Fit to Die (8 page)

“Two?” Francis pushed the reshelving cart past his boss. “We were thinking of at least four—maybe six. We could move those paperback spinners closer to the Children’s section and create a whole Tech Corner.”

James looked beyond Francis to where Mrs. Hughes sat staring at a computer screen. Mr. Tuttle was close by, flipping the pages of an automotive magazine with unnecessary vigor.

“Six new computers.” James mused. “That would certainly serve our patrons a whole lot better than these two dinosaurs with microchips. I’d better get on the phone with some vendors.” He retreated to his office and contentedly began to sort out the details of the first Shenandoah Library Spring Fling. All afternoon, he was so busy that he completely forgot about the banana and small bag of pretzels he had brought for snack. Even when he chatted with a vendor regarding cotton candy, elephant ears, and funnel cake, his mind remained focused on improving his beloved library, not forbidden foods.

When James arrived home a little after five, he was ravenous. He had eaten the banana and pretzels in the truck right after work but still felt as if his stomach were totally hollow. He forgot all about his hunger, however, as soon as he pulled up in front of his house.

There was his father, thirty feet off the ground, tool belt strapped around his trim waist, inspecting the newly laid roof shingles surrounding the base of the chimney. As James watched in a state of incredulity, Jackson made his way over to one of the workmen who was stapling shingles around the area that had allowed water to leak into the upstairs bathroom with every rain. His father moved in that stooped half-crawl that men employ when transversing the steep slopes of roofs, and James could not believe the older man’s limberness or the camaraderie he displayed in slapping the other man heartily on the back. Soon, the two men were laughing like old friends. James hadn’t heard his father laugh aloud in such a manner for years, and he smiled at the deep and refreshing sound. Jackson spied his son on the ground below and, after waving, headed for the metal ladder propped against the side of the house.

He climbed down like a man half his age and beckoned for James to follow him into the kitchen.

“Lookin’ good, isn’t it?” Jackson asked, his cheeks rosy with exertion and his eyes sparkling with pride.

“Sure does, Pop. Did you … were you working up there the whole time with those guys?” James asked, barely recognizing the invigorated person standing before him.

His father turned, filled a glass with cold tap water, and then drank the liquid down in three gulps. Slamming the glass triumphantly on the counter, he puffed out his chest and exhaled happily. “Next I’m gonna do somethin’ about this kitchen. It’s a mighty big disgrace. Your mama was all set to rehaul the whole room, but I kept frettin’ about the cost.” Jackson looked down at the stained and peeling linoleum flooring. “If I woulda known, I’d have given her the finest kitchen in all of Virginia.” He looked up at James, his fuzzy eyebrows shooting high on his forehead. “But now it’s you and me, boy. We gotta make this place the kind of home men would be proud to live in.”

James didn’t want to put a damper on either his father’s fluidity of speech or his enthusiasm for home improvement, but he squirmed in his shoes and mumbled, “We just don’t have the money for a new kitchen, Pop. I don’t even know how we’re going to pay for the roof. I had planned to talk to Hugh Carmichael over at Shenandoah Savings & Loan sometime—”

“We’ve got the money, son,” Jackson said and then cackled. “We just gotta decide on cabinets. I’m partial to wood ones with a walnut stain. Nice and manly.” Jackson spread out a few wood samples and then dumped out a bag of granite chips onto the countertop. “This granite stuff is what folks are doin’ now, but it looks too darn shiny to me, like somethin’ those weirdos out in California would like. I’m liable to think there’s nothin’ wrong with good ole laminate.”

James glanced at the array of materials and then again at his father’s face. Ten years seemed to have melted off of the old man’s visage in the single day he had spent laying roof shingles in the temperate spring air. “I won’t pry about the money, Pop. If you say we’ve got it, then I’ll believe we do. Even though it worries me a bit, I trust your judgment.” Jackson nodded in appreciation and James was relieved that he had said the right thing. “And I prefer the laminate as well. Neither you nor I are exactly gourmet chefs so I don’t think we need granite or fancy appliances for that matter. If we can update the fridge and the stove and replace the floor, that’ll do.”

“No, sir!” Jackson shook his head. “We’re gonna get new cabinets, new appliances, new counters, and I’m puttin’ in a dishwasher. You’ve got better things to do than wash up after our every meal.”

“Oh, I don’t mind.” He actually enjoyed the quiet moments spent scrubbing up each evening.

“Well, I don’t have time for it, and once you get yourself a girl, you won’t, either.” Jackson eyed his son. “Weren’t you sweet on someone from your Sunday night … uh … club?”

James felt himself reddening. “I don’t know, Pop. I think I messed up with her. With Lucy, I mean.”

“How’s that?” his father asked as he refilled his water glass and took a seat at the kitchen table. James, half wondering if he was dreaming, sat down across from his father and told him all about his feelings for Lucy Hanover. Jackson listened carefully, staring at the strewn pile of samples and brochures, until James was done.

“So you’ve got another chance. When you see this girl tomorrow, you tell her you were a chicken before and now you’re not. You gotta go after her, James, or someone else is gonna snap her up like a bass in the lake. You ain’t too young, my boy. If you wanna start any kind of family with a good woman then you’d better get in gear.” Jackson paused. “Can she cook?”

