The Big Bang

by Linda Joffe Hull

  And Saturday fitness class. The combination boot camp, mat Pilates, and step aerobics had returned definition to his chest and quads. Better, his total initial inability to dance, much less step up and down on a bench to music, was corrected on the first day by Hope Jordan.

  With a legitimate reason to stare, he noted her careful, lithe movements. Following her footwork, he lifted his arms and clapped over his head in time with the music. Before he knew it, he had a flawless hamstring-pivot-adductor routine.

  Hope rarely missed the Saturday class.

  Other than the occasional ski day, he hadn’t either.

  He sprinted the remaining seven-tenths of a mile to the rec center. His lungs burned and perspiration dripped down his back, but the endorphin rush left him feeling better than he had in months. If he kept it up, his abs would be at three-pack status in time for their summer vacation.

  The endorphin high dropped off with his first step into the building.

  The diorama, now decorated with iridescent balloons, was stationed in the center of the lobby. Griffin, recovered and Saturday casual in an untucked shirt, jeans, and sneakers, was parked beside his plastic fantasy, an elbow resting jauntily on the edge of the Plexiglas corner.

  Will eyed the white board propped between the diorama and Maryellen Griffin, who, with glazed grin, looked like a wilting, anorexic flower despite the word Juicy emblazoned across her daffodil-yellow sweats.

  COUPON CLIPPERS!

  TWELVE STEPS TO A NEW LIFE!

  SAVE AND BE SAVED TODAY AND EVERY SATURDAY!

  If only the Griffins would find a new life somewhere else.

  “Joining us for our class today?” Griffin smiled.

  A jolt of indigestion, at least he hoped it was indigestion, radiated across his chest. “Sorry. My weights class is starting.”

  Frank eyed Will’s already damp T-shirt. “Looks like you’ve already worked up a sweat.”

  Nothing like the sweat he could work up with a few well-placed questions about the suspicious lack of time between the HOB vote and the playground groundbreaking. He avoided eye contact with an unfocused glance at the diorama swing set. “Just getting started.”

  Griffin patted his belly, which despite his illness, seemed to have risen like a mini-bread loaf. “I planned to hit the weights, but I’m so behind after being down with that flu, the workout is going to have to wait until after Easter.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Will managed. “Got to run.”

  As if in confirmation, a bicycle-shorts-and-cycling-shoes-clad group click-clacked downstairs toward the spinning studio for their class.

  “I want you to know,” Griffin’s face morphed from his usual good-humor-from-the-abundance-of-blessings expression into an almost convincing attempt at humility, “I really do respect your commitment to this community.”

  “Thanks.”

  Frank put a pinkie to the white board and erased a portion of the extra-long tail on the S at the end of COUPON CLIPPERS. “No hard feelings?”

  The first bars of a Lady Gaga song filtered up the stairs from the aerobics studio and helped Will push back a burbling urge to ram Frank’s face into the Plexiglas lid of the diorama. Truth was, Frank hadn’t done anything but give the people what they thought they wanted.

  “No hard feelings.” Will managed a feeble wave and escaped toward the steps as Frank turned to address a pair of women who’d wandered in the front door.

  “Ladies, would you believe the sweats my wife’s wearing retail for well over a hundred but only set me back $24.95? Come to Coupon Clippers and I’ll teach you how it’s done.”

  Will bounded down the stairs. In seconds, he’d be in aerobics, alongside the one person on his block who’d believed in his cause. And, he couldn’t help but note, she’d likely be wearing a much more appealing ensemble than anything Maryellen or Frank could dig up on sale. He conjured a quick memory of how Hope looked in much less before Roseanne Goldberg blocked his view like a human pylon in a tangerine T-shirt and compression shorts that pressed her cellulite toward her knees. “You missed some interesting covenant violations on Monday.”

  “I have the notes from Jane.” Unable to see around her, he looked through the triangle formed by her hand on her hip for a glimpse of a blond ponytail.

  “Did you read about the family on Wonderland Valley Court who got cited for trying to clean carpeting on their driveway?”

