Joel frowned and stared at the sheets, flipping through them again and again as if hoping something would leap out at him. "Increase your exercise, maybe?"
I already spent forty-five minutes a day running outside or using the treadmill or elliptical machine at the gym, but I agreed to push it to an hour. At the same time we cut my daily calories to fourteen hundred, so I lived my life with a low-grade hunger, like a mild cold you can't shake off, dragging me down.
I went back to Joel every week, and every week the number on his scale told me who I was. A third of a pound down? I was a success, powering my way toward my goal. Up a third meant I'd blown it. I must have blown it or I'd have lost weight.
Sitting in the car, I feel that awful guilt again, that sick sensation of seeing the scale and Joel's face registering my incompetence.
But I'm not incompetent. I eat exactly what I'm allowed, and exercise more if I happen to eat something I shouldn't, and I do my hour-long daily workouts no matter how I feel.
I look into my eyes in the rear-view mirror and realize I've been measuring it all wrong. I did the best I could do, I truly did. Joel didn't feel like a failure because I didn't lose weight. So why do I feel like one?
If I'd set a goal to lose three inches of height, people would have called me crazy. And they'd have been right. My body is five feet ten inches tall, and I couldn't change that. So why does it seem reasonable to pick a weight from a chart and assume I could reach it?
Why, why did I do that to myself?
A bunch of reasons, I guess. I did, do, want to be thin by Sandra's wedding. Sandra claims not to care, and she might even really not care, but I do. Those pictures will be around forever, and I don't want to see the evidence of my failure to stick to my plan.
Since I've always been a planner I've had tons of goals over the years. Some I achieve, and some I decide aren't really that interesting to me any more. I'm fine with both of those groups, but the ones I give up on bother me.
I found a neat project a few years ago: pick one hundred and one fun or unusual tasks to complete in one thousand and one days. I spent hours browsing the Internet and picking interesting tasks from other people's lists. Once I had my quota of tasks, I set to work but almost immediately ran into the undeniable fact that other people's interesting tasks weren't necessarily interesting for me.
I revamped my list over and over, then let myself get bogged down in what the finishing date would actually be since I'd restarted so many times, in how to keep track of all the various tasks, and eventually in forcing myself to complete tasks that I no longer cared about just to mark them off. Finally, I gave up and let the whole project fall away.
I can't let that happen to my weight loss because I hate seeing that lack of commitment in myself. Finally dropping the forty-odd extra pounds I've been carrying for as long as I can remember would prove to me, once and for all, that I have discipline and determination. If I lose that weight, I could finally know I'm good enough.
I stare out the car's side window at the snow, still falling fast even though I'm somewhat sheltered by the trees, and watch the flakes drift and dance in the air. Good enough. I don't even know what that means. I've never really been satisfied with my life and my achievements, but that's not because of my weight. Even fat, I can do anything I want.
But do I? I do the big things, sure, working and being with friends and caring for Ruby, but so many little things in my life have been influenced by my weight. I almost never go clothes shopping with Sandra because the stores she likes have nothing to offer me and I feel weird always looking at jewelry and scarves and pretending I don't need anything else. After my first disastrous month at WeightAway, I gave up the yoga classes I enjoyed because they didn't burn enough calories and I needed to slave away on the treadmill or elliptical instead. And last year I denied Bill's mother the chance to see me trying on wedding dresses because I felt so uncomfortable.
That's a big one, actually, and shame fills me. It might have been something for her to hold onto, one happy memory amidst the pain of his abduction and murder.
I still have my engagement ring. She might want it, and I should make sure people know I want her to have it. I don't have a will, yet another of the planned tasks I never managed to make myself complete, and I should.
I open the laptop and clear all the files and folders off the desktop, which leaves the rose background picture Andrew sent me a few weeks ago beautifully exposed. He'd told me to use it as a reminder to stop and smell the roses, and I stare at its peachy-pink petals for several long breaths before placing a new folder right in the center.
