Ivy said, “I can. Do.”
“Mom, you can’t drive. We’ve already talked about that dozens of times,” Louise said, finally looking up from the paper.
“Can!”
Louise reached across and gently touched her mother’s hand. “Ma. Your reflexes aren’t what they used to be. Driving a car would be way too dangerous. Remember that’s what Dr. Manning said.”
Ivy slapped her fork on her eggs. Louise stood up and took the plate from her. “You do a good job driving the wheelchair, though. A really good job.”
Ivy grunted and backed away from the table, knocking into one of the dogs at her feet. He yipped and jumped out of the way.
“Are you sure you don’t want more to eat?” Louise asked from the kitchen.
I got up from the table and limped into the kitchen with my coffee mug. “I’m sorry I’m such a bother.”
“Honey, I have two teenage daughters who, when they aren’t sleeping, are fighting. A disabled mother who thinks she can drive herself around town, and two grandsons who won’t stop with the potty talk. Having someone sane to talk to in this house is an absolute godsend.”
“You have Edge.”
“And Tracy. But both of them are busy. And even though they are close, they still have to live their own lives.”
I leaned down to stack the dishwasher.
Louise swatted me out of the way. “Stop it. You’ll fall over.”
“I’m moving better and better each day.”
“You are, honey.” She gave me a hug. “You are doing a great job.”
I wasn’t expecting the hug. I cleared my throat. Why was I so emotional? I hadn’t taken painkillers since I came to Truhart. It must be the long week catching up with me.
“Just go on over there.” She nodded toward the house across the road. “You two need to talk about whatever is bothering you.”
“How did you—” Was it that obvious? Every hour without clearing up our disagreement was driving me crazy. Edge had been the first person to help me since I arrived in town. I should apologize. This new division between us was awful.
“Go on, Lily. The ice on the driveway has melted. And it’s almost forty degrees this morning. Downright tropical for April in Northern Michigan!”
I put my finger in the air and giggled. “Forty degrees! I’ll have my mom send my bikini soon.”
She tilted her head. “You have a nice laugh, Lily. I hope I see you do it more often while you are here.”
I didn’t understand why Louise thought my laugh was so great. I had a raspy, deep voice that transformed into a hoarse kind of laugh. But when I giggled, the sound was light and airy. Kind of funny if you had never heard it before.
I used to laugh all the time.
My father called me “gigglegirl” when I was younger. My brothers preferred the alternate name, “jigglegirl,” because my tummy shook whenever I erupted into hysterical fits of unstoppable laughter.
My abs were tight now. And my laugh was a little rusty. I tucked it away and decided to go in search of Edge. He might refuse to talk to me. Or he might take another bite out of me for interfering. But I had to find out. At the very least I would know where I stood with him.
I walked carefully down the sloped pavement and across the street. Louise was right. Forty degrees felt balmy after the last few days of frigid temperatures. My North Face fleece was all I needed. From the base of the driveway I had my first clear view of the ranch house and the lake that was partially blocked by evergreens. I had learned from Louise that the lake was named Reply Lake. A sister lake to the one that sat at the end of Main Street.
The redbrick ranch trimmed with white lattice work was quite charming. Empty window boxes promised flowers in summer. Lumps that were either boxwood or azaleas covered in burlap bordered the front door. To my right, the driveway dipped down to an attached two-car garage. Edge’s pickup truck was parked next to a pile of two-by-fours and crates. The garage was open and a buzz of machinery erupted from within.
Edge was definitely awake.
I headed toward the noise and stopped just inside the garage. Edge guided a long piece of wood across the blade, splitting it down the middle. With his attention focused on the wood, I stopped to enjoy the view. He was wearing clear goggles over his eyes and a backward baseball cap. His long-sleeved T-shirt was torn at the hem and looked like something he might have worn in high school. For once Edge looked serious. He let go of the handle of the table saw and cut the motor. Then he lifted the piece of wood and ran a hand up and down it, as if he wasn’t sure if he had accomplished his task to his satisfaction. It must have been acceptable because he set it against the wall and pulled another piece of wood from nearby and started whistling.
“What are you making?”
“Wha—oh, hey!” he said, lifting his safety glasses. He placed the wood against the wall and turned to me. “Do you need a ride somewhere?”
“No. No. I’m just coming to talk. I mean I wanted to . . . Your mom told me it would be all right to stop in.”
He slapped his palms together to remove the sawdust. “Be careful where you step.”
The floor of the garage was covered in sawdust and tiny pieces of wood. “What are you building?”
“Everything.”
I strained my neck to see inside the open door that led into the house. “Inside?”
“Yep. Feel free to take a look. It’s a bit of a mess.” We had just said more than a dozen words to each other and he didn’t sound mad. It was a good sign.
With new optimism, I walked to the door and peered in. The room had been gutted down to the studs. New drywall still showed seams and the floor was covered in plywood. There was no molding on the windows or doors. Even so, the main room was inviting, with a large window and an open floor plan to the kitchen.
“You live here?”
