Fatty Patty (A James Bay Novel) (5 page)

Where is Nick? He’s yet to put in an appearance. Doesn’t he realize school starts in a few days? Cartons of textbooks, which I’ve opened for him, sit pushed against the wall near his door. The classroom is stark, walls bare, student desks still clumped together in a corner where they were pushed aside for summer cleaning. If Nick doesn’t show up and get himself organized, he’ll find himself a prisoner in his classroom before the first bell rings.

I drop my towel at the edge of the hot tub, hit the button starting the jets, and ease myself into the frothy water. Outside, the raindrops pound a steady rhythm against the windows. Days like this are meant to be spent cuddled up with a good book, not swimming laps. And so much for Sam Curtis and his stupid theory. Swimming laps isn’t getting any easier. My patience is wearing thin and my appetite is growing. Ten days in and I’ve only lost three pounds. This dieting thing isn’t going to be as easy as I thought. There’s nothing more depressing than knowing you can’t trust yourself when it comes to food… especially cookies.

I’d give anything for one of those pecan chocolate chip cookies Priscilla’s got hidden behind the vegetables in the cupboard. Does she actually think a few cans of green beans can stop me? My food radar was finely tuned years ago and lately it’s been operating on maximum power. Even now, I can hear those cookies calling my name. I swallow hard, close my eyes, imagine the sweet crunchy flavor melting against my tongue. Maybe when I get home, I should give myself a little reward. I’ve been so good up until now and everyone deserves a treat now and then. Besides, how many calories can there be in one little cookie?

Ha! I’ll bet Priscilla knows.

Eighty calories in a slice of bread. Ninety calories in one ounce of meat. Priscilla’s little diet scale reigns supreme. Who would have guessed that naked chicken breast I devoured at dinner last night contained a whopping three hundred calories? No skin, no bones, and no taste, either. Barbeque sauce would have helped, but as Priscilla so
thoughtfully
pointed out, just one dollop adds an extra fifty calories. My twin is worse than Old Mother Hubbard. She’s swept the kitchen bare of anything remotely edible or delicious. No more moist chewy cookies, no more salty chips. No more pop or ice cream. All my favorites, banished by Priscilla to dieters’ never-never-land.

Except for that bag of cookies stashed behind the green beans.

“Well, look who’s here.”

My eyes fly open and I peer up at Sam Curtis, poised on the hot tub steps. He snaps his towel in greeting.

“Want some company?”

“Be my guest.” I don’t even hesitate. Not only do I like the guy, but there’s this little matter named Priscilla. Sam doesn’t know it yet, but he could very well be the answer to my prayers. If I play things right, Priscilla’s little diet scale will be sitting on his kitchen counter one day.

I scoot toward the middle of the bench. The hot tub is big, but so is he.

Sam eases into the bubbling water and makes himself comfortable directly across from me. “I’ve been wondering about you.”

I eye him warily. “Good or bad?”

He grins. “That depends. I haven’t seen you around here since the day we met. I thought maybe you gave up and quit.”

Do I admit the truth? I
have
been thinking about quitting. Achy muscles and itchy dry skin are the only things I’ve gained from all this swimming back and forth. But if anyone has a right to complain, it’s Sam. He submits himself to daily torture here at the pool.

“I haven’t been coming as often as I should,” I finally say. “I probably shouldn’t have bought that pass. It’s going to expire soon and I’ll have wasted the money.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. Showing up is half the battle. Besides, you’re here now, right?”

I feel the beginning of a smile tug at a corner of my mouth. “That’s true.”

He settles deeper in the swirling water. “Rough day?”

“Rough week. School starts soon and I’m still not ready.”

“You’re in school?” His voice carries a hint of interest. “What are you studying?”

I laugh out loud. How old does he think I am? “I’m a teacher, not a student. Fifth grade. I’ve spent all week prepping my classroom and I’m still not done. Twenty-five fifth graders will show up next week raring to go. Just thinking about it makes me tired. I don’t know; maybe I’m getting old.”

Good God, now I sound as bad as Ruth. I offer him a quick smile through the steaming bubbles. “Sorry, don’t get me wrong. Normally I love my job.”

“Today was just one of those days?” he suggests.

I nod. “The rain messed up my plans.” More like, a certain fifth-grade teacher who continues to be a no-show.