The new folder's called "If I die". I don't like the name much, but I can't think of anything better to call it. I make a new document in the folder called "Rhiannon's Will" and type, "I want Bill's mother Janet to have my engagement ring, and of course the emerald earrings that were her grandmother's." She wouldn't take those gorgeous earrings back after Bill's death, insisting I was family because we'd been going to marry, but maybe now she'll accept them.
This is ridiculous. I don't need a will, because I won't be dying here. My leg aches but that's it, since I've been careful not to move it since my last escape attempt. I'll be fine.
I shut the file, then the laptop, then my eyes.
My weight didn't bother me so much when I had Bill. I didn't like being big, especially when I needed to shop for clothes, but I wasn't obsessed. I'd definitely started to hate my body more after Kathleen's wedding, but it still hadn't gone to extremes. Since Bill was a big guy himself, we'd looked right together. We were right together.
We'd both gained about ten pounds during our relationship, which had pushed me over the two hundred pound line. I hadn't liked crossing that threshold. I couldn't think I was "a little overweight" any more if I weighed that much. My body didn't feel or look any different but the number bothered me.
When we got engaged, we came up with a plan, which Bill nicknamed 'Operation Wedding Photo', to lose a bit of weight together and have fun with it. After a wild throwing-out-the-junk-food spree that culminated in amazing sex, we worked out together daily, and tracked our weight and kept each other motivated.
He lost six pounds and I lost two in our first few weeks, and Bill had to admit that our detailed program had made it easy. He was far more of a free spirit than I could ever be, but he set aside his amused disdain of my yearly and monthly and weekly and daily goals and made a few plans of his own.
But he couldn't have planned for being left alone to die.
Chapter Four
I didn't want to go to Sandra's new co-worker's cottage. Three days after breaking up with my boyfriend of two months, I didn't feel much like socializing. But we'd agreed to go weeks before, and Sandra laid on the guilt by saying she'd be worried about me if I stayed home, and finally I gave in, muttering about how she was the worst friend ever. She ignored me, as always. When we arrived and I laid eyes on Bill, though, I realized Sandra was the best friend in recorded history.
Bill and I shook hands, and the whole world shifted. His eyes widened, and I was beginning to understand that somehow he'd felt the same jolting connection when Sandra's Mark, never known for perceptiveness, laughed and said, "Hey, you guys could be brother and sister."
True, we both had green eyes and red hair, and we were both tall and somewhat overweight, but the flash of heat I felt as Bill slid his arm around my shoulders didn't seem like anything a sibling could cause.
I leaned into him, loving the feel of his body against mine, and he drew me even closer and said, "Clearly Rhiannon got all the good looks in this family."
Everyone laughed, but I turned to look into his eyes and said, "No, you did."
Another burst of that strange but wonderful energy passed between us, then Bill released me and our host went on making introductions. I greeted everyone, of course, but kept sneaking glances back at Bill. Every time, he was looking at me first.
Sandra had noticed, and was grinning at m
e. The other women had also noticed, and they were not grinning. They looked nervous and uncomfortable, except for one who seemed furious, and over the afternoon, I was taken aside for no fewer than five conversations that all followed the same pattern.
Basically, a warning to watch out for Bill's ex Julie, the furious one.
I learned that they'd dated for a few years, until Julie's insistence that Bill spend all his time with her clashed too much with his need to focus on his first full-time teaching job. After months of increasing conflict, Bill finally ended it. It had been six months, but apparently Julie still considered Bill to be hers.
By the first evening, though, it was clear to everyone that Bill was fast becoming mine. We hadn't been alone together yet, but we were always near each other, and whenever we talked the rest of the world seemed to disappear. When he left the group, I missed him, and when I left he was looking for me when I returned.
