Fit for You

by Cynthia Tennent

  “I guess some lawyers got involved. They are pains in the ass about that stuff. You should see them when we patent new medical equipment.” He had never liked lawyers. Until he started dating one last year. She was great.

  “Lil?”

  “Yeah.”

  “One more thing. They included a legal reminder that you agreed to give them all rights to your appearance on the show.”

  “I guess I did that.”

  “They might uhhh . . . mention the accident.”

  I clenched my hand around the phone and closed my eyes. It was bad enough that Rod Macintosh, one of the trainers on the show, had seen fit to inform the producers that my accident was entirely my fault. I had to use my own insurance policy for the surgery. But the knowledge that my injury might be mentioned in the first show of the season made me physically sick.

  I didn’t want Chip to know that I was about to puke on my knee brace. “Good. It might help others avoid the same kind of accident. I am sure they are just doing it like a public service announcement.”

  “Maybe. Oh, hey, I gotta go, Lil. I’m in Rome right now and it’s like dinnertime. The hospital is hosting a great big conference and I am giving the keynote speech. Crazy, isn’t it?”

  “Really cool, Chip. I’m proud of you.”

  “You always say that, Lil. You’re the best.”

  No, I wasn’t. My evil mind was wishing that for once he would do something embarrassing. Not catastrophic, of course. Just minor. Like give the speech with a big piece of spinach between his front teeth.

  “Love you, Chip.”

  “I love you too, Lardo.”

  * * *

  I used to hero-worship my brothers. In return they tormented me. Admittedly, I gave them a lot of free comic material. Especially during my awkward stage. My unibrow, my crooked left tooth, my off-pitch singing.

  The odds in the family had been against me since I was twelve. Three against one. Mom, Ned, Chip.

  It had been better once.

  I pulled out the necklace that was hidden underneath my workout clothes. Dad gave me the gold chain with the tiny rose pendant on my tenth birthday. It was my good-luck charm now.

  I had been a daddy’s girl. No shame there.

  After my brothers were born, Mom and Dad thought they were finished having children. Then I came along. Mom told me when he held me for the first time, my dad broke down and cried. Two healthy sons and a precious little girl.

  Dad was my buddy. He taught me the fine nuances of good ice cream and introduced me to every episode of Star Trek. He helped me with my homework and encouraged me to take up soccer. Our best times, though, were in the garden. We spent hours there. With my own set of pint-size tools I helped him plant annuals around the border of “our” perennial garden and prune “our” roses. When we finished, we would pull up a lawn chair, drink lemonade, and admire our work.

  I loved the fact that he named me after his favorite flowers. Lily Rose.

  Everything changed one bitter April morning. On a day when even the sunshine felt cold. I was playing the first soccer game of the season. We were tied. Instead of leaving me to huddle under a blanket on the bench, my coach put me on the field. With one minute left in the game, I cut around the defense in a breakaway, moving up the sideline. I still remember the heady feeling as the spectators on the sideline roared. I was on a sure path for the net. It was going to be such a good story to tell my brothers. I could taste my victory. The goalie crouched before I took my shot.

  The ball went sailing . . . right over the goalpost.

  The whistle blew and I stared at the empty goal, trying so hard not to cry at my failure. At first, I didn’t hear the commotion in the stands. It wasn’t until I heard my mom’s voice shouting Call 911! that I realized something was wrong.

  We moved to L.A. after my father’s funeral, to be close to Mom’s family. Just Mom and me. My brothers were in college by then. L.A. was dry, and we didn’t have a backyard. Without Dad, I didn’t want to garden again anyway.

  Pulling myself up from the coffin and my self-pity, I started to pace. My three-legged stride echoed in the room.

  The wide-plank wood floor would make a great room for a yoga class or even Pilates, after it was swept. I would have to double-check the reinforcements underneath if I was going to let people use any weights in here. Not that there were any. The room was wide and the ceiling was at least two stories high. At the very back of the room was a large balcony. In the old days, some store manager must have put his office there so he could oversee everything. I would have to check it out to see if it could be used for smaller classes.