James laughed. “She’s not bad, I guess. She’s a horrible slob, though.”

“I don’t know what the world’s comin’ to,” Jackson grumbled with a trace of his usual gruffness. “There was a time when women cooked and cleaned and sewed and were damned proud of it. What’s a man supposed to do these days?”

“Things are more equal now, Pop. Men and women share in the household stuff. A lot of women are working outside of the home. They want their own careers and don’t have time to wait on others.”

“What a bunch of crust.” Jackson frowned. “Maybe you shouldn’t show up for that coffee date after all.”

“Hello, my friends!” Ronnie chirped that evening at the Witness to Fitness meeting. “I’m sorry I’m all sweaty, but Dylan was practicing his workout on me before you all showed up.” She patted the light sheen of perspiration on her brow with a purple monogrammed towel and took an infinitesimal sip from a water bottle. “But don’t worry! He’s going to go much easier on you! You are going to have so much fun in there!”

James saw Lindy throw Lucy a look of panic and his own stomach lurched at the thought of bouncing around in front of both friends and strangers.

“Let’s get the icky money part out of the way first, shall we?” Ronnie beamed at the group of nervous people waiting to enter the exercise room. “Now, I’ve got all of your entrées packed up and ready to go home to your freezers. Phoebe and I will accept cash or checks for this week’s meals and for the three required exercise classes. But before we do, why not give yourselves a hand for being here tonight? Come on! Let’s hear some noise for your courage and determination.” She began clapping loudly and a few others tentatively joined in. “Good for you, I say! Way to go, all of you!”

James reluctantly clapped when Ronnie turned a luminescent smile in his direction. Within moments, the twenty people gathered around the cubicles were rifling through purses and digging in wallets in order to cheerfully pay for their first week at Witness to Fitness. James blanched when he saw the actual total. Each meal was almost ten dollars and did not include the salad or light dessert that should accompany a complete Witness to Fitness dinner. At almost $500 per month, James prayed that he would truly make amazing progress in only six weeks or he wouldn’t have much spending money for the upcoming summer.

No one else seemed overly concerned with the cost, though James knew that with the exception of Gillian, who owned her own pet grooming business and was a partner in a second business involving luxurious pet houses, the members of the Flab Five could not easily afford the high cost of getting in shape.

When all had paid, Ronnie ushered them into the exercise room and closed the door behind them, as if to signal that there was no turning back from here on out.

“Here comes our star instructor!” Ronnie cheered for Dylan, her expression filled with an intense adoration that clearly went beyond friendly admiration for a co-worker. James wondered if Dylan had any idea that his boss was infatuated with him.

“Howdy, folks!” the object of Ronnie’s longing called out, bounding from the back room in a pair of tight black track pants with silver stripes running up his muscular legs. “Now, I know you’re all nervous, but there’s nothing to fear. I promise to take it slow while you get used to our routine. Help yourself to a mat and let’s get moving!” He put his hands on his narrow hips and took several deep breaths as his pupils grabbed one of the blue exercise mats stacked in the far corner of the room and hustled back to their places.

Dylan seemed pleased by their eagerness. “Let’s begin with some simple stretches,” he said. “First, let’s reach down and touch our toes.”

James made a pitiful attempt to reach his toes, but he didn’t succeed in getting beyond his kneecaps. Casting a sideways glance at Lindy, he noticed that she hadn’t progressed much farther.

“I haven’t touched my toes since Junior High,” she whispered unhappily.

“I never could,” James whispered back as Dylan leaned to the side and explained that they would now stretch their oblique muscles.

“Okay, folks! Lookin’ good.” Dylan led them through a few more standing postures then slapped a rubber mat on the floor and hopped onto it. “Now how about we hit the floor and work on our legs?”

James struggled to touch the knot in his sneaker’s laces in order to loosen up his leg muscles, but he absolutely could not reach his shoe. Straining mightily, he brushed his fingers along the cuff of his white sock, sat up, shrugged, and looked over at Lindy. She was leaning miserably forward, her lips clamped together in determination. In the mirror, James spied Gillian and Bennett, who had successfully managed to touch their shoes and a frustrated-looking Lucy who had also settled for grasping her ankle.

Dylan suddenly shifted his position. He had been practically folded in half on top of his left leg when he languidly raised his head, drew both feet fluidly toward his crotch, and exhaled loudly. “Okay, let’s get our legs in the butterfly position and give a good stretch to those inner thighs.”

Several of the men groaned as they attempted to replicate Dylan’s position. James could barely fold his legs at all, let alone pull his feet that close to his protruding belly. As he stared at his dirt-splattered sneakers with their frayed laces, his mind wandered to Jackson’s recent attitude of carefree spending. Where was the money coming from?

“Hey Lindy,” James whispered, trying to focus on anything other than the sharp pain that had begun to streak up his legs toward his groin.

“Yeah?”

“Do you remember when you told me your mother was going to contact my father about putting some of his paintings in her D.C. gallery?”

Lindy looked startled by the question, but she gladly ignored the next stretch and inched closer to her friend. “Sure. Your daddy’s work is amazing. It’s a lot like Audubon’s. He’s very talented.” She hesitated. “Wait a minute. Do you mean that you don’t know?”