Fit for You

by Cynthia Tennent

  “You ready to go soon?”

  I took one last sip of coffee. “Just give me a minute to get my bag.”

  “No rush. I’ll just sit here with my favorite girl and talk about the weather.” Edge sat down next to Ivy, putting his feet up on the nearby chair.

  Fifteen minutes later, Jack White’s “Lazaretto” wailed in the cab of the teddy truck as we plowed through a patch of snow. I assumed spring in Michigan would be different. I had visions of cherry trees blooming and green grass sprouting. Not this barren land of gray slush and crusty snow.

  I clutched the pen and paper in my hand and tried to steady the shaky scribble of notes I was writing down for my fitness training plan. “Do you mind turning that down a bit?”

  Edge lowered the volume from earsplitting to loud. “What are you doing?”

  “Making notes in my training planner.”

  “Your training planner?”

  “Yeah. This morning I’ll need to take stock of the equipment at the gym. Assess the space.”

  He fixed his eyes on the road ahead of us and said something under his breath. Jack’s guitar drowned him out.

  “What was that?” I shouted.

  Turning the volume all the way down, he said, “Don’t you think you might want to see the place first?”

  “Of course. But it doesn’t change the way I work. I’m meeting with the Triple C’s and looking forward to checking out the facility so I can fine-tune my plans.”

  A muscle beneath his beard tightened. “Well . . . we’re just a small town, you know.”

  “Oh, don’t worry. I’m not expecting a cutting-edge gym like we have in L.A. I don’t need a lateral elliptical or zero-gravity, open-stride machine to get people in shape. Thirty minutes on a stationary bike works just fine.”

  “Stationary bike?” He coughed.

  “Cardio isn’t the only thing, of course. I will promote resistance weights and free weights as well. All really important to overall fitness.”

  “Lily, you’re going to have a problem—”

  I lowered my planner. “I know I may not seem exactly like an athlete right now. But I know what I am doing.” I didn’t mean to sound so irritable. I had been battling my mother and brother about this very issue. They thought I should stay on Mom’s couch and slurp noodles.

  “It’s just that I don’t want you to be disappointed.”

  We were passing the diner where we stopped yesterday. I ran my hand over my ponytail and craned my neck to see down the street. The community center must be close.

  “Give me a few weeks and I’ll prove to you that any town can get fit and healthy given a little time and training.”

  Edge eyed my notebook and shook his head. “No offense. But I don’t think that a few weeks can change years of behavior.”

  I hated it when people talked that way. Just because something was difficult didn’t mean they should quit. “Getting in shape has to start somewhere. Your county received the government grant because you have one of the highest obesity rates in the state. Should I tell everyone to eat, drink, be merry, and enjoy the diabetes?”

  “I’m just saying that you shouldn’t be upset if those plans you are writing down in your little diary there might not be as effective as you think. It takes more than happy words of encouragement and a written plan to get people healthy.”

  “You’re right. It takes a lot of work. People need to rethink how they live.”

  Edge tapped the wheel. “That can be tricky when you—”

  “Behavior change is difficult. I know.” We were passing an ice cream store with a large image of a cow with ice cream cones underneath its udder. I pointed. “The Dairy Cow? That’s a perfect example of the problem.”

  He looked in his side mirror. “It’s just an ice cream parlor.”

  “At the center of town. Look, a putt-putt golf is attached. It figures.”

  “Sounds like fun to me.” His eyes crinkled in the corners.

  I pointed my finger back toward the Dairy Cow. “That’s a trap. Like cartoons on sugary cereal boxes. It starts the kids out on bad habits early.”

  “An ice cream cone is a treat. Not a bad habit.”

  “Ha. No one ever thinks of attaching a putt-putt golf course to a fruit and vegetable stand, do they?”

  A muscle twitched in his cheek. “Who wants to eat a stick of celery while they play putt-putt golf?’

  “I do. And besides, I wouldn’t call miniature golf the most optimal form of exercise. See that?”