  “I haven’t had a chance to look anything over, yet.” He spotted Hope, standing in her usual place, stretching her quads with the graceful, light-footed stride of a ballerina.

  “Frank let it slide, but there could be an underlying issue that—”

  “I’m afraid my class is about to start.”

  “No problem,” she said. “I’m leaving some books you need to read in your milk box.”

  “Great,” he said, lacking the nerve or the time to tell her he was probably done fighting the futile fight anyway. “We’ll chat later.”

  Before Roseanne tried to pin him down to a discussion coffee time, he slid around her, bolted down the hallway, and made his way to the door of the aerobics studio.

  Hope, standing in her usual spot, stopped, bent over, grabbed her water bottle, and unscrewed the top.

  Time slowed along with her long, drawn-out sip.

  He watched a water droplet dribble down her chin and disappear between her breasts.

  She spotted him, smiled in his direction.

  He sauntered into the room.

  She motioned him toward the empty step behind her, where a ten-pound set of weights, a body bar, and an extra-tight band sat beside the step.

  She’d set up his equipment for him!

  Was it possible that she’d ever, even for a second, thought about him in the same way that he couldn’t help but think about her? “I’m a married man,” he’d have to say. “I can’t deny my attraction to you either, but I stood before my wife and vowed to…”

  “I figured you were running late,” she said as he put his towel down and took his spot.

  “Thanks.” His dorky, stammered you’re the best was drowned out by the instructor, Sarah Fowler’s, amplified voice. “Ladies,” she slapped her perfect round bottom, “we’re starting with squats, so remember to be sure and stick out your rear like you’re sitting in a chair.”

  As Will squatted in time to “It’s Raining Men,” he gnawed on the inside of his cheek so he wouldn’t smile as a pleasing spandex spectacle unfolded around him.

  Letting it go didn’t seem so hard after all.

  ***

  “You wouldn’t believe how many great savings tips the Griffins gave this morning.” Laney Estridge plopped down beside her best friend, Sarah Fowler, on the steam room bench and took a deep sinus-cleansing breath. “I have a page full of notes on everything from buying expired cereal in bulk to getting $4 generic prescriptions.”

  “This means you’re going to ditch my aerobics class from now on?” Sarah asked.

  “Only until my sinuses clear up.” Laney massaged the sides of her nose. “Frank’s easy enough on the eyes, but Maryellen’s thinner, thriftier, and holier routine is gonna wear thin.”

  “I don’t think I’d have made it through the first hour.”

  “I had to do something,” Laney said. “The doctor’s diagnosis of stressed-out sent me on an online peace-and-harmony-regaining shopping spree.”

  “And did it make you feel any better?”

  “Until I got my statement.”

  Sarah’s new C cups barely moved as she knotted her naturally auburn hair behind her head. “No offense, but do you think you might be working a little too hard at trying to relax?”

  Easy for her to say. Sarah, tiny, fair, and pretty, had tall, very dark, and handsome Randall’s NFL paycheck, albeit third string, to stay that way. Laney resisted the urge to feel for twangy grays in her highlights or shove a thumb sideways and check her real set of breasts’ further gravity changes. By the time the real estate market bou
nced back and/or Steve decided he’d recovered from Chronic Fatigue, or whatever it was he was calling the malaise that kept him from looking for a new job until his severance package ran out, her jowls could hang where her breasts used to be. “I suppose I could up the Zoloft even more than the doctor suggested.”

  “Or you could get that book I recommended.”

  A few Costco runs back, Sarah picked up a copy of her latest favorite self-help title and was threatening to toss it over a pile of Kirkland men’s jeans and into their shared cart. Laney managed to intercept, promising she’d pick it up at the library.

  “Seriously, Laney. If you see yourself living in health and abundance, believe you deserve it, and envision for yourself exactly what you want…”

  “I know, I know.” Laney eyes wandered along the length of Sarah’s toned curves, stopping at the dragonfly tattoo at her hip. Though identical in size, color, and location to her own, Sarah’s somehow looked more delicate. “I’ll attract everything I truly need and desire.”