  I tucked my necklace back inside my shirt and wondered what Dad would say if he were here right now.

  He would tell me that things weren’t so bad.

  Build your strength and study the game.

  Be patient with yourself.

  There is always a way to make a garden grow.

  An hour later, I stretched my arms and shuffled on three legs to the next position.

  “Trying to fly, or creating a new dance move?” asked a familiar deep voice.

  I held up one finger and continued counting.

  Edge held several folding chairs in his arms, and he put them down by the coffin. “Feel free to sit when you are finished with your ritual.”

  “I’m counting the number of people I can fit across the length of the room.” I finished making my trek to the opposite wall.

  “You might want to double that width for some people. Have you seen my great-aunt Addie?”

  He was right. I should get the overall measurement of the space and make a few adjustments. “I don’t suppose you have a measuring tape? I seem to have forgotten mine.”

  “You own one?” he asked.

  I limped over to the coffin where my planner lay open, and made a note. “Now that I think about it, no.”

  He shook his head and walked out the door mumbling something about California girls.

  “Hey!” I yelled. “Are you leaving me stranded here just because I don’t have a measuring tape?”

  Edge returned and held up his hand. “Here. No man this side of the state line would be caught dead without a measuring tape.”

  We turned toward the coffin at the same time, and I grinned. “Guess he was from somewhere else.”

  “Probably Ohio.”

  “Damn Buckeyes.”

  Edge clutched the measuring tape to his chest. “You know our football rivalries?”

  “Are you kidding? I have two older brothers who think sports belong on the front page. I lose to them in fantasy football every single year.”

  “Now those are the kind of men I would like to meet. They probably have five measuring tapes each.”

  “Probably. But I’ll warn you, Ned always picks the Buckeyes over State and Michigan.” I held out my palm and wiggled my fingers. “I’ll take that.”

  “I changed my mind. I don’t want to meet Ned.” He kept the measuring tape and moved beside me, peering over my shoulder. “What do you need measured?”

  I explained and he did it for me, reciting the numbers as I recorded them. When Edge finished, he said, “Now that you know the dimensions of the room, what are you going to do with that information?”

  I still hadn’t forgotten the discussion this morning. “I don’t know if I want to tell you, seeing as you forgot to tell me that there was no gym. I felt like a fool when I asked Regina Bloodworth where all the equipment was.”

  “You probably felt better than she did. It was her idea to apply for the grant for a fitness trainer without a fitness center.”

  “And you thought that was a stupid idea.”

  He shrugged. “You have to admit, it’s a bit like the cart before the horse.”

  “Thanks for comparing me to a horse.”

  “Actually, you were the cart.”

  I thought on that for a moment. “I suppose to most people your logic makes sense.”

  Edge tos
sed the measuring tape in the air, carelessly flipping it and catching it in the same hand. “Ya think?”

  He had lost the baseball hat and his hair was messy. It should have made him look like a silly slob. Instead it made him look hot.

  “Not so fast, Mr. Sarcasm.” I inhaled the odor of mint I remembered so well from yesterday and tamped down my wayward sex drive. “For the record, they have done studies about weight loss and trainers.”

  “And?” He moved closer. The room was warming up the closer he came.

  Fanning myself with my planner, I blabbered on. “The study shows that while the people who worked out in a gym with no trainer lost weight, they actually gained less muscle. And they had far less strength. A competent trainer knows how to recognize weak areas and strengthen the whole frame.”

  “Maybe. But those competent guys probably still had a real gym to work in.” He was within inches of me. Close enough that I could see a tiny scar on the side of his head. It started next to his eye and disappeared where his temple met his hairline. Maybe he got beaned by a teddy bear with sharp claws. I clutched my fists to my side to keep from reaching out to trace it.

  Edge had no such problem touching me. His free hand waved in front of my eyes and I flinched when he flicked something off my hair.

  “What was that?”