“Plus my car has been giving me problems,” I add.

So is my memory. I think it’s playing tricks on me. There’s no way Nick can be as fine as I remember.

“Everybody’s entitled to do a little complaining now and then,” Sam says. “Besides, I’ve got broad shoulders.”

No kidding. His shoulders and arms are solid, like flesh-colored rocks. I slip further into the foaming water and try not to stare.

“Stress can get to you, if you let it. That’s one reason I hit the pool every day. Swimming relaxes me. Once I’m finished, I reward myself with a ten-minute soak in the hot tub.”

The irony isn’t lost on me. Sam rewards himself by soaking in the hot tub, while I dream about cookies…

“What’s wrong with your car?”

I blink. “Excuse me?”

“Your car. Didn’t you say it was giving you problems?”

Why does he care about my car? Is he an auto mechanic? Seeing a person stripped down to their swim trunks doesn’t exactly provide you with clues as to what they do for a living.

“I think it’s the brakes.” I know how to fill the windshield wiper fluid but I missed the chapter in Driver’s Ed that dealt with brakes, transmissions, and all that greasy stuff lurking under the hood. “They’re making this funny grinding noise.”

“That doesn’t sound good. You should get them checked out.”

“How much would that cost?”

“No idea.” He shrugs. “My friend Rod owns a repair shop. I could give him a call if you like. He’d give you a good deal.”

“Thanks, I’ll think about it.” I sink back into the foaming bubbles. So much for Sam being an auto mechanic. And maybe that’s a good thing. I’m not sure how much money they make. Priscilla needs someone financially secure who’ll be able to take care of her. But there’s good money in construction. And with those big beefy arms, Sam looks like he could spend all day swinging a hammer.

“By the way, I like your new bathing suit.”

“You do?” I peer down at the one-piece suit I purchased last week, which now officially qualifies as the most expensive piece of clothing I own. I nearly fainted when I saw the price tag, but buying it was a no-brainer. It’s a perfect fit: tight across the tummy, ample coverage in the rear.

“The blue matches your eyes.”

“Thanks,” I stammer. Sam might not be a heavyweight in the looks department but he’s no lightweight when it comes to flattery. Suddenly the hot tub seems like it’s shrunk. This isn’t the way the conversation should be going. What am I supposed to say? Do I talk about Priscilla? I’m not used to chatting with men, except at parent-teacher conferences. Men speak a language all their own, with talk of sports, hardware stores, and how to land that really big fish.

My thoughts drift to a certain basketball coach with sparkling brown eyes and tousled blond hair. Would Nick be interested in teaching me his language?

“So, you’re a teacher. Can’t say I’m surprised. You seem like the perfect type to work with kids.”

I check his left hand one more time. He’s not wearing a wedding ring, but given the way things have worked today, that doesn’t mean anything. Sam could have kids of his own—plus one or two ex-wives lurking in the background. And I don’t care how nice he seems. If I’m going to play matchmaker and set him up with Priscilla, he needs to be single. The last thing she needs is someone with baggage.

“Do you have children?” I ask politely.

“Me, kids?” He looks startled, then breaks out in a grin. “Not unless you count my niece and two nephews. I spoil them rotten every chance I get.” His smile broadens. “And just for the record, I’ve never been married.”

Good God, did he notice me checking out his ring finger? Talk about embarrassing. Still, it seems odd that a nice guy like him isn’t settled down by now. Maybe he’s gay. But just as quickly as I come up with the thought, I toss it away. I’m not picking up any of those vibes. So, if Sam’s not gay and he’s never been married, what is there about him that scares women off?

Maybe the same thing about me that scares away men.

“Actually, when I started college, I planned on going into education,” he says. “I’m good at math and I think I would have made a good math teacher. But being on my feet all day didn’t sound particularly appealing, so eventually I switched majors and settled for a sit-down job. Can’t say I regretted the decision, either.” He chuckles. “I’ve grown pretty attached to my leather chair.”

Sam doesn’t look like someone who wears a suit and tie to work. I sneak a peek at his hands—beefy and broad. They’re perfect for swinging a hammer or laying brick; yet the fingernails are neatly trimmed, with no sign of grease or dirt staining the edges.

