The Big Bang (6 page)

Hope smiled.

Everything was okay.

More than okay.

“H
ow long have you been symptomatic?” the doctor, nerdy cute, but younger than Laney Estridge preferred, both medically and recreationally, asked.

“Long enough to be sick of feeling sick.” If her utter lack of interest in flirting with him regardless was any indication, she was getting worse.

“Any other symptoms besides sinus congestion?”

“Headaches, cough, phlegm, intermittent body aches.” She shivered from the cold tip of the scope in her ear.

“It’s been a rough cold and flu season.” The doctor looked up her left and then her right nostril. “Especially for you.”

“I’ve gone from one virus to another since fall,” Laney said. “What do you think is going on with me?”

“Your sinuses are definitely inflamed,” he said. “And your recent medical history indicates some mild immune-suppression.”

“Meaning what?”

“How would you characterize your recent stress levels?”

“No worse than usual.”

“Are you taking anything else besides Zoloft on a daily basis?”

“A multi, calcium, vitamin D, fish oil, and B complex.”

“Any herbal supplements?”

“Juice Plus, which I sell, and have tremendous faith in.”

He began to jot down a prescription. “In the absence of any underlying pathology, chronic low-grade illness is commonly brought on by the combination of stressors and increased anxiety levels.”

“Stress?” Laney’s relieved sigh came out as a snort. “With the real estate and retail markets spiraling downward as fast as the cost of gas goes up—not to mention my husband’s job prospects, I’m lucky I haven’t been deathly ill.”

“I think we all feel that way.” He smiled kindly. “Let’s try Augmentin this time and up your current dosage of Zoloft by twenty-five milligrams. I’d also like for you to focus on stress-reduction, happy thoughts, and activities that promote relaxation whenever possible.”

The closest thing she had to a happy thought, thanks to the Trautman closing and an unexpectedly robust Avon reorder month, were two out of six credit cards with zero balances.

“If the sinus symptoms persist, we’ll give you a referral to an allergist.” He handed her the antibiotic prescription. “In the meantime, saline nasal baths and a good steam or two will help clear the mucus.”

W
ill Pierce-Cohn leaned against the cul-de-sac mailboxes, took a deep whiff of spring, and did a few lunges. With his back to the overturned pile of soggy dirt behind him, he upped the volume on his iPod and started down the parkway. Eyes on the tulips sprouting along the north side of the west-facing homes and the green buds on the wire-supported saplings, he vowed to
let it go
, just like his wife said. Shift his attention from the will of the Melody Mountain Ranch community to the things he, Will, loved about living here—like running down clean, wide streets filled with attractive, uniform homes.

And Saturday fitness class. The combination boot camp, mat Pilates, and step aerobics had returned definition to his chest and quads. Better, his total initial inability to dance, much less step up and down on a bench to music, was corrected on the first day by Hope Jordan.

With a legitimate reason to stare, he noted her careful, lithe movements. Following her footwork, he lifted his arms and clapped over his head in time with the music. Before he knew it, he had a flawless hamstring-pivot-adductor routine.

Hope rarely missed the Saturday class.

Other than the occasional ski day, he hadn’t either.

He sprinted the remaining seven-tenths of a mile to the rec center. His lungs burned and perspiration dripped down his back, but the endorphin rush left him feeling better than he had in months. If he kept it up, his abs would be at three-pack status in time for their summer vacation.

The endorphin high dropped off with his first step into the building.

The diorama, now decorated with iridescent balloons, was stationed in the center of the lobby. Griffin, recovered and Saturday casual in an untucked shirt, jeans, and sneakers, was parked beside his plastic fantasy, an elbow resting jauntily on the edge of the Plexiglas corner.

Will eyed the white board propped between the diorama and Maryellen Griffin, who, with glazed grin, looked like a wilting, anorexic flower despite the word Juicy emblazoned across her daffodil-yellow sweats.

If only the Griffins would find a new life somewhere else.

“Joining us for our class today?” Griffin smiled.

A jolt of indigestion, at least he hoped it was indigestion, radiated across his chest. “Sorry. My weights class is starting.”

Frank eyed Will’s already damp T-shirt. “Looks like you’ve already worked up a sweat.”

Nothing like the sweat he could work up with a few well-placed questions about the suspicious lack of time between the HOB vote and the playground groundbreaking. He avoided eye contact with an unfocused glance at the diorama swing set. “Just getting started.”

Griffin patted his belly, which despite his illness, seemed to have risen like a mini-bread loaf. “I planned to hit the weights, but I’m so behind after being down with that flu, the workout is going to have to wait until after Easter.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Will managed. “Got to run.”

