Finders Keepers

by Karin Kallmaker

  Her smile dimmed. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  “Not a bad thing. I mean, I should talk.” Ocky settled into the only clear chair in Marissa’s office. “So when were you going to tell me you’d signed up as a client?”

  Uh-oh. “When I was actually dating someone. I mean, I signed up months and months ago. I just didn’t . . . make any calls until recently. I wasn’t ready.”

  “Still getting over that vacation fling? Oh, please,” Ocky said, in response to Marissa’s raised eyebrows. “I have eyes. You were walking ten feet off the ground when you got back. And then one day you weren’t.”

  “Okay, fine. But I don’t see how this is really your business.”

  Whatever you do, don’t tell her that the other woman showed up on your doorstep this morning.

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  Ocky blinked. “I thought we were friends enough that we shared stuff. You didn’t share.”

  “I felt I’d been a fool. And as for sharing, well, you had all the girlfriends. I had my mother.”

  “But your mom’s a lot better, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Nice job of sidetracking me.” Ocky frowned, but she was clearly not that upset. “You’re a client now. If you don’t find someone we might have to say as much if asked.”

  “I know we both agreed that would be bad but I’m not so sure it would be. And who knows, I could be in the three out of four.” A thought occurred to her. “Is that what’s really bothering you?”

  “Yeah,” Ocky said with a lopsided grin. “If you get the happy love thing I am going to be the most pathetic person I know.”

  Marissa wasn’t sure she was smiling as she laughed. “So until now I’ve been the most pathetic person you know?”

  “I didn’t mean it that way. You know that.”

  You didn’t mean it, Marissa thought after Ocky went back to her office but it doesn’t mean it’s not how you felt. Well, that was a sure-all cure for a crush, finding out she was the person Ocky kept around so she could feel better about herself. That cleared up a lot of things just dandy.

  Normally, she’d let Ocky know she was taking a longer lunch break but Ocky was not her boss and she was going to stop acting as if she was. She was in an agitated frame of mind when she got to Helena Boxer’s office for her once-a-month check-in, but the moment she walked into the quiet space with pale blue walls and the faint smell of sandalwood she felt better. This little office was full of good feelings and positive energy.

  “The running hurts my knees, even though it feels good at the same time,” she told Helena after they reviewed her current progress. “I’ll be glad actually not to do it when the time comes. I’d rather walk with more weights. I still haven’t tried skating—that might be next.”

  “It’s low impact, that’s true.” Helena glanced up from the print-187

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  outs Marissa had brought. “Until you fall down, that is. Please get all the safety gear, okay?”

  “I’ll start at the rink with full body padding, promise. So anyway, you can see it. Adding a minute of running after every two minutes of walking worked well. I lost some more fat but now I’m at another plateau. I don’t want to waste two months doing something that’s not helping.”

  “Everybody brings their own skills to this process.” Helena looked up with a grin. “You have a gift for data analysis. I adore your charts and graphs, and you are spotting trouble earlier than most people would. That’s a great asset you’ve got in maintaining your lifelong health.”

  “Oh.” Marissa blushed. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

  “You’re one of a kind, absolutely. And the data says it’s time to tweak again.”

  “It feels like I’m tweaking all the time.”

  “And this is bad why?” Helena tipped her head to one side.

  “Shouldn’t something that works for me, work all the time?”

  “Well.” Helena tapped the graph that showed Marissa’s slowly falling weight line. “Since you began we’ve tweaked every six to eight weeks. You’ve lost sixteen pounds on the Tweak It program.”

  Marissa chortled. “Okay, so my plan is to have no plan?”

  “Your program is to be flexible. Mixing things up, varying your exercise—that is succeeding steadily for you. You work with computers. When you set them up does that solution last forever?”

  “No. You’re right, it doesn’t. I’m lucky to get two to three weeks on a configuration sometimes. Then it needs, well, tweaking.”

  Helena leaned companionably on her desk, her eyes gentle with compassion. “Your body, my body, all of us, we are the most complex and diverse systems in the universe. We are as complex as this planet, as the stars, because that’s what we’re made up of. No computer could ever be as complicated.”

  “Okay, all ones from me on that.”

  “Some people,” Helena said, “eliminate butter from their diet and never struggle with their weight again.”

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  “Bitches.”

  Helena shared Marissa’s laughter. “I love it when you make an appointment because I know I’m going to laugh.”

  “My work is done, then.”

  “Mine isn’t.” Helena put the last month’s worth of nutritional breakdowns on the top of the stack. “I think it’s time for you to ease up on protein in favor of low fat carbs. I’d recommend the extra carbs be eaten after your workouts—a moderate complex carb.”

  “Then not fruit. Candy bar?”

  “A small one, with nuts if possible. And there are some sports nuritionals that would do the trick—energy shots and the like.”

  A hundred possibilities of a modest treat clamored in her mind,

  “Pick me, pick me.” Deciding would be almost as much fun as licking her fingers after she ate whatever morsel she chose.

