In His Good Hands (10 page)

A van was parked out front of the gym and work men were carrying in rolls of carpet to be installed in the group fitness room. With fresh color on the walls and new flooring, the place was starting to feel like his. However, the improvements highlighted that the exercise equipment was old, broken or out-of-date.

Janet and Matt were in a huddle at reception, talking in low voices. When they saw him, they broke apart.

“Hey, guys,” he said, dropping his gym bag in the cubbyhole of an office. “What’s up?”

“Take a look.” Janet pushed a flyer across the counter.

Coming Soon! Bayside Fitness Center…

Brett quickly perused the advertisement for a new gym opening next month on the outskirts of Summerside. It must be the construction site he’d noticed on the highway next to the hardware superstore. He’d thought his competition in Frankston and Mornington was bad enough. Now he had to contend with another gym right on his doorstep.

Photos showcased the architect’s vision of the new facilities. Big red letters offered deals on memberships and extolled the numerous classes and services.

“They’ve got a swimming pool and sauna,” Matt noted.

“It’s too huge and impersonal,” Janet scoffed. “We’ve got a friendly atmosphere and personal service.”

What sparked the red haze in Brett’s brain was the picture of rows and rows of brand-new exercise machines. Scowling, he crumpled the flyer and tossed it into the bin. “Who cares? Let’s get to work.”

Matt glanced toward the cluster of women in shorts and dance pants drifting through the front door. “I’ve got to teach a Zumba class.”

“I’m doing the layout for the newsletter.” Janet clicked the computer mouse and brought the screen to life. “I have twenty-five words to fit in about the new line of health drinks on sale. Do you think I can find space?”

“When you’re done with that can you start designing a flyer for the grand opening?” Brett asked her.

“Sure thing, boss.”

Brett headed for the inner office. He sat at the tiny desk wedged between filing cabinets and bookshelves filled with manuals on fitness. Grimly, he fired up his computer and did a search for used exercise equipment. In his opinion, buying secondhand was like throwing away money. But he couldn’t delay any longer if he wanted a full complement of machines in time for the official opening.

Janet appeared in the doorway. “Should I put something in the newsletter about the opening—” She broke off as she noticed the website onscreen. “I thought you were going to buy new machines.”

“I don’t have the money.” Just saying the words caused his chest to constrict with a physical pain that made him wince.

“But your loan?” she said, her expression stricken.

“It wasn’t enough,” he said bluntly. “And since I haven’t won the lottery, and a truckload of thousand dollar bills hasn’t fallen out of the sky…”

Janet swore under her breath. “What are you going to do?”

Brett
wanted
to punch a hole in the wall. Instead, he nodded to the screen. “I’ll buy a few used machines to replace the broken ones. It’s not the end of the world.”

It only felt like it.

It felt like all the times when he was a boy and his parents, unable to afford some essential item new, were forced to go to the Salvation Army store. Brett tried to tell himself there was no shame in buying secondhand; it was a more environmentally sound option.

But Renita was right; he wanted it all and he wanted it now. What was wrong with that, if he was willing to work hard for it? A man never got anywhere if he didn’t think big and act bold.

He found the machines he needed, but his fingers hesitated over clicking on Buy Now. No matter how much he rationalized that there was no shame in buying secondhand, that it was temporary, a short-term solution to a problem he would eventually be able to fix, in his gut it still felt like failure.

Failure in his eyes, in his employees’ eyes. In the eyes of his gym members.

Brett clicked out of the website without bookmarking the page. He would find the money on his own. He would show them all.

Brett O’Connor didn’t fail.

“Dad wouldn’t like that,” Tegan warned. “He’d think you were irresponsible and mean.”

Renita shrugged. “I don’t care what he thinks of me.” It wasn’t true, but she refused to be held hostage by a snarky teenager. Without waiting to see if Tegan would agree to her terms, she walked off.

“Okay, okay.” Tegan ran to catch up. “But you’re going the wrong way. The teen stores are on the next level up. Don’t you know anything?”

“That’s it.” Renita spun on her heel. “I presume you have enough money to take the bus home.”

“No, wait,” Tegan pleaded. “I’m sorry. Give me another chance.”

“I warned you. You instantly tested me.” How did parents put up with this all the time?

“If you stay I’ll help you find a hot dress.”

Unbelievable.
Renita kept walking. “Why would I take fashion advice from someone less than half my age?”

“Because I know tons about style. My mum taught me everything there is to know about colors and silhouettes and fabrics.” She gave a little skip. “
Every
thing.”

Despite herself, Renita had to bite her lip to stop from smiling. The girl was irrepressible.

A shopfront caught her attention and she slowed. A cosmetic surgery clinic in the mall? She’d never seen that before. Posters advertised Botox injections, breast reduction and augmentation, liposuction….

Tegan stood next to her, studying the before and after photos. “Are you thinking of getting a boob job?”

Renita glanced sharply sideways. “Why do you ask that?”

Tegan’s gaze flicked to Renita’s breasts and back to the posters. “No reason.”

“No, seriously, why?” Renita had always been self-conscious, less confident with men because of her small breasts. When she lost weight, the first place it went was from her breasts. Or so it seemed. Was her inadequacy obvious even to Tegan?

