

  With the nurse providing a steady hand, Stacey shuffled back to her wheelchair. Although she could move about, two and a half weeks after what she called her “event,” she was still weak. Dr. Bartimeus, her primary doctor, had said her heart was weakened from being deprived of adequate nutrition for so long, and when she resorted to purging everything, living only on water, her potassium ion levels dropped causing severe hypokalemia. Her starved heart couldn’t continue to function. How she’d managed to hold on to Calvin during the motorcycle ride to the hospital was a mystery. Or a miracle.

  But she couldn’t talk about miracles. The doctors, nurses, and her parents only wanted to talk about solutions and her “road to recovery.” Step one: Treat her heart condition so she was no longer in immediate danger and could leave the hospital. That meant eating, even if they had to stuff a feeding tube down her throat. Which they had. Twice. Step two: Spend her summer vacation, minimum, at a rehab facility in Charlotte, where she’d learn to eat and to “love herself again.”

  Calvin had added another step—trusting in God for the strength she needed to get through all the other steps.

  He called her every day and came to see her several times a week. To him, she could talk about miracles, and only with him did she share what she’d seen during those moments when the doctors struggled to bring her back to life. It excited him, and he said she should tell everyone.

  Maybe someday.

  Right now it was a precious thing she wanted to hold close to her heart. It gave her strength, even more than Calvin’s promises to stay with her. Because if that was Jesus she’d seen, he couldn’t possibly fail in his promise that he had a different plan for her life.

  Nurse Cathy wheeled her back toward her room. Stacey watched the slowly turning tires of her wheelchair. She imagined grabbing them and pushing hard to propel herself down the hospital hallway. Freedom, if only for a moment. Being in control again, if only briefly.

  Wouldn’t happen. They’d catch her hammering the button at the elevator. And what kind of fashion statement would she make walking the streets of Dawson in her pink kitten jammies?

  “Here we go,” the nurse said, swiveling the wheelchair into Stacey’s room.

  Room 306, bed B. Not so home sweet home.

  A person sat in the chair by the window, turning a page in Stacey’s sketchbook. Zoe flipped her hair out of her face and slid the book back onto the table, then stood and crossed her arms as if she were freezing. “Hey, Stace.”

  Something did freeze inside Stacey. “Hey.”

  Nurse Cathy helped her back into her bed, clueless that the space between Stacey and Zoe trembled as if the air itself wanted to escape. “See you tomorrow, sweetie.”

  “Tomorrow?” Zoe said when the woman was gone.

  “Daily weigh-ins and physical therapy.” Stacey pulled her blanket over her shoulders. “I didn’t think you were going to come see me.”

  “Mom grounded me. Two weeks.”

  Stacey nodded. Around the room were cards and flowers. A teddy bear from Tyler, who’d come to see her with Calvin and once by himself. Even Flannery had sent a get-well-soon balloon. Nothing from Zoe. Probably mortified with guilt and lying now to cover for it.

  “So, what’s wrong with you?” Zoe asked.

  “My mom said she called and told you.”

  “Uh, yeah. She said you’re being treated for anorexia.”

  Mom might have omitted the gorier details.

  “My heart stopped. That night I ran out of the party, I could have died.” Her tone was more accusing than she’d intended. Nothing that happened was Zoe’s fault. Not really. Except for encouraging Stacey to engage in anorexic behavior and talking her into hanging out with Noah that night.

  Zoe hung her head. “That’s bad.”

  “Yes, it was. And I’m done with that stuff. I’m going to beat this eating disorder. That’s what it is, Zoe. A disorder. A mental disorder. Not a diet plan.” Softer words, but still blaming. And a boastful lie in their midst. Skinny Stacey inside her still wanted control.

  Zoe nodded without looking up and then sniffed. “Noah brought me here.”

  “Noah’s here?” Stacey tugged her blanket up a little higher.

  “Downstairs. He wouldn’t come up. He feels te
rrible about how he acted that night. He keeps saying nothing would have happened to you if he hadn’t been such a jerk. His word. Jerk.”

  Yep. Right about that.

  “But really it’s my fault,” Zoe said. “I’m the jerk. I tried to break you and Calvin up. I thought it would be you and me taking on the world, you know? But I really was thinking only about myself. I didn’t even see that you were really sick.”

  Wow. Pretty deep and raw for Zoe.

  Stacey sighed. “It isn’t your fault. I did this. I thought I was in control, but the diet controlled me. It still does.”