  They chatted a little bit more and Marissa left feeling motivated and reassured that she was doing sensible, rational things and her expectation to continue losing fat and gaining endurance was reasonable and achievable. She was proud of herself.

  Back at the office, she wasn’t proud of the fact that she checked for messages on her answering machine at home, on her cell and on her private e-mail. She wasn’t going down this road again.

  Annoyed with herself, she went in search of her belated lunch.

  Heather was taking her lean frozen entrée out of the microwave. “I’m starting up again, boss.”

  “I know you can do it, Heather. If I can, you can.”

  “You’re amazing.”

  “So—” Marissa fixed Heather with a steady gaze. “So are you.”

  “I know I can do it but I don’t do it. I went to see your Helena.”

  “You did? That’s great! I was just there. What did you think?”

  Marissa grinned at Heather.

  Heather was abruptly very quiet. In a low voice, she said,

  “Helena thinks I should see a therapist. She gave me some names.”

  “Oh?”

  “Just . . . some stuff I never told anybody and I didn’t think mattered. But maybe that’s why I sabotage myself. I don’t want to succeed. Apparently, the Man of My Dreams scares me.”

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  Marissa put a hand on Heather’s arm. “You have incredible willpower, Heather. And if there’s something you need to work out so you can get on, then go for it. If you need a regular hour off or something, you know we can work that out.”

  “Thanks, boss. I think I’m going to make some calls on my break. I’m tired of feeling like a failure.”

  “You’re not a failure, Heather. Look at you.”

  “I am looking at me, Marissa.” Her eyes brimmed with tears. “I look at me every day. I see a fat girl.”

  Vividly recalling how her mirror had
made her feel nothing more than a helpless fat chick, Marissa folded her arms as she regarded the woman in front of her. “I see someone with the stam-ina and self-esteem to put herself through night school while she sends money home to help her younger sisters. I see someone with wit and fashion sense and hair and skin I’d kill for.”

  Heather frowned. “Don’t say I have a pretty face.”

  Marissa swallowed hard. “Believe me, I know how that one stings. Even when it’s true. You have style I can’t carry off. And sometimes you’re so smart about process development that it makes me moist and excited as only a true computer geek can be.”

  She winked.

  “Are you hitting on me?” Heather’s frown melted into a grin.

  “Only your mind—you have that whole straight thing going for you. I can’t wait until you finish up that computer science certifi-cate. It’s good-bye receptionist desk the moment you do.”

  “That will be such a huge deal. Thank you. You’re so encouraging, especially when I’m so down on myself sometimes.”

  “Heather, girlfriend, you are incredible Play-Doh, full of potential to be anything. You’ve let life shape you but I think you’re ready to shape yourself now.”

  “And lose some of the dough.”

  “Like I said, if I can, you can.”

  Heather glanced at the wall clock. “I might be able to make a few calls now.”

  Marissa grinned into the refrigerator as she retrieved the com-190

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  ponents of her lunch. If she’d had a younger sister she would have liked someone like Heather. “Oh, hush,” she told the gremlin in her stomach. “Food will be here shortly.”

  She smeared about two tablespoons of herbed goat cheese on a paper plate, then began counting out slices of pepperoni.

  “That’s quite a pile.” Ocky scooted around Marissa to retrieve a soda from the refrigerator.

  Marissa finished counting her eighteen slices before looking up.

  “Fifty calories, six grams of protein and a half-gram of fat. With the goat cheese, a mere hundred calories of tasty goodness. Later, I get an organic energy bar with soy protein and twenty essential nutrients for active women.”

  “I was rude this morning,” Ocky said abruptly. “I’m just unsettled by how much you’ve changed. I don’t like feeling that I don’t know you.”

  The apology felt genuine and something in Marissa eased. She was certain she no longer had a crush on Ocky, and maybe that would let them be more balanced friends. “Sometimes, Ocky, I don’t know me. But I’m learning more every day.”

  When she got back to her desk she discovered a single truffle, her favorite dark mocha, resting on a piece of note paper which read, “You’re not just a great boss, you’re a nice person.”

  The truffle tasted wonderful with her afternoon tea during the sales staff meeting. She savored every last nuance of robust coffee and hints of pepper and cinnamon. She had earned it, she told herself. She also told herself that her heart had not leapt, not even for a moment, thinking before she read the note that it might have been signed by Linda.

  Linda turned from her study of the plaques adorning the reception area walls as a man paused near her and said, “Ms. Bartok?”

  “Yes.” She shook his hand. “You must be Jim Manchuik.”

  “Welcome to the Sierra Club. If you’ll come with me, I’ll introduce you to the California Senior Chapter Director.”

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  Tom Jawed had a firm handshake and the three of them sat around a worn desk barely visible under stacks of paperwork.

  “I had to say,” Tom began, “that when I read your résumé I thought that you would be completely wasted as a Volunteer Coordinator. We don’t get a lot of Ivy Leaguers in that job.”

  “I know it seems a little odd but you’ll notice that there is no paid employment on my résumé beyond what I’m supposed to call being a Food Services Industry Technician. I flipped burgers.”

