While everyone in the room settled, Edge walked over to her and squatted down at her feet. “Hi, Grandma. Want to help me sing?”
She smiled and pointed at the guitar. “Crap.”
He overdramatized disappointment. “Aww, don’t you like my singing?”
She sputtered and slapped him on the shoulder. “Play mine.”
“Your favorite? What is that again, ‘On Top of Old Smoky’?”
Ivy grunted.
Edge kissed her and moved to the front of the room, placing the guitar strap over his head and shoulder. With goofy eyes that alternated winks at various ladies, he tuned the guitar. He was almost finished when he caught my eye. “Don’t look so amused. I have a wonderful voice. Tell Lily, Grandma.”
Ivy turned toward me and grumbled an unintelligible response. Even though she looked as stone-faced as ever, the way she darted her gaze around the room told me that she was delighted to show off her grandson. Or maybe that was my delight. He was such a shameless charmer.
Finally, everyone was in place. Without introducing himself, Edge began.
“Hello Muddah, hello Faddah,
Here I am at Lakeview Day Care . . .”
He made his surprisingly nice, deep voice speak in a very silly accent. It was delightful. When he substituted names and verses with people in the room, the campers giggled . . .
“Now I don’t want this should scare ya,
But my aide here has malaria.
You remember Jay Galardi.
They’re about to organize a searching party.”
Jay Galardi was a heavyset man who was missing a leg from the knee down. He slapped his thigh and grinned as everyone in the room pointed at him.
If I wasn’t head over heels for Edge after the other night, I was now. He was corny and made people laugh despite it. He flirted without being offensive. He charmed without trying. Sigh.
It was when he started to sing “Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes” that a different feeling of excitement passed over me. The last time I was at Lakeview, the atmosphere had been depressing and sleepy. Except, of course, when Edge walked into the room and lit up someone’s day by greeting them. It was different now. The entire group, including Ivy, were touching their heads, shoulders, and knees. Even if they couldn’t reach their toes, they were making an effort to put their hands low and stretch.
As a fitness trainer, seeing the combination of Edge’s energy and his music make people move was inspiring. If I could do that with the fitness center, getting Truhart on board with the Fit4You grant would be a breeze. What was his magic formula?
Then I saw Mr. Frasier. The man who begged me not to forget him. He stood just outside the doorway, watching with a grim line to his lips, as if he wanted to join but he wasn’t sure he should. I shuffled along the wall until I was next to him.
“Hi, Mr. Frasier.”
“Hello, pretty lady.”
I tilted my head. “I’ll bet you say that to all the girls.”
His down-turned lips tipped into a crooked smile. “Only the pretty ones.”
Edge had finished “Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes.” He raised his voice.
“Did I wear you all out, now?” Heads nodded around the room. Except for Ivy, who was back to gazing out the window.
Edge strummed a guitar introduction. “Let’s slow it down until you get your breath. But just for a minute, ’cause I’m gonna make you pick up the speed of this song in a minute. This old song was written around the time of the Civil War, an oldie but a goodie that my grandparents used to sing.”
While Edge sang a ballad I hadn’t heard before, Mr. Frasier’s toe tapped to the beat. I joined him and our feet moved in unison.
Edge saw us and his smile grew broader. “Hey, look who’s having fun, everyone,” he said when the verse ended. “Say hi to Lily, campers.”
“Hi, Lily!” a chorus of cheerful voices called out.
I waved, feeling like a schoolgirl at a Justin Bieber concert.
“Mr. Frasier—Lily, there, is shy. She might need a little prodding. Can you give her a nudge and bring her into the room so she can join the rest of us?”
Mr. Frasier stood straighter and squared his chin, as if he was proud to have a job assigned to him. He grabbed my elbow and walked with me into the meeting room. A camper with a reddish tint to her gray hair scooted to the corner of the couch and patted the open area next to her. I pulled Mr. Frasier along. Together we sat down.
As if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, Edge kept singing his song. The beat grew faster, and we were forced to clap to a more frenzied pace. As happy as the tune was, I couldn’t help feeling that the words were sad.
“I’m gonna learn to live in peace
With my friends around the world
With my friends around the world
With my friends around the world
I’m gonna learn to live in peace
With my friends around the world
We won’t study war no more.”
I peeked at Mr. Frasier. His eyes were glassy as he sang along.
Most of the people in the room were old enough to remember World War II and certainly a few of the men had participated in Korea and Vietnam. Very few still had spouses who were alive. They suffered from so many aches and pains that they were on a dozen medications. The day campers struggled to find meaning in the day, even if it was making paper flowers. A knot formed in the pit of my stomach when I realized my problems were nothing in the scheme of things. Why had I taken my embarrassing accident and my diminished career so seriously?
It was strange to think about these things while singing corny songs. But there it was. A realization that my pain was a speck in the whole wide world of pain. If they could sing silly songs that made them feel happy for one hour, then I could, too.
Edge shifted to “B-I-N-G-O” and I raised my voice and joined him.
* * *
That night, I was almost asleep when Edge knocked on the window of his bedroom. When I opened it, he was carrying a grocery bag and a blanket.
“What are you doing? Why don’t you use the door?”