  “Get the book and you’ll believe it.”

  “I’ll do it this week. In the meantime I still need to figure out how to make some more money before I have to flip burgers in Lakewood or somewhere where no one knows me.”

  Sarah ran her nails lightly down Laney’s arm. “Surely, we can come up with something more promising to supplement your income until another listing sells.”

  “Like what?”

  Sarah pulled Laney to her and kissed her softly, then not so softly. “Maybe there’s something we can do together.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Melody Mountain High School rental clause I C 7: Rental group agrees to assume responsibility for all liabilities arising incident to the occupancy of the facility.

  Hope breathed in the heady mixture of fresh rain, spring blooms, and chocolate. Even in a high school auditorium made humid from the steady patter of rain and an overflow of people seated in folding chairs, Easter, with its message of renewal and new life, was, by far, her favorite holiday.

  “God did not spare His own Son, but delivered Him up for us. How shall He who would do that, not also freely give us all things?” Frank Griffin, boyishly handsome with his dark hair and broad smile, yet somehow larger than life in a velvet-trimmed robe, closed the Bible with a regal thump. He looked out from his pulpit onto the capacity crowd. “So, here we are, enjoying the abundant blessings our Lord has provided on this special day.”

  And she was.

  Jim, dozing beside her, had made it home on the red-eye from New York in time for the service. She rested her head on his shoulder and visualized the two of them at next year’s Easter, newborn in tow, among the sea of pastel-suited families.

  “We’re all looking and feeling our Easter best,” Frank continued, as though reading her mind. “We’ve welcomed with open arms our old friends, the new faces in the Meadow Mountain Ranch community, and those of you whose schedules only allow a visit on the big ticket holidays.”

  The crowd chuckled.

  “We’ve reveled in the processional parade, rejoiced in our beloved Easter hymns, and relished the holy words.” Frank gave a thumbs-up to the choir and burst into a joyous smile. “Easter with all the trimmings!”

  Hope’s Amen joined the eruption of praise, like vocal fireworks, exploding throughout the room.

  “Amen is right, because today is just the beginning of God’s blessings for you!” Frank raised a hand skyward. “God loves you so much, He’ll keep handing out good things to all of us.”

  She already had so many good things. Was it so wrong to ache for her 2.5 children more?

  “God did not stop His Son from going to the cross,” Frank continued. “In fact, God showed that He loves us by giving His Son over for the judgment you and I deserve. Why? So God could lavish His abundant love on us. God demonstrated His love by giving us freedom from sin and eternal life. And these acts are not the end of His love. God still wants to hand out His blessings to you.”

  As Amens from the crowd accentuated his every sentence, Hope spotted her impossibly big-with-child(ren) new neighbor, seated amid her cornucopia of offspring. The proud papa caught Hope’s glance and smiled with what was surely smug satisfaction.

  A pang of envy forced her to look down at her persimmon colored skirt as he draped an arm around his wife’s and then his daughter’s shoulder.

  “God spared His Son nothing in the way of pain that He might spare us no pleasure or bounty.”

  What did she have to be jealous of, really? She wasn’t looking to have a passel of kids, though her neighbors’ were beautiful—especially the daughter, a lovely combination of her housewife-next-door pretty mom and the husband, who looked a little like Al Pacino’s not-quite-ready-for-primetime kid brother.

  The wife rubbed her belly.

  His unquestionably virile little brother.

  “But God didn’t let His Son stay there. God lifted Jesus up from the grave to show His love to the world. After the resurrection, God said: ‘Now that act of love has been done and I can spend my love on my children. I can give them whatever they need.’” Frank paused. “Folks, for you, this could be renewed good health, extra bucks to furnish the house, finding that special someone…” He scanned the room, his gaze on the center section where Hope was seated. “Maybe adding a beloved soul to your family.”

  Two rows ahead, a darling little girl of about six blew a bubble. She had blond ringlets the color Hope and Jim would surely make. She wore a powder-blue polka dot dress and white patent leather Mary Janes, just like she’d have dressed a daughter in for Easter.