  The two men laughed, then Jim said, “You volunteered all over the world—that counts to us. I don’t think you’d have a Yale MBA if you were a flake.”

  Linda felt a coil of tension in her spine unwind. She hadn’t been at all certain she’d be taken seriously and she was grateful to have gotten this interview. A job of any kind, related to something she really enjoyed, would help her settle and look around—and she’d be near Marissa. The last six months had been exhausting.

  Breaking old habits was hard. “I won’t lie and say I didn’t have some family issues that slowed down my progress at Yale but they are completely resolved now. I am very interested in this job and would be willing to make at least a year’s commitment to it. Why don’t you tell me where you would like to see the management of volunteers. You must have hundreds—”

  “Thousands,” Jim corrected.

  “Thousands, then. What would an ideal volunteer organization look like?”

  The two men laughed again and Linda relaxed into the interview, feeling more and more confident. If not this job she would find another but the interview process was feeling more and more comfortable by the minute.

  She left the Berkeley offices around noon and strolled through the Telegraph Avenue district. World-famous among college students, it struck her as familiar—street vendors, musicians, pizza-by-the-slice, organic restaurants and many, many earnest young faces. Her stomach growled near the falafel cart and she carried the fragrant pita up the steps of the landmark bell tower as it chimed twelve and found a comfortable spot to sit down.

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  With a very welcome winter sun caressing her face, she finally let herself think about Marissa.

  How incredibly alive she had looked . . . her skin flushed from exercise, her brow beaded with sweat, her hair back in that cute ball cap. The confidence, the willingness to strive was as present as ever, including, Linda thought with chagrin, the self-will to push Linda away to avoid getting hurt again.

  She had anticipated the anger but not taken into account Marissa’s strength of mind. It would take more than an apology to start a conversation. And if they didn’t talk, well, there was no hope at all.

  She’d written dozens of letters in her head to Marissa while she’d been in Montana, then at Yale. Apologies, explanations, some whining. One desperate night, overloaded with coursework and dealing with a professor who seemed to delight in underscor-ing her rustiness in some areas, she’d packed her bags and nearly left. She might not have gone through with it but it was also true that one of the things that slowed her was thinking about how she’d explain to Marissa that she’d run away, one more time, when life got emotionally tough.

  She dabbed tahini sauce from her chin and smiled into the sun.

  It was twelve degrees in Boston. She could use some sunshine in her life for a while.

  With her suit jacket neatly hung on the hanger hooked on the passenger seat of the rental car, she made her way through the con-gested traffic, only missing her turn twice. Driving was still a new skill. The rental car had no trouble with a steep climb to the tunnel that would take her from Berkeley to the inner valley where Marissa lived and worked. It was also where her motel was.

  She glanced in the mirror, meeting her own gaze. “That’s right, you’re not going to act like a stalker. Give her a few days to maybe look at the book.”

  She’d written all the letters in her mind but the book was real.

  Congressional members could request any title be added to the Library of Congress, so, in time, the story she had so needed to tell would be permanently stored. She could let it all go now and hope 193

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  for the side benefit of it making up for the words she’d never sent to Marissa.

  She treated herself to some side trips off the freeway, finding rolling hills and little towns that surpr
ised her so close to such an intensely urban area. She enjoyed a hot coffee overlooking a sparkling reservoir, counting clouds scudding across the vivid blue sky. It wasn’t Tahiti or the Alps or the golden plains of high country Spain. This is the world that made Marissa, she thought. I could like it here.

  The winter sun had set by the time she returned to her motel.

  She was getting addicted to high-speed Internet and was glad to find a few messages from some of her classmates and even a newsy one from Ted Jeffers. She sent back a note congratulating him for his daughter’s placement at a regional track meet, then stared at the empty screen.

  She carefully typed out just a few sentences. No mushy stuff.

  Just the bare facts. This time, unlike any time in the past year, she clicked send.

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  Chapter 13

  “You’re Marissa, right?”

  Marissa smiled nervously at the bright-eyed woman who paused hesitantly next to the little table where Marissa’s coffee sat cooling. “You’re Eve.”

  She scooched her chair to the left to make room for Eve’s knees in the small space. A chair leg tipped her purse and some of the contents spilled across the floor. “Oh, heck!”

  Eve helped her collect things, including a lipstick that had rolled near someone’s foot. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks. Okay, I think we can safely say when I admitted to being a bit clumsy I was being honest.”

  “I’m a total butterfingers too. Is that a Nano?”

  “Yeah.” Marissa handed the slim music player to Eve.

  “Wow. That’s so sleek. I love gadgets, very cool. I’ve been thinking about getting one.”

  Marissa studied the dark-fringed brown eyes, liking the humor 195

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  evident in them. They were a lively feature in a round, pleasant face surrounded by straight black hair typical of Asian heritage. “It was my twenty-five pound reward.”

  “Oh, I should think of skipping my daily muffin and save up the cash. That would be a complete win-win. Very slick.” She handed back the iPod and a little silence fell. Luckily, Eve’s name was called at the coffee counter and by the time she returned, Marissa had found her tongue.