  “What?” He lowered his head to gaze out the window to where I pointed.

  “Those tennis courts. The fence is half down. It looks like it was built when the Beatles were still together.”

  “You know, now that you say that, I think it was.”

  “Why doesn’t someone keep it up? Tennis is a great way to encourage families to stay in shape.”

  “Well, it’s winter right now. Someone will probably string a net out by the Fourth of July.”

  “The Fourth of July? The summer is halfway gone by then.” We turned the corner and came to a stop.

  “It was a joke. Forget what I said about your sense of humor yesterday.”

  “Don’t take it personally, Edge. I’m sorry if I sound like I’m on a soap box. I am just pointing out that bad habits form everywhere. We don’t see them most of the time. But if we question them, make changes, motivate, we can find a way to bring about healthy options.”

  He took a deep breath. “I can’t wait to see what kind of healthy options you come up with after you visit the community center.”

  I gathered my bag and looked around. “Thank you. Now where exactly is the community center?”

  “Right here.”

  I looked behind me, then in front of me. All I saw was an empty storefront with the faded words BOOKS FROM THE HART and a larger store that abutted it with crooked letters that read GROCERY. A cluster of larger buildings on a street beyond and a vacant lot were the only other visible signs of life.

  “I don’t get it.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched. “I guess they didn’t have a chance to put up a sign that says ‘Healthy Options Place’ yet.” He opened his door and jumped down.

  I scanned the street around me. Regina Bloodworth had told me on the phone that the community center was in the center of town. A huge pile of snow sat in the middle of the road, obscuring what looked like a frozen lake beyond. I was all turned around and couldn’t figure out if it was the same lake that the Callahans’ houses were on.

  Edge opened my door. I grabbed the single crutch I was using today out of the backseat and lowered it to the ground. I attempted to use it as a brace instead of Edge’s shoulders. When I almost fell, Edge caught me and lowered me to the sidewalk. Once again I was struck by an overwhelming heat that made me wish I had applied a second coat of antiperspirant. I stepped away, fanning my face, and started toward the larger buildings on the street beyond.

  Edge cleared his throat. “Ahem. Lily. The community center is here.”

  Before I could say anything, the grocery store door opened and a familiar figure stepped out.

  “Good morning, you two!” Regina Bloodworth beamed at us.

  Edge backed toward the truck, one step at a time. “Good morning, Mrs. Bloodworth.”

  Regina wore a fuchsia Lululemon Lycra jacket and fitted yoga pants that looked like they had never been worn for anything that involved sweating. Her perfectly matching lipstick and purple eyeliner looked like they had been applied by a professional.

  “Just give me a call when you want me to come back and get you, Lily,” Edge said, tipping his baseball cap my way.

  “It might be a long day. I’ve got a lot of things to do as I check out the gym.”

  Something I’d said made the corner of his mouth turn up. He took one look at the building and then glanced back to me. “Don’t tire yourself out with all those plans and that motivation, now.”

  Was that sarcasm? “
And don’t you tire yourself with all those stuffed animals either, you hear?”

  He had the audacity to wink at me before he hopped in the truck. The last thing I heard was the ominous beat of The White Stripes’ “Fell in Love with a Girl” as Edge headed back down Main Street.

  * * *

  “So . . . this was a grocery store once?” I pasted a smile on my face and tried not to let Regina see my disappointment as I swept my eyes across the building where I would be working for the next few months.

  “Kreapps,” she said with a flick of her wrist as if it wasn’t that important.

  “Creeps?”

  “That was the name of the family that owned the grocery store. They still live around here.”

  Well, that explained it. I had been so confused when people kept calling the grocery store creepy. “Are the Kreapps retired, then?”

  “Actually, no. You might say they’re making their name in fresh produce and such nowadays.”

  “Really?” I loved supporting local businesses that sold healthy fare. “Do they sell in any markets nearby?”