  “I think it was a piece of fuzz.” His eyes took on a mischievous gleam and pointed at Santa’s rear end and the pile of paper wads I had thrown at it. “You and Santa been doing anything you shouldn’t?”

  I ducked under his arm and moved away. “Funny.”

  “Not so far-fetched. I caught that guy kissing my mom underneath the mistletoe one night.”

  Men. He was just like my brothers with a sense of humor that bordered on tasteless and corny.

  I went for the jugular. “By the way, Aubrey Vanderbeek says hello. She sounds like she wants to rekindle something you once had.”

  “We never had any thing. God knows she tried, though.” His ran his hand over his eyes and grimaced. “I heard she’s back in the county, working the Harrisburg end of the grant.”

  “Yup. You should look her up. She seems perfect for you.”

  He snorted and rubbed his shoulder. “Just thinking about the way she used to ignore the rules and tackle me in flag football makes me hurt.”

  “She beat you, huh?” I couldn’t help baiting him. “Maybe you need to come to my fitness classes. I’ll whip you into shape so you won’t lose again.”

  “You misunderstand. She didn’t win. I . . . don’t . . . lose.” He said the words slowly and deliberately.

  “Wow. I would have never guessed you were competitive, Edge. You never lose?”

  “Either I win or I learn. But I never lose.”

  I rolled my eyes. “And what kind of game do you play? A teddy-bear trash toss?”

  He put his shoulders back and puffed out his chest. “I’ll have you know that I am the arm-wrestling champion around town.”

  “In the senior bracket? You’re what, forty?” I couldn’t help strangling his ego.

  “Thirty-one last September.”

  I sent him a pained expression. “Then you are experiencing the loss of muscle that happens as you get older. It turns to—” I looked down at his stomach. “Well . . . I shouldn’t talk that way.”

  I was quite aware of the fact that he didn’t have an ounce of fat. But with his big shirt on, and the beard that hid his face, a person might mistake him for a retired lumberjack who had imbibed too many pints.

  He set the folding chairs on either side of the coffin. “Come on, Lily Bud. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  I did a double take when he used that nickname. It was one of many nicknames my dad called me. “What made you call me Lily Bud?”

  “I don’t know. Something about your size and the fact that you don’t seem fully bloomed yet.”

  “Bloomed? I’m only a few years younger than you.”

  He flexed his fingers and made a show of preparing to arm wrestle me. “Come on, don’t change the subject here. Are you going to take on this challenge or are you too scared that you’ll ruin your killer reputation by losing to a fat guy like me?”

  My eyes scanned his rock-hard body. No way was he fat. His ego might be, though.

  I sat down and propped my elbow on the pine top of the coffin. “You have an unfair advantage. I won’t be able to brace myself very well.”

  “How about you use both hands and I’ll start halfway back.”

  “Deal!” I jumped on the offer before he changed his mind. I had lost arm-wrestling matches to my brothers many times. Neither one of them had ever suggested letting me have an advantage like the one Edge was offering.

  “Don’t hurt yourself, now,” he said.

  “Mind your own business.”

  He chuckled but then turned serious. “I’m not kidding, though. Watch your knee.”

  I angled my knee out and braced myself. Leaning close, I gripped his fist with both my hands. He was close. His breath was like a feather on my cheek. The flecks of green in his gray eyes were twinkling, and that suspicious crater in his cheek was wiggling. Why didn’t he shave so I could figure out what he was hiding behind that scraggly beard?

  “You can be the one to count down,” he offered.

  I shamelessly accepted any help I could get. “Four, three, two, one . . . Go!” I pushed down with all my weight and felt my body shake with effort. Nothing happened.

  A quick glance at Edge made me double my effort. He stared at me through bored hooded eyelids. “Did you start yet?”

  “Oomph . . .” I dug one elbow into wood in an attempt to gain more leverage against him. He had the temerity to put his free hand over his mouth and yawn.

  My arms shook harder. I raised myself to gain power.