“This is more fun,” he said. “I’m kidnapping you for voice lessons. Your rendition of ‘Bingo’ was shameful.”
I leaned out and kissed him. “I never claimed to have a voice. But you feel free to try.”
He wrapped me in the blanket and carried me across the street while I made halfhearted protests and kissed his neck. It all seemed so juvenile and lovely.
“What’s in the grocery bag?” I asked when he dumped me on his bed.
“You’ll see.”
He lit a candle on the bedside table and turned off the overhead light.
“Mood lighting. Nice.”
He flipped a switch, and smooth notes of soft jazz filled the room. He pulled a bottle of white wine from a wine cooler and poured two glasses.
“Is this a date?” I asked, surprised that he was going to so much trouble.
“A date with benefits . . .” he said in a low, sexy tone.
I was blown away by this new romantic side of Edge. He was such a jokester that I couldn’t imagine him planning this moment. My heart melted like the hot wax of the candle.
“Let’s get you more comfortable, shall we?” he asked, settling next to me. He took his time removing my nightshirt. The featherlight touch of his hands and the glow of the candle made me crazy with anticipation. I was breathing hard and ready for more when Edge pulled away.
“What?!” It was unfair of him to stop.
“I forgot, there’s more.” He retrieved the grocery bag and held it in front of me.
“You brought food? I’m still full—”
He dangled the bag from one finger. “This is dessert.”
The ultimate romantic. I would tell him how great the gesture was when I wasn’t hyperventilating from estrogen overdrive. This serious side of Edge was wonderful; however, I didn’t need wine and candlelight and jazz. I was just
about to explain it when he pulled the contents out of the bag.
Whipped cream.
Chocolate sauce.
“You brought ice cream from the Dairy Cow?”
He showed his teeth, but it was more feral than a smile. “No. No ice cream. Just the toppings. Any ideas what they should go on?”
I collapsed back on the bed. “Oh . . .”
He shook the can and dessert started.
* * *
“I think I need a shower.”
Edge ran a finger across my breasts. “The cherries were a nice touch at the end, don’t you think?”
I lifted my hands over my head and stretched. “Delicious.”
“Next time I’ll take you to a movie.”
“Don’t you dare. But next time I get to choose the menu.”
“My mind is having trouble imagining this will be as fun with hummus and celery.”
I turned on my side so we were facing each other. “So what are we doing?” I wanted to take the words back before I finished the sentence. Where had that come from?
It was a stupidly typical girl thing for me to say. The words had cold shower written all over them.
I put my sticky hands over my face. “Sorry. Forget I said anything.”
“Why do you want me to forget?”
“I don’t need you to take a multiple-choice test so I can feel good about our relationship.”
He put a hand under my hip and pulled me until I was on top of him.
“Pretend I never said anything, all right?” I said. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a little . . . serious. Not like you. I have a hard time unwinding.”
“What was your life like in L.A.?” he asked, playing with my hair.
“I used to leave the gym at nine p.m. and go straight to bed so I could get up at six a.m. and start the day all over again.”
“What about your days off?”
“I would visit my mother most of the time. She has a great big Korean family and many of them live in the L.A. area. When we get together we eat.”
“Korean food. I’ve had it before. I like the barbecue. Unfortunately we don’t have so many Korean restaurants in Northern Michigan.”
I missed Mom’s cooking, I had to admit. “It’s one of the only types of food I really crave.”
“Will you make it for me sometime?”
Sometime? That sounded like a commitment of some sort. It made me happy and nervous. I stalled. “I don’t know if I could find the ingredients anywhere in Truhart.”
“Not too many Asians around here. Sorry, Lily.”
I nuzzled his chin and let my head rest on his shoulder. “Kimchi isn’t exactly the most romantic food.” It tended to make your breath awful. “When my mom would get out the kimchi jar, my dad would always grab a set of chopsticks and joke that he had better eat some, too, if they were going to sleep in the same bed.”
“Well, I like kimchi. So you’re safe.” He found my mouth and when we came up for air he asked, “Your dad?”
“He’s been gone for about fifteen years.”
The strange lump in my heart that came in waves swept over me. I thought I had cried all I could cry that first year Dad passed away. But it never seemed to end. It popped up at the oddest times. Instead of pushing it away like I usually did, I let it rise to the surface. Soupy eyes and little confessions felt safe with Edge.
“Dad was pretty much my best friend when I was growing up.”
It occurred to me that Dad would have appreciated Edge’s goofy sense of humor. It was one of the things he had loved about my mom.
“He liked gardening. That was something we did together. So, I guess that counts as something I did for fun.” Other than the gym, gardening was the one place I felt truly at home.
“You don’t garden anymore?”
“When we moved to L.A. after Dad died, I dug up one of the lilies in his garden. It didn’t survive the trip. I helped lead an urban garden last year.” We had a grand harvest celebration and my mom and brothers came. The sky opened up and it poured before I could take them on a tour. We ended up huddled under the awning of a taco stand.
“Grandma used to garden. We still keep her roses and perennial garden going each summer. Maybe you can help us this year.”