  Zoe raised her head at last. “Still? But, you’re getting better, aren’t you?”

  “Physically. Slowly. I have to go to a rehab center.”

  “So, how long will that take?”

  “I don’t know. Weeks. Months. Whatever it takes. Zoe …”

  Could she reveal her secret? Would Zoe rationalize everything as a way of writing it off? Like Daddy and the doctors would? If it would make a difference …

  “Have you ever heard of people having near-death experiences?”

  “You mean like they see a white light and stuff?”

  “Yes. That’s what happened to me.”

  Like little flip-drawings in the corners of notebook pages, Zoe’s face went through a rapid sequence of expressions. Shock, concern, doubt, defiance, indifference. She tossed her hair to finish them off. “I heard that’s what happens when the brain is shutting down.”

  “No. It was real. And I feel like God told me this isn’t the plan he has for me. I mean, why would God want a person to starve themself?”

  Calvin would be proud of her little speech. Stacey held on to it, wanted it to be real, truthful. But it tasted like hypocrisy. The anorexic Stacey inside her said she was a slave now, headed toward blimpdom where no one would love her. She pushed words out that she desperately needed, even if Zoe rejected them. “To God, I am beautiful. Already. No matter what.”

  Half of Zoe’s mouth turned upward and she snorted. She glanced toward the door.

  “Anyway, I messed up big time. I almost died!” She pulled her arms out from under the blanket and plopped her hands into her lap. Her throat closed around the words she needed to say. “I’m just … so grateful … I have another chance.”

  Zoe chewed her lower lip. A mascara-tinged tear rolled part way down her cheek. She wiped it away. “Um, okay. Look, I’m sorry I didn’t call you sooner. I was, like, scared or something. Ashamed.”

  Stacey slid her left hand across the bed. She lifted it and held it out until Zoe finally curled her fingers around it.

  Zoe sniffed. “So, does this mean you’re not angry at me?”

  “I forgive you.”

  A smile crept across Zoe’s face and stayed there while a more comfortable silence settled between them. Zoe’s thumb lightly touched the massive bruise on the back of Stacey’s hand. From the IVs. Zoe sniffed again. “I’ll visit you while you’re in this rehab place.”

  “It’s in Charlotte.”

  “Ooh. Well, maybe Noah will bring me.”

  “So, what? You’re dating Noah now?”

  “No. We’re just friends. He’s nice, once he knows it’s just friends.”

  Stacey wanted to laugh, but Zoe’s expression turned serious.

  “I think, maybe, you running out of the apartment and ending up in the hospital changed him. I know it changed me.”

  Stacey squeezed her hand.

  Zoe lifted her head higher. “I still want to get out of Stiles County and be a fashion designer. No way I’m changing that.”

  “Good.”

  A wicked little smirk came to Zoe’s lips. “Are you going to marry Calvin Greenlee now and have lots of babies?”

  Stacey laughed. “I’d like to finish high school and college first, thank you very much.”

  “I’m joking.”

  Stacey gave her friend a little smirk as well. “You better be.”

  Epilogue

  Calvin’s shoulders and arms burned as he tightened the final bolt in the oil pan of Mrs. Bryant’s Lincoln. He slipped the socket off the bolt and double-checked the others in the same crisscross pattern he’d used to tighten them.

  He lowered his arms and mopped his face with his sleeve. His old T-shirt smelled like the garage—grease, gasoline, and sweat. The sharp scent of Gojo hand cleaner clung to his skin.

  Portable fans by the open bay doors of the garage pushed around the summer heat. Country music blared from an old radio on one of the parts shelves.

  Calvin replaced the socket and ratchet in his toolbox and moved a support beam next to the lift. With one foot hitched up against the beam, he lowered the powder-blue car to the floor. He opened the hood and bent over the side of the car to unscrew the oil-fill cap.

  His new cell phone vibrated in his pocket, its alarm set to buzz him at the top of each hour so he could follow Stacey’s specific instructions. Calvin wiped his hands on the rag he kept in his back pocket, glanced around the shop to make sure no one was spying on him, and snuck over to the shelf where he’d hidden a small manila envelope. Inside were a pile of handmade cards, each marked with a time in elaborate doodles. He opened the one marked 1:00 pm.

  Things I love most about Calvin Greenlee. #11: Your hair. It’s soft and curly enough that it could never, ever be cut into a mullet. Happy birthday, my sweet country love!