“Where did you think I lived? At the Dairy Cow?” The sarcasm was back.
I shrunk against the door frame as he walked by with the wood he had just cut.
“I guess I didn’t realize you were renovating.” I had imagined him living among dirty laundry and empty carryout containers. The new image of Edge working, instead of lying around on the couch watching sports, was unsettling.
“This is what I do when I’m not stuffing my grandmother and the rest of the town full of sweets. Oh, and for the record, I bought this house from my grandmother free and clear. I’m not trying to poison her so I can inherit the place.”
I closed my eyes and wished I had used different words the other day. “I know you’re still a little mad at me right now.”
He placed the wood against the window and pulled a pencil from behind his ear. I had offered him an olive branch and he still ignored me. He was not only still hurt, but surprisingly stubborn.
He made a mark on the wood and I decided to change tactics. “This renovation is going to be really nice.”
I meant it. Unlike the outside, with its traditional brick and paned windows, the inside was more modern, with a wide-open view to the lake. The room had a brick fireplace at one end and sliding glass doors led out to a deck still covered in snow. The large living area opened directly into a kitchen that was as light as the living area because the long wall of large windows continued. Newly installed maple cabinets and a double-door refrigerator sat against the opposite wall. A large island was covered in plywood.
Edge saw my curiosity. “The granite counter isn’t ready yet.”
Maybe it was best to keep the conversation neutral. I asked more about the remodel, genuinely interested. “What was this like before you moved in?”
He shrugged. “Dark paneling, and lots of small rooms. I opened it up.”
“Has Ivy seen what you’ve done with her house so far?”
“I brought her by last week. She loves it.”
He walked back into the garage and adjusted the table saw. I followed, hoping for an opening in the conversation. “I think we should ta—”
I waited until he finished. “I didn’t mean to be ru—”
The table saw started again.
He did that on purpose.
I moved until I was standing right in front of him. He couldn’t miss me this time because I stood between him and the wall where he was going to need another piece of wood.
Edge stopped the saw and pulled his safety glasses up on top of his head. “Do you mind?”
“I will move after you let me speak.”
He shifted on one hip and looked up at the garage ceiling. “If you stand there I have to give you safety glasses.”
“Do you have another pair? I want to discuss what—”
“Do you talk this much in your fitness classes?”
“I wouldn’t have to talk so much if you would just shut up and listen.”
He shut off the saw and stepped back. “Fine. Talk. You have my full attention.”
I took my weight off my crutch and stood up straight. “I want to tell you that I completely understand how you think my comments about your meal were inappropriate. I shouldn’t tell you or anyone else what to do on your own time. But being a fitness coach means that my role here crosses over into the personal. There will be times when I will remind someone how to eat or coax them to get moving and work out. If that makes me a nag, then so be it.”
“Did you plan that long-winded speech?” He picked up the wood he had just cut and headed into the house.
I followed him. “Don’t you understand?”
He turned abruptly and we were inches apart. “I get it, Coach. But you also need to understand that sometimes life’s little pleasures are worth enjoying. We aren’t children who need a slap on the hand every time we reach for the cookie jar.”
“But what do I do if that cookie jar is offered to one of my clients with the full intention of sabotaging their diet?”
Edge stared at me. He was so close I could see the indentation from the safety goggles in his hair. I clenched my fist rather than reach up to smooth his curls. This strange attraction wasn’t fair. The heat of his breath mingled with the scent of the sawdust. I breathed deeply. Enjoying my own guilty pleasure.
His eyes wandered down to my lips and back. “Can I ask you something?”
Edge’s abrupt question made me blink. “Okay.”
“Do you ever have fun?”
“Of course I have fun!”
“When? When was the last time you had a good time?”
I looked away. “That’s a stupid question.”
“Just answer it, then.”
I liked it the other day when we arm wrestled. No way was I going to bring that up. “I—I have fun.”
“What do you do for fun?”
“Just a few months ago I went with my brother to a Lakers game.”
“A few months ago? That’s the last time you had fun?”
I planted my crutch in front of me so that it stood between us like a sword in the concrete. “For your information, I just laughed inside with your mother.”
“You did?”
“I did. She said I made a good joke.”
He put a hand on my crutch and pulled it out from between us. “Tell me.”
“I—I told her that if the weather was so nice I would get—” I paused. For some reason I didn’t want to say it.
“Get what?” He reached his big hand around to the small of my back and pulled me close. “Come on, Lily. Don’t lose me. Remember what a punch line is?”
“Of course I know what a punch—” Oh. He was teasing me. “I just said that I would have to have my mom send my bikini.”
His face lowered toward mine. “Bikini? Mmm, that is fun.”
“I just meant that it was warm today. Well, I mean for Michigan it was warm, but not for L.A. It was a jo—”
I never finished my sentence because Edge’s lips were pressed against my own. They were irritatingly light and his beard was surprisingly soft. I waited for him to press harder. To part my lips and give me more. But he paused and went no further. Why was he stopping?