  When I wasn’t sure I could stand it anymore, Edge calmly pushed until he was at a ninety-degree angle and our wrists were centered. He kept going, as if he were making no effort at all. He was going to win.

  An old trick came to mind. It always got me disqualified with my brothers. Hopefully, Edge was as ticklish as Chip.

  Pulling one hand out of his grasp, I reached out to Edge’s armpit.

  He jerked back when I touched him. “Hey, not fair!”

  “Were there rules?” I asked, reaching across the coffin again.

  “In that case—” He dodged my hand and did the same to me.

  Heat shot to my breasts at the nearness of his hand in the crook of my shoulder, but I managed not to flinch.

  “Not ticklish,” I said. I grasped his palm with both hands and pushed his elbow back down.

  “Not ticklish? What kind of robot are you?”

  “A killer robot.” I pushed harder.

  “Then how about this?” Before I knew what he was doing, his lips captured mine.

  His mouth was warm and his scruffy beard felt surprisingly soft against my cheek. It produced a whole new erogenous zone I never knew existed. Fingers of fire spread across my body and I forgot about winning. The kiss ended too soon and I found myself staring at Edge’s shirt.

  I looked down to see the back of my hand splayed across the coffin. Edge had won.

  The corner of his mouth turned up in a lazy smile. “Do you want to try again?”

  I grabbed my crutch from the floor and stood on shaky legs. I skirted around him and picked up my bag, stuffing my planner inside. “Are you giving me a ride or not?”

  “Unless you want to take the sleigh over there?”

  My mind was too numb to come up with a quip.

  Edge walked around me and reached for the door as if nothing had just happened. Except there was a satisfied smile on his face.

  “At least you know I’m not getting any older.”

  “What?” I was having trouble keeping up.

  “No fat. Admit it.” He ran a hand over his chest in an exaggerated motion. “And no muscle loss.”

  I walked past him with a huff. I would get
my rematch.

  * * *

  During the ride home, the radio blared, effectively eliminating any conversation we might have had about our wrestling match. While I felt off balance from our unexpected kiss, he was behaving like the whole thing was a joke. Fitting. He bobbed his head and sang a Rolling Stones song almost as badly as I might have.

  Edge Callahan was a man-child. On the outside, strong, muscular, bearded. But inside he was like a ten-year-old. A kid who had just discovered an electric guitar but still slept with a teddy bear. Heavy metal meets Christopher Robin.

  We arrived back at the Callahans’ just in time. Edge was about to attempt a Prince song that might have broken a blood vessel in his vocal chords. I let him help me down and into the house, doing my best to ignore his satisfied smile.

  When he left, I watched him walk across the street and disappear into the ranch house where he lived. Maybe it was best just to forget everything about today. What happened earlier was revenge for my cheating. And a spontaneous reaction from Edge. It came from the energy of our competitive spirits. It had nothing to do with any attraction we might feel for each other. Or at least the attraction that I felt for him.

  Edge and I were as different as night and day. He was an immature goof-off who apparently couldn’t even summon the energy to shave in the morning. I was a serious, goal-oriented professional.

  He practically lived with his mommy, for goodness’ sake. Well, technically I did, too.

  I stared at the redbrick ranch house across the road. Louise told me this morning it had been Ivy’s once. It was quite nice from the outside. Convenient. Edge could have privacy, and come back for Mom’s home cooking whenever he wanted. The ranch was probably littered with underwear, open cans of soda, and half-eaten bags of potato chips. Edge probably brought over his laundry once a week for his mommy to wash. Pitiful.

  I browsed creative fitness workouts on my computer for the next few hours, researching everything I could about successful fitness programs with limited budgets. I searched for inexpensive equipment as well. And then . . . well, an exit plan, just in case this job was over before it began.

  Unfortunately, I couldn’t use my own money to purchase equipment. My bank account was slim, thanks to my poor business sense. When I landed the job on Just Lose It, I made the cardinal mistake in Financial Planning 101. I spent money I didn’t have.