“Guess you could say that leather chair of mine is one big reason I work out at the pool. My doctor was pretty blunt when I went in for my annual physical. He told me if I didn’t lose some weight and start exercising, I’d be headed for a heart attack. I showed up here the next day and bought myself an annual pass.”

Suddenly he points at me. “Hey, there’s an idea. You should buy yourself an annual pass. It’s only three hundred dollars.”

Only
three hundred dollars? He tosses off the figure like it’s chump change. I can think of plenty of ways to spend three hundred dollars. Property taxes, insurance, the home equity loan. “Thanks. I’ll think about it.”

“It’s the best deal they’ve got. Plus, with an annual pass, you don’t have to worry about an expiration date.”

“Hmmm.” I close my eyes and try to shut him out. Hopefully he’ll take the hint. And that part about him being a heart attack waiting to happen? Best thing I can do is write him off right now as potential husband material. Priscilla needs someone to take care of her, not the other way around. If they ended up together and then he got sick, I’d be stuck taking care of them both.

“If I were you, I’d buy that pass soon. They jack up the rates before the end of the year.”

I’ve heard enough. If Sam Curtis thinks he has such a good handle on what and how I should spend my money, let him buy me the damn pass. Obviously he doesn’t know much about money—or women, either, for that matter.

“Do me a favor?”

He eyes me with an easy smile. “Sure.”

“Just stop with all the talk about that pass… because frankly, I don’t want to hear it.”

His eyebrows pinch together in a frown. “But—”

“Look, I should think it would be obvious. Do I have to spell it out? I’m broke, okay?” I feel the stony pride settle on my face. “I don’t have thirty dollars, much less three hundred.”

His face turns as bright red as his swim trunks, and I myself am mortified. How could I have embarrassed him like that? Good Lord, what if he has a heart attack right here? He was only trying to help. Maybe I should do us both a favor and drown myself right now. Quick and easy. Death by hot tub.

“I didn’t mean to offend you. Sorry.” He grabs the metal railing and stands. “Guess my sister is right. She’s always telling me I need to learn to keep my mouth shut.”

“Wait, please don’t go.” It’s a miracle he hasn’t already bolted, seeing I was screeching at him like a banshee just a few seconds ago. “I’m the one who owes you an apology. My money problems aren’t your fault.”

He shakes his head, starts up the steps. “People don’t like talking about money. I know that. I had no business giving you advice.”

Sam sounds as sincere as one of my fifth graders when they know they’ve messed up. “How about we agree we both were wrong and leave it at that?” I suggest. “Just… please. Don’t go away mad.” I hate it when people are mad at me. “Please? Sit back down.”

He eyes me warily.

“Please?” I’m not proud. I know how to beg.

The hiss of bubbling water jets is the only sound between us for a few seconds as he stands there eyeing me. Finally he eases himself back onto the bench.

“Look, Patty, don’t take this wrong—but if you’ve got financial problems, I think I might be able to help. I wasn’t kidding when I told you I’m pretty good with money. Plus, you said you taught school, right? Teachers make a decent salary.”

I blow out a long sigh. Men! Don’t they ever listen? “Thanks, but I don’t think so…”

His eyebrows rise as I sputter into silence. I don’t want to talk about this. It’s bad enough trying to hash things out with Priscilla. I don’t need the grief. I came here to calm down, not get myself revved up. “It’s a difficult situation,” I add. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me,” he suggests.

I shake my head. “You can’t help. No one can.”

But Priscilla could, if she tried. If only I could get her to sign a realtor’s agreement, we could list the house, find a buyer, and hopefully end up with a nice profit once the sale goes through. Enough profit for a brand new condo.

“It’s our house. I hate the place. It’s old and needs lots of work.”

“Why not sell it and move?”

“It’s not that simple.” The smile on my face feels snug as my bathing suit. “It’s a huge old place with stained glass windows, gingerbread trim, and a furnace that should have been replaced years ago. The heating bills last winter were ridiculous. It needs new windows, plus a new paint job inside and out, and I just don’t have the time or energy.” Or the heart for it, either. Not anymore. “I’d give anything to sell.”

“Sounds familiar. Is it one of those Victorians over on Mulberry?”

I nod.

“Nice area.”

“Nice enough when you drive by,” I grudgingly admit, “but you wouldn’t want to live there.”

“What’s holding you back? Sounds like it’s a great house, even if it does need work.”