I opened my eyes. Edge was looking straight back at me. I could see a fleck of green in his gray eyes. He pulled back and murmured, “Do you want to have real fun, Lily?”
I leaned into him. “Yes.” I jumped back. “No! I mean no!”
His face broke into a big grin. “Just as I thought.”
“You are twisting this whole conversation.”
“I’m just talking about life, Lily Shue. Life and fun. The same thing I was talking about the other day.”
Fun? Ridiculous. I made workouts fun for my clients. I played music and encouraged them to move. I enjoyed showing them how to eat healthy. They learned to live a better life. My reward was my fun.
I pulled my crutch out of his hands and shuffled out the door with as much stomping as a woman could do with only one good stomping leg. I could hear Edge laughing as I crossed the street and headed back to the safety of his boyhood room.
LESSON NINE
Support Others
The gym was empty and I was making notes in my journal when I heard the front door open. A familiar-looking young man walked inside. He had dark wavy hair and the awkward shadow of a mustache that comes with adolescence. He was quite overweight.
“Hi,” he said, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his baggy jeans.
“Hi! Come on in.” Hopefully I didn’t sound too eager.
He stepped farther into the gym, looking nervously toward the window as if he was afraid to be seen. I realized where I had seen him before. That first day. He had been the target of the snowballs outside the diner. The one I had tried to save with a teddy bear.
“Miss Shue, I’m Rocky Stone.”
“Rocky?” I tried not to smile at his full name.
“Well, my real name is Robert Bock Stone. Everyone just calls me Rocky. Sometimes Big Rock and Mountain. I act like I think the names are funny. But . . .” He paused. I regretted my reaction to his name. More than anyone, I understood the pain of nicknames. Even when they came from people who loved you.
“Nice to meet you, Rocky.”
His eyes darted back to the window.
“Let’s stand over here,” I said, guiding him away toward the back of the room.
When we were away from the window, he pulled his hands out of his pockets and fiddled with a lock of hair that hung low on his face. “I guess you’re wondering why I’m here.”
I smiled, trying to pretend I had no clue why he was here.
“I really want to join your program. But I don’t want the kids at school to think I’m going to fat camp.”
“I understand.” It’s hard to be a teenager, no matter what size you are. “Are there others at school who might be interested in getting fit?”
“No one I know.” His voice broke and his eyes grew moist. In the space of a moment I could see all the pain he had been carrying for years. He wiped his eyes. My own grew moist, remembering the gut-wrenching stage of adolescence, when all I wanted was to be like everyone else.
“Rocky, are you teased a lot?”
He nodded. “But I don’t know how to do this without them making fun of me worse.”
We sat down by the coffin and had a heart-to-heart conversation. After he told me all about his weight gain, I tried to give him reason for optimism. I nudged him with my toe. “You realize how lucky you are, don’t you?”
He shook his head. “Why would I be lucky?”
“Teenage boys have it much easier than most people who want to lose weight. Their bodies respond well to exercise and a change in eating habits. It’s much harder to be a woman, or even worse, a middle-aged woman when the metabolism slows down.”
“You don’t look like your metabo—you know, slowed down yet.” That was a reality check for me. I guess to him I was a middle-aged lady.
Keeping my face straight, I said, “I have to work really hard. But it’s worth i
t.”
We spent the next half hour talking about simple things he could change in the next week. Walking after school. Changing out the after-school snacks for fruit. He promised to come back and share his experience. And I gave him my phone number to text me whenever he needed. It was our secret for now.
After he left I reached back in time to remember the way I felt when I was a chunky adolescent. Funny how that self-image could stick with a person their whole life. Even now that I was physically fit and a size six, I still sometimes felt like that insecure, chubby little girl, especially when I was with my family. It would have been so much easier had there been a sister or friend going through the same struggles. Or a grownup who could help me navigate the difficult road.
I made a note to find a program for teenagers that would allow Rocky to receive the support that he needed. I put three stars next to it so I wouldn’t forget.
* * *
Later in the afternoon, I had just said goodbye to my last weight-loss participant, when Corinne walked in.
I looked down at my clipboard and then back at her. “You aren’t on my weight-loss list, Corinne.” She was much too thin to participate in the program. I was happy she was in the gym classes and part of the walking group. It would help keep her strength up as she aged.
“No. I’m not here for myself. I just want to make sure Marva is doing all right.”
“Marva? She weighed in earlier. She’s doing just fine.”
Corinne nodded. “She’s been struggling with her weight for the past five years. And I always felt guilty about it.”
“Guilty? You know, not everyone has the same metabolism. Don’t feel bad.”
Corinne lowered her voice. “I kind of feel like it’s my fault she gained so much weight, though.”
“Your fault?” She moved toward the coffin and sat down. I took a place next to her and stretched my brace in front of me. I had been in Truhart long enough that I was becoming comfortable with everyone. Except Edge, of course. He still drove me to the gym with loud music and teasing. But I kept my distance when he tried to help me down from the truck. I guess it was a cease-fire of sorts.
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