  “Umm, they’re kind of independent . . . they specialize in roadside stands.” She held open the door. I limped in on the crutch, acting for all the world like it was the most normal thing in the world to be a disabled trainer.

  I looked around the room and blinked. Something was off. Unless exercise equipment suddenly came in holiday-theme decor, we were in the wrong building.

  “Is that a sleigh against the wall?”

  Regina broke out in a nervous giggle. “Yes, but it’s fake. There was a real one, the one Grady Fitzpatrick, the handyman at the Amble Inn, used for Charlotte Adler’s wedding. But it was heavy and too difficult to get in the community center, so we didn’t use it last year.”

  “Use it . . . ?” I let the words trail off as I turned to face the other wall.

  Regina came and stood beside me. “Now, I know you might be a little surprised—”

  “What is that?” I pointed to a large square structure against the wall. “I know it’s a fireplace, but what is the red thing coming out of it?”

  “That’s Santa’s, uh, rear end. He’s coming out of the chimney on Christmas Eve. We were really lucky that we could use the fireplace for double duty. Both Halloween and Christmas. “

  “And in that corner? Is that what I think it is?” I pointed to the only other object in the room.

  “It’s a coffin. But not a real one. We made it for Bridget.”

  “She died?”

  “No, she was supposed to be dead, but she kept opening her eyes.”

  The ends of my fingers tingled the same way they had when Edge pulled over in the teddy truck yesterday. If this were a horror story, eerie music would be playing in the background and all the camera angles would start shifting. I looked longingly toward the door just as two women walked through it.

  “Lily! How wonderful to see you this morning,” said Elizabeth Lively, holding a cardboard container with several Styrofoam cups.

  “Did you sleep well?” asked Marva O’Shea.

  Elizabeth passed the cups around. “You look like you need a good jolt of caffeine this morning. You must still be tired from traveling.”

  Just dazed and confused and wondering when I had fallen down the rabbit hole.

  “I was just explaining to Lily how we used this space for Santa’s Attic at Christmas and the House of Horrors at Halloween,” Regina said.

  Is that what she was doing? Now that she put it that way it made sense. This room was used for holiday activities.

  The hair on the back of my neck settled and I propped myself on my crutch to remove the lid from my coffee. I was more partial to herbal tea. But what the heck. It had been a rough twenty-four hours.

  “So, where is the gym?” I asked.

  They darted nervous glances at each other. “The gym?”

  I nodded to my sports bag. “I’ve been making plans for the past week or so. But of course, it all depends on what equipment you have and how old it is.”

  “We thought someone told you about the gym.” Elizabeth tucked a stray piece of curly blond hair behind her ear and glared at Regina.

  They were embarrassed, of course. “Don’t feel bad if the equipment is old. The industry is crazy these days. Almost as bad as technology. A new phone is outdated before you can even get it home. Sports equipment is the same way, right?”

  “Regina?” Elizabeth’s blue eyes were wide. Secret eye messages between the ladies sucked the air out of the room and I shifted uncomfortably on my crutch.

  Regina put her arm around me. “The thing is, Lily. We don’t have any exercise equipment or a gym.”

  The last few words echoed in the room. Maybe I didn’t hear her right.

  “I’m sorry. I thought you said—”

  “We did,” Elizabeth said. Her words hit me like a block of ice.

  “Just a room? No gym?” They nodded.

  “Not even barbells?”

  “No.”

  I had an absurd image of people hitching up the sleigh so people could work on their abs by pulling Santa out of the chimney. The room was tilting a bit. “Do you have anywhere I can sit down?”

  Elizabeth and Marva immediately ran for the coffin. They dragged it across the floor until it was right next to me. “Here you go.”

  I sat down on my cryptic chair and let the information sink in. “So let me get this straight. You used your grant money to hire a trainer, but you don’t have a single treadmill? No StairMaster?”

  They nodded.

  “What is the other trainer hired by the fitness grant doing?”

  “I have everything I need in my end of the county,” a commanding voice announced from the doorway. A tall figure posed, her hands on her hips and her legs spread apart like Wonder Woman.