  Calvin laughed and slipped the card to the bottom of the stack. Another laugh threatened as he fetched several quarts of oil for the Lincoln. He’d been reading Stacey’s little notes since seven o’clock that morning, counting down from seventeen all the things she loved about him. Each one joined something romantic with something silly to make him smile. And each reminded him what he really loved about her. Her sweetness, creativity, and quirky sense of humor—it was all coming back.

  Maybe he could find a mullet wig in a costume shop for his upcoming trip to Charlotte.

  After filling the Lincoln with oil, he closed the hood and checked for greasy fingerprints.

  Dad sauntered over, his hands buried in the pockets of his overalls. “Got ‘er done?”

  “Yep. That gasket was trashed.”

  “Good job. Go wash up.”

  “Huh?”

  “Joe’s got the shop covered. It’s your birthday. Let’s get outta here.”

  “Sweet.”

  More Gojo at the stained bathroom sink was the best he could do for washing up. He’d shower at home. Hopefully his mother would allow him enough time before she sprang whatever it was she’d cooked up for his birthday.

  He and Dad arrived home to a quiet, empty house.

  Dad headed for the kitchen. “Guess it’s sandwiches for lunch.”

  “Uh, yeah. Sure.” Calvin tucked in his lower lip and peered out the back door. Nothing in the yard. No crepe-paper streamers or tables with vinyl tablecloths, no smoke coming from the barbecue. Just the weedy grass baking in the summer sun. Mom just might have spared him the huge family party this year.

  He didn’t trust it. “I’m going upstairs to grab a shower.”

  As hot water washed away the grime, Calvin thought of mullets and sang the two lines he knew of “Achy Breaky Heart.” Tyler would break something over his head if he’d heard it.

  Back in his room, his movements slowed and the country song faded away. Maybe not having a birthday party would be a good thing. A party would remind him of who wasn’t there. Not just Stacey. This was his first birthday since Michael died.

  His phone vibrated on his bed as he pulled on fresh jeans. He grabbed the envelope and found the official two o’clock card.

  Things I love most about Calvin Greenlee. #10: The sound of your steady heartbeat when I lay my head against your chest. Wish I could be there with you now. I miss you. Happy Birthday, my love.

  Sweet, but without the humor of the others. He wondered when she had found the time to do these cards. The center kept her busy with counseling sessions and classes. Ma
ybe she had been a little stressed or homesick when she wrote this one.

  The cards were something tangible he could keep. But the problem with them was that he couldn’t respond. He couldn’t send a text or speak to her. While Stacey was in rehab, she wasn’t allowed to have a phone or access to a computer. They controlled everything in her environment. He wouldn’t be able to see her again until they said it was okay. She didn’t even know yet that he’d been able to get himself a cell phone.

  “Miss you too, Stace,” he whispered.

  A female voice outside distracted him. Calvin stepped into the little alcove of one of his dormer windows. A white sedan sat at the side of the road, and two friends from school crossed the front lawn.

  “I knew it!” Calvin yanked on the first clean shirt he found.

  Downstairs, Mom and Aunt Sally rushed about, setting food out on the dining room table. Dad herded little kids outside.

  Mom held her hands up to block Calvin. “Oh no! Not another step farther. You spoiled the surprise by coming home early. I want to keep some things a secret.”

  Dad turned at the back door. “You said be home at two. It’s two o’clock, and we’re here. What did I do wrong?”

  “I meant you should leave the garage at two! Never mind.” She waved her hands at Calvin. “Just get out. Out. Your friends are arriving.”

  Calvin went out the front door and joined everyone gathering on the lawn. Cousins Bailey, Matt, and Trevor arrived a few moments later.

  Kendra Newell from his physics class slipped her hand under Calvin’s arm. “How’s Stacey doing?”

  A jolt ran through him. Had rumor gotten out that Stacey was in a rehab center? Her parents had asked him not to talk about it, but if Zoe had told anyone from school—

  Calvin forced a smile. “Much better, thanks.” What would he say about Stacey’s absence from his party? Visiting relatives, or what? Out of town? Would it be enough?

  More friends and relatives arrived, and they made their way to Mom’s surprise, a catered meal from Sloppy Smith’s Barbecue, arranged next to several desserts from his aunts. As everyone crowded the food table, Calvin scanned the faces and found two strangely absent: Tyler and Flannery. Very suspicious.