I didn't even feel self-conscious when we all went swimming. Bill was no lightweight himself, clearly well-muscled but with a layer of extra fat over top, and the glow in his eyes when he looked at me made it impossible to be embarrassed. He insulated me somehow, made me not feel my usual need to cover up as soon as I got out of the water. Even the much lighter Julie's clearly disdainful looks at my body bounced off me.
She saw what was happening between us, as the others did, and took me aside before dinner to inform me, in what was obviously meant to be an I'm-on-your-side tone, that Bill's career didn't leave him much time for dating. I smiled and said mine didn't either, and she took that to mean I wouldn't be pursuing him. At least, she did until that night.
We all sat around the fire talking and drinking and laughing. Bill, beside me, had wrapped an arm around my shoulders and was playing with my hair, which I'd left down to dry. His teasing touch sent delicious shivers through me, but when he pushed the strands aside and let his fingers trail over my neck my whole body burst into flame in an instant. With a gasp I couldn't hold back, I turned to him.
His eyes danced with reflected firelight and burned with the same heat I felt.
Again the rest of the world faded away. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to my bare shoulder without breaking our eye contact. A simple gesture, but it shook me to my core. He was close enough to kiss, and I'd never wanted a kiss so much.
Through the almost unbearable rush of desire, I realized the group had fallen silent. An instant later, I knew why, as Julie burst into tears and fled into the cottage. A few girls followed her, but most of the group sat still, and silence reigned until Bill cleared his throat and said, "Rhiannon, want to go for a walk?"
I nodded, and he helped me to my feet then put his arm around me again to guide me away. Nobody spoke until we were nearly to the edge of the nearby forest, then I heard, "Hey."
We turned back to see our host Jamie. I hadn't seen him without a grin all day but now his face was serious, almost cold. Bill held his gaze, as I struggled to think of something to say, then Jamie said, "It's okay, man. Have a good walk."
I could feel the others' stress fading, but it wasn't gone, so I said, "Sorry, everyone, I—"
A chorus of voices cut me off, all echoing what Bill said into my ear.
"You've got nothing to apologize for."
I tried to smile, and then Bill led me into the forest.
The full moon's light filtering through the trees made everything look magical, but at first our time there was anything but. Bill found me a fallen log on which to sit and paced in front of me. "I'm so sorry. I never thought she'd be like that. I couldn't stop myself kissing you, but I didn't think she'd care so much."
A shiver rippled through me at "couldn't stop myself kissing you", but I kept focused on the conversation instead of letting myself relive that moment. "I know you used to date," I said. "They all told me."
"We all used to date. We've been one big crowd since high school. I've got at least three exes out there. Hell, when Julie started dating Jamie two weeks after we broke up, she'd sit in his lap and make out with him right in front of me."
The news of this relationship explained Jamie's coolness. "Are they still together?"
Bill shook his head. "Jamie'd wanted her for years, but..." He rubbed his forehead. "I guess she was trying to make me jealous, and when it didn't work she dumped him."
"What happened with you and her?" I wanted to hear it from him, and while I didn't enjoy listening to him talk about being in love with another woman I was glad to hear him give the same story I'd been told so many times that day. At least he wasn't trying to make something up. In fact, in his version he shared the blame by saying he'd been insanely busy when he'd finally found the teaching job of his dreams and hadn't given her the attention she deserved. Still, her irrationality shone through.
"She was even jealous of my students. It got to where I couldn't mention a girl without Julie assuming I was after her. They're sixteen years old, for God's sake. I couldn't handle it."
I nodded, then looked up at him and said, "So, what happens now?"
He reached out his hand to me. I took it, and he pulled me to my feet and into his arms. Being in his embrace felt better than I could ever have imagined. It felt like coming home.
We held each other tight, and just as I began to want more he tipped my chin up and kissed me. I kissed him back, abandoning myself to the sweet novelty of his mouth and the rising passion between us, and we were both gasping for breath when it ended.
"It'll be fine," he said into my ear. "You'll see."