  I swallowed, and choked on my dry mouth. I took a quick sip of coffee. “Who’s that?” I asked under my breath.

  Marva sighed. “Aubrey.” It was impossible to miss the regret in her voice. It was the kind of tone that was usually followed by three notes in an old B movie. Duh, duh, DAH!

  “Aubrey” was a specimen of intimidating power. She was statuesque. Her tight-fitting leggings enhanced her glistening muscles. Her high-arching eyebrows were so pronounced they looked like tattoos. Her long black hair was pulled up to the very top of her head in a single long ponytail. It could double as a whiplash.

  A smaller woman followed her into the room, trailing like a little mouse seeking crumbs. Her heels clicked on the wood floor as she extended the hand that wasn’t holding a clipboard, to greet me.

  She stopped short of the coffin as if she were afraid a dead body might pop out. “I’m Marie Joiner, project manager for the Michigan Department of Health and Human Services. And you are Lily”—she looked down at her clipboard—“Shue?”

  I put down my coffee and hid my crutch against the side of the coffin. Standing carefully on my one-and-a-half legs, I held out my hand. “Yes.”

  Her limp hand reached out for mine. Weak. Marie needed strength training. Ironic, considering she was in charge of administering a fitness grant.

  Aubrey’s gaze wandered around the room and then to my knee. “I didn’t believe it when I heard the news. But now I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”

  “Just a temporary sports injury,” I said with a laugh. I straightened to keep myself from losing my balance and knocked my crutch off its perch. It crashed to the floor.

  Elizabeth picked it up and handed it to me. “Silly injuries. Just last week I jammed my thumb reaching for a bag of potato chips.”

  Aubrey walked around the room with slow, deliberate steps. “So this is your gym? An empty room with nothing but leftover carnival props?”

  Marie made a nervous squeak in the back of her throat. “Lily, this is Aubrey Vanderbeek.”

  Aubrey mistook my nod for familiarity. “You’ve probably heard all about me? The gym opens in West Bloomfield in two months. And yes, it is
going to be as amazing as they said it would be in the Detroit News.”

  She reminded me of another trainer I knew in L.A. Every sentence out of his mouth had been either a jab or a boast. He had made life on the Just Lose It set unbearable.

  Marie lifted several papers on her clipboard. “Aubrey and Lily, I’ve sent you most of this information already. As you know, you’ve been approved for your salary, travel, and lodging.”

  Aubrey held out her arms and twisted back and forth. Then she touched her toes and jumped at least three feet from a squatting position. Her strength was amazing.

  “Is anything else included in the grant?” I asked, trying to keep my envy off my face.

  “Unfortunately . . . no.” Marie handed us each a stack of papers. “This grant has several components that are outlined in these documents.”

  Aubrey added, “I take the western half of the county and you take the eastern half.”

  “Do we share your gym then?”

  “Why would we do that?” asked Aubrey.

  “You have equipment, right?”

  “State of the art. Your gym has . . . Santa.” She cracked herself up. “I guess you will just have to use that creativity you mentioned in your résumé.”

  How would she know what was on my résumé? I had mentioned my creativity to illustrate that I could work with an injured knee. “Why not let everyone use your gym, then?”

  Her eyes ran over Marva. “And risk breaking our equipment?”

  I couldn’t believe she’d said that. I shuffled in front of Marva to keep her from noticing Aubrey’s rude stare.

  Elizabeth came to stand beside me. “The Vanderbeeks built the gym for Harrisburg residents only. They are very active contributors in their town’s community center.”

  “Too bad Truhart doesn’t have generous donors, too,” Aubrey said, flicking her ponytail my way.

  I reached for my coffee and tried to keep my smile in place. “Should we go over a plan for evaluation?”

  Aubrey flexed to the side with her hands over her head. “No need.” She leaned down and touched her head to her shins. “Marie will be evaluating us separately. I just came along today to meet you.”