Being here in the summer, gardening with Edge, it was a commitment as far as I was concerned. I buried my face in his neck to keep from letting him see my delight. I licked an area around his ear that looked suspiciously like whipped cream and laughed.
“What do you look like without hair all over your face?” I asked after a moment.
“Like Chris Hemsworth,” he said, fluttering his lashes. He was joking, but I could almost see a resemblance.
“Are you sure you aren’t trying to cover up a major flaw?” I teased.
“Naw. I just don’t want the women falling all over themselves to get to me.”
I rubbed his face. “Your mom told me the other day that she has given up begging you to shave it.”
“Yeah. She doesn’t remember the old days when crowds of women threw lingerie at me.”
“Funny how she never mentioned it.” I turned on my back and stared at the ceiling, trying to keep my face straight. “Just sayin’, I’m not sure dried chocolate sauce on a beard is the most attractive thing.”
He felt his beard. “Second dessert for you?”
“I’ll pass.”
“Come on. Let’s shower. I’ll give you a soap massage. You’ll like it . . .”
I did.
LESSON FIFTEEN
Allow for Setbacks
The first week of May was gorgeous by any standards. Even my warped L.A. sunshine-state standards. The mud-crusted snow had melted. Several days of temperatures hovering around sixty degrees had tinted the gray ground to green. If I looked closely I could see the hint of buds sprouting on the trees around the lake. Amazingly, everyone walked around town coatless, and some in short sleeves as if it were eighty degrees and July. Olivia even wore flip-flops and shorts one day.
On Monday, my spirits were as bright as the sunshine. The midday walkers returned around two p.m. and I made notes on each of their walk journals suggesting they add an extra quarter mile to their walk by Friday. When the last person left, I started to prepare the gym for a group of moms who wanted to work out while their kids were at soccer practice at the middle school.
I was just about finished writing out a workout plan for the moms, when two shadows fell across the doorway. Marie Joiner, who was in charge of the fitness grant, and Reeba Sweeney, Aubrey and Andrew Vanderbeek’s mother.
Trying to sound more welcoming than I felt, I said, “Hi, ladies. Come on in.”
They stepped into my makeshift gym and looked around the room as if they were afraid for their safety. Marie’s face was strained as she clutched a clipboard in her hands. She looked like she would rather be anywhere else but in Truhart.
Reeba Sweeney was dressed in a red suit. Even with spiky high heels she was still short.
A strange silence filled the room, and I had the sense that Reeba was waiting for Marie to speak. Marie shifted back and forth so much I wondered if she was in pain.
“I can’t offer you a chair, but you are welcome to take a seat,” I said, waving toward the homemade boxes Joe O’Shea had made.
Reeba took one look at Marie and rolled her eyes. “See what I mean?”
Something wasn’t right. The tips of my fingers prickled.
The side of Marie’s mouth jerked back and forth as if she had a facial tick. “Lily, have you met Reeba Sweeney?”
“Uh, briefly.” I held out my hand, but Reeba bypassed me and walked around Marie, inspecting the posters on the wall. My sign-up sheets were almost half full now.
Marie tried to cover up for Reeba’s rudeness. “Lily . . . It’s good to see you without your crutches.” Her tone was too sugary. She smiled. Something was definitely wrong.
I played along anyway. “I’ve graduated to walking wit
h just my brace,” I said, imitating her cheery tone but sounding like a cricket.
“I have a meeting at four, Marie.” Reeba Sweeney tapped her watch and glared impatiently.
Marie looked down at her clipboard and cleared her throat. “Lily, I’ve heard some things about the fitness program here in Truhart that have me concerned.”
“I can’t imagine what the—”
“According to several witnesses, you were an instigator in an unruly wrestling match at a local restaurant.”
Now I understood. Andrew’s mommy was getting even. “It was just an arm-wrestling match. Nothing was damaged.”
Marie looked down at her clipboard. “It says here that a table was broken, a chair was overturned, and a participant broke his finger.”
“A participant broke his—”
“Andrew is still in pain,” Reeba said, picking up a ThighMaster in the corner.
I took a deep breath and tried not to tell her what wee little Andrew could do with his fat finger.
“I also have reports of groups of people who were supposed to be walking but ended up shopping at garage sales and going from door to door looking for candy, as if was Halloween.”
“The Dairy Cow had a promotion—”
Reeba had finished her tour of the gym and was standing next to Marie now, arms crossed, chin out. “People saw you and Edge Callahan holding out bags of candy to a group of your walkers. Do you deny it?”
“I was holding the candy, but Edge Callahan was—”
“A boy has been hired to help you, correct?” Reeba asked.
“Rocky has been driving me, and he helped move some equipment the other day—”
“That’s another problem, Lily. We aren’t insured for other employees. And the balls, the platforms, they aren’t regulation gym apparatus,” Marie said apologetically.
Reeba’s nose pinched. “I have also heard that you are using bath mats for yoga and nylon hose for stretching. What kind of gym is that?”
“We were being creative,” I explained.
Reeba shook her head at Marie. “Can you imagine trying to explain to the rest of the grant committee how someone injured themselves using control-top panty hose? We’d be laughed out of the state.”
Fit for You Page 18