I hugged him hard and said, "I know," because I so badly wanted it to be true. And why couldn't it be true? We wouldn't have to see Julie again after the weekend, and everyone else seemed to be okay with the situation. It would be fine, he was right.
He released me and stepped back enough that he could reach into his pocket. My eyes followed his hand's motion without my intention, and delight raced down my spine at the unmistakable bulge distorting the front of his loose shorts.
He laughed and cupped his other hand protectively over his groin. "Quit staring at that."
I giggled. "Do I have to? I like the look of it."
"It's your fault." He abandoned whatever he'd been doing in his pocket and pulled me in again. "You're too damned sexy."
"Sorry." I pressed myself against him. "Should I try to stop?"
In answer he took hold of my hair and tugged to raise my face to his, then kissed me so long and hard and hungry it left me whimpering. When we broke apart, he moved in again immediately, and this kiss held such sweetness my eyes filled with tears.
"It's crazy, but I think I'm going to love you, Rhiannon," he said, his voice ragged with desire and emotion, his eyes intent on my face.
It was crazy, but I knew, and I said, "I think I'm going to love you too."
The kiss that followed was like the seal on a legal document, like signing a marriage license, like an unspoken promise. I knew, even then, I'd never forget it.
We held each other in a sweet perfect silence, not needing to speak. Eventually he drew me to an especially large tree, then delved into his pocket again, retrieving a folded knife. "I've wanted to do this since I was a kid, but I never had the right girl before."
As I watched, he carved our initials, after first asking for my last name, into the tree. Once he'd surrounded them with a heart, he pulled me in and kissed me again.
A distant but growing rustling in the trees ended that kiss, and we were sitting decorously side by side on the log when Julie stepped into the clearing.
I stiffened, but she said, "I thought I could handle seeing you with someone else, Bill, but I can't. I'm going to leave now but I wanted to say goodbye. And maybe get a hug for the road?" Turning to me, she added, "If you don't mind, of course."
There was no challenge in her voice, and she sounded sincere, but I felt Bill tense beside me. Hoping I was doing what he wanted, I said, "It's up to Bill, not me."
Bill said, "Come here then, Julie," and wa
ited until she stood in front of him before pushing to his feet and giving her the most awkward hug I'd ever seen, keeping his hips back.
I realized why, and had to fight down my giggles. The poor man.
Julie broke the hug and walked away without a word.
One glance at Bill's groin confirmed my theory, and I barely managed to wait until the sound of Julie's departure had faded before bursting into laughter.
He laughed too. "I was willing you to say she couldn't hug me but I guess telepathy isn't your strong suit."
"Sorry. I'll work on it."
"You do that." He pulled me to my feet. "I'd kiss you again but it'd be even harder to—"
"Fine with me."
He poked my shoulder. "Let me finish, pervert. Besides, I don't think it could get much... anyhow, I meant it'd be harder to walk back into the group. Too obvious how you affect me."
I considered this, then kissed him anyhow.
*****
The rest of that weekend was the best time of my life. Julie was gone, and the rest of the group was clearly glad to see Bill so happy. The women who'd taken me aside to warn me now told me, individually and together, that once Julie calmed down and accepted that Bill was really not coming back to her she'd be fine. I didn't care, frankly. All I cared about was him.
Holding hands, arms around each other, me sitting in front of him leaning against his knees... we were in contact nearly every minute and I loved it. I slept in his arms each night, on an air mattress on the living room floor, and I couldn't have slept better in the finest hotel in Paris.
The married couples teased that in a few years we wouldn't even want to see each other, never mind touch, and Bill said, "Then I'd better touch her now" and pulled me even closer.
We snuck off several times for more of those intoxicating kisses but it was never enough. Plus, the drunker single guys thought it was funny to hunt us down, and more than a few amazing moments were interrupted by them throwing pebbles at us. I pretended outrage because I knew they expected it, but since Bill always kissed me again when they left I wasn't too upset.
Toronto Collection Volume 1 (Toronto Series #1-5) Page 56