  The bubble popped and the little girl giggled.

  Tears Hope swore she wouldn’t allow on this day of renewed dreams, spilled down her cheeks anyway.

  “Maybe you’re thinking, God hasn’t given me what I want…”

  Hope felt a rush of blood to her cheeks. After all the teary conversations she had with Frank, maybe he was talking directly to her.

  “If so, maybe you’ve forgotten a thing or two about your relationship with God. Some of the ways he hands out his love may in fact be different than you would expect, but God is there, waiting to give to you.” He stopped to smile. “If you are ready, get your hands out, and look forward to receiving everything you need and more than you ever wanted…”

  Jim stirred and grasped her hand.

  “Because, our Lord wants you to have what you want.”

  Why wouldn’t the Lord want her to have what she, what she and Jim, wanted too?

  “In return, all He wants is your devotion and appreciation.”

  A “Thank you, Jesus” rang from the audience, followed by a handful more.

  “That’s a nice start.” Frank smiled. “Follow that up by throwing a few extra bucks onto the plate today and I think we may be on to something.”

  The crowd chuckled with him.

  “Seriously, I challenge all of you to dig a little deeper this Easter. Thank Him for the beautiful home and safe, family-friendly lifestyle he’s provided.” Frank grasped the heavy velvet drape behind him. “This humble servant wants to do for the Lord what he has already done for me—give him a home and a community to be proud of.” He rustled the collection plate next to the microphone. “There will be plenty of good surprises in store if you do the same.”

  He motioned Maryellen from the front row to the side steps and leaned into the microphone one last time before she took over with the weekly announcements. “Say it with me folks,” he said over the end-of-sermon rustle. “The Lord wants me to have what I want!”

  Hope’s voice joined the great multitoned voice that echoed through the room. “The Lord wants me to have what I want!”

  And the choir burst into song.

  Alleluia! Alleluia!

  ***

  If the Lord wanted Tim Trautman to have what he desired, he wouldn’t have created Hope Jordan’s husband in the image of a Nordic god.

  The amp screeched with feedback as Reverend Frank�
��s attractive, but breakable-looking, wife craned the mike to mouth height and unfolded her announcement list. “Tuesday night, Cooking with Christ will be hosted by Janet Jamison.”

  Hope’s husband smoothed his thick, wheat-hued, nonreceding hair.

  Not that ridiculous good looks could scare him off.

  “Thursday night at six P.M., weather permitting,” Maryellen Griffin’s nervous falsetto trilled through the auditorium as Rev. Frank, another member of the no-need-for-the-Hair-Club-for-Men, disappeared backstage, “any and all pet owners should bring their leashed and/or caged pets and meet at the community dog park for our annual Pet Blessing service.”

  Usually, guys as good looking as Hope’s husband had no idea how to put out—especially in the personality department.

  “I know you’re all planning to join our indoor egg hunt and raffle,” Maryellen Griffin said over the rustle of the crowd. “But if I don’t get a chance in the midst of all the hustle and bustle, I wish you a happy, healthy Easter.”

  The Jordan aisle rose en masse.

  Problem was, the dude had to be six foot four slouching.

  Tim’s idea of a friendly, post-service hi-we’re-the-new-neighbors, hatched the moment Hope caught his eye from beside her seated husband, had to be scrapped for a more calculated hello on an evened playing field.

  Before he began to scramble for a workable plan B, Theresa, God love her, reached a swollen hand into her purse and handed him the greatest of all height equalizers—his checkbook.

  His daughter, Lauren, tugged his arm as their row stood. “I need to meet up with my friends in the cafeteria.”

  Tim brushed a stray hair from her face and looked past her in time to catch a glimpse of Hope’s silk-covered ass. What he needed to do was time his meet-and-greet so the Jordans, already headed in that direction, were nearby to appreciate Reverend Frank appreciating the generosity of a Trautman Easter donation. “I want to introduce you to Reverend Griffin first.”