“If I say anything you’ll get mad and drive off.”

“Never mind, I don’t want to know.” Renita started to walk again.

Tegan followed. “My mum got hers done. Twice.”

Renita didn’t want to hear about Amber’s big tits. Brett had divorced the woman for a reason, but she bet it wasn’t because her breasts were too big.

She arrived at the escalator and turned to Tegan. “Okay, we’ll shop. This is your last chance.”

The teen stepped onto the rising staircase. “You won’t be sorry. I promise.”

Two hours and a dozen boutiques later, Tegan finally chose a multicolored wisp of silk with spaghetti straps and a handkerchief hemline.

Now it was Renita’s turn. Trawling through shops with Tegan had given her respect for the girl’s fashion savvy. She was every bit as knowledgeable as she’d claimed to be. Renita didn’t
need
a new dress, except maybe for Jack and Sienna’s wedding reception in a couple of months. But she’d lost the two pounds she’d regained, plus over the past four weeks another five, for a total weight loss of seven pounds. And all the exercise was starting to tone her muscles. She had “thin” dresses in her closet but they were several years out-of-date.

“What do you think?” Renita held up a lilac silk sheath against her body and turned to Tegan.

The girl, arms laden with dresses, shook her head. “Nope. Not party material.”

“Why not?” Renita truly wanted to know. She wasn’t good at fashion. Clothing had always been utilitarian—quality suits for work, T-shirts and jeans for leisure. That had been fine in the past. Now that she was losing weight and getting fit she wanted more. She wanted to shine.

“It’s not sexy enough,” Tegan explained. “You need either a low neckline or a low back. And the dress needs to cling. No offense, but that one would make you look like a tree trunk, straight up and down.”

“I know I’m still on the heavy side.”

“The point is, you’ve got curves. Show them off.” Tegan started hanging the dresses inside Renita’s fitting room.

“Your mother taught you well.”

“Yeah.” The hangers clacked busily as Tegan sorted the clothes.

“Do you see her much?”

“Every second weekend.” Tegan picked out a couple of dresses, checking labels. “She’s really busy most of the time. She’s always got a party or some big do on. Charity work, so I’m not allowed to complain.”

She peeled a red halter dress and a black cocktail gown from her bundle and handed them to Renita. “Try these on and then come out and show me.”

“I never wear red—” Renita began.

“Shh!” Tegan held up a finger. “Never say never.” She wagged the finger. “And don’t decide in the cubicle that it’s not you. I want to see.”

“All right, Miss Bossy Boots.”

Renita tried the black one on first. It was a simple cut with a low back and a slightly flared skirt that clung loosely to her hips. She piled her hair up on top of her head, then let it fall, noticing the ragged ends. It was time she had a trim.

Tegan was waiting outside the fitting room.

“I love this,” Renita said, smoothing the fabric over her hips. “It feels fantastic.”

“Hmm, it’s too safe.” Tegan’s head tilted to one side, her blond ponytail swaying. “Try the red.”

“Red isn’t my color,” Renita said, trying to explain again.

“You can wear any color as long as the shade is right.” Tegan made shooing motions with her hands. “Hurry. We still have to shop for shoes.”

Renita took off the black dress. She checked the label and did a double take. She’d dropped a whole dress size. Then she eased the red halter dress over her head. It was a snug fit and she had trouble getting it over her hips. Her bra showed above the low neckline.

“It’s no good,” she called over the top of the fitting room door. “Too small.”

“Show me,” the girl demanded.

Renita slunk out of the cubicle, arms crossed protectively over her chest. “See?”

Tegan circled her, tugging at the stretchy fabric. “It’s not too small. It’s supposed to be tight. Take your bra off.”

“What?
No.
It’s too revealing.” And her boobs weren’t big enough to fill out the bodice.

“Just do it.” With her hands planted on her hips, Tegan reminded Renita of Brett when he was coercing her into another rep of sit-ups.

“Okay, okay.” She went back inside, took off her bra and readjusted the dress.

Yikes.

That was a lot of bare skin. Turning, she looked over her shoulder for the side and back view. She had to admit her exercise regime was paying off.

She thought about the string of gorgeous women who’d paraded through Brett’s life—which she’d been privy to, courtesy of women’s magazines and the society pages. They were all, especially Tegan’s mother, glamorous to a fault.

Renita had never been glamorous in her life. Just once she would like to look as if she belonged on the red carpet.

“Renita?”

“Coming.” She emerged a few minutes later with the gown over her arm. “I’m taking both dresses.”

“Cool.” Tegan gathered her shopping bags and Renita’s, too. “Today wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be.”

“Gee, thanks,” Renita said wryly. She studied Tegan’s profile, the carefully lifted chin, the determined swing of the ponytail. “Are women really nice to you just to get to your dad?”

Tegan nodded. “As soon as they’re actually expected to spend time with me, they suddenly have to go visit their sick grandmother or something.”

“You’re not so bad to hang with,” Renita said. Tegan glanced at her, as if assessing her sincerity. Renita pretended not to notice. “How about a frozen yogurt before we head home? My treat.”

Ultracasual, Tegan replied, “I guess that’d be okay.”