As if in confirmation, a bicycle-shorts-and-cycling-shoes-clad group click-clacked downstairs toward the spinning studio for their class.

“I want you to know,” Griffin’s face morphed from his usual good-humor-from-the-abundance-of-blessings expression into an almost convincing attempt at humility, “I really do respect your commitment to this community.”

“Thanks.”

Frank put a pinkie to the white board and erased a portion of the extra-long tail on the
S
at the end of
COUPON CLIPPERS
. “No hard feelings?”

The first bars of a Lady Gaga song filtered up the stairs from the aerobics studio and helped Will push back a burbling urge to ram Frank’s face into the Plexiglas lid of the diorama. Truth was, Frank hadn’t done anything but give the people what they thought they wanted.

“No hard feelings.” Will managed a feeble wave and escaped toward the steps as Frank turned to address a pair of women who’d wandered in the front door.

“Ladies, would you believe the sweats my wife’s wearing retail for well over a hundred but only set me back $24.95? Come to Coupon Clippers and I’ll teach you how it’s done.”

Will bounded down the stairs. In seconds, he’d be in aerobics, alongside the one person on his block who’d believed in his cause. And, he couldn’t help but note, she’d likely be wearing a much more appealing ensemble than anything Maryellen or Frank could dig up on sale. He conjured a quick memory of how Hope looked in much less before Roseanne Goldberg blocked his view like a human pylon in a tangerine T-shirt and compression shorts that pressed her cellulite toward her knees. “You missed some interesting covenant violations on Monday.”

“I have the notes from Jane.” Unable to see around her, he looked through the triangle formed by her hand on her hip for a glimpse of a blond ponytail.

“Did you read about the family on Wonderland Valley Court who got cited for trying to clean carpeting on their driveway?”

“I haven’t had a chance to look anything over, yet.” He spotted Hope, standing in her usual place, stretching her quads with the graceful, light-footed stride of a ballerina.

“Frank let it slide, but there could be an underlying issue that—”

“I’m afraid my class is about to start.”

“No problem,” she said. “I’m leaving some books you need to read in your milk box.”

“Great,” he said, lacking the nerve or the time to tell her he was probably done fighting the futile fight anyway. “We’ll chat later.”

Before Roseanne tried to pin him down to a discussion coffee time, he slid around her, bolted down the hallway, and made his way to the door of the aerobics studio.

Hope, standing in her usual spot, stopped, bent over, grabbed her water bottle, and unscrewed the top.

Time slowed along with her long, drawn-out sip.

He watched a water droplet dribble down her chin and disappear between her breasts.

She spotted him, smiled in his direction.

He sauntered into the room.

She motioned him toward the empty step behind her, where a ten-pound set of weights, a body bar, and an extra-tight band sat beside the step.

She’d set up his equipment for him!

Was it possible that she’d ever, even for a second, thought about him in the same way that he couldn’t help but think about her? “I’m a married man,” he’d have to say. “I can’t deny my attraction to you either, but I stood before my wife and vowed to…”

“I figured you were running late,” she said as he put his towel down and took his spot.

“Thanks.” His dorky, stammered
you’re the best
was drowned out by the instructor, Sarah Fowler’s, amplified voice. “Ladies,” she slapped her perfect round bottom, “we’re starting with squats, so remember to be sure and stick out your rear like you’re sitting in a chair.”

As Will squatted in time to “It’s Raining Men,” he gnawed on the inside of his cheek so he wouldn’t smile as a pleasing spandex spectacle unfolded around him.

Letting it go
didn’t seem so hard after all.

***

“You wouldn’t believe how many great savings tips the Griffins gave this morning.” Laney Estridge plopped down beside her best friend, Sarah Fowler, on the steam room bench and took a deep sinus-cleansing breath. “I have a page full of notes on everything from buying expired cereal in bulk to getting $4 generic prescriptions.”

“This means you’re going to ditch my aerobics class from now on?” Sarah asked.

“Only until my sinuses clear up.” Laney massaged the sides of her nose. “Frank’s easy enough on the eyes, but Maryellen’s thinner, thriftier, and holier routine is gonna wear thin.”

“I don’t think I’d have made it through the first hour.”

“I had to do something,” Laney said. “The doctor’s diagnosis of
stressed-out
sent me on an online peace-and-harmony-regaining shopping spree.”

“And did it make you feel any better?”

“Until I got my statement.”

Sarah’s new C cups barely moved as she knotted her naturally auburn hair behind her head. “No offense, but do you think you might be working a little too hard at trying to relax?”

Easy for her to say. Sarah, tiny, fair, and pretty, had tall, very dark, and handsome Randall’s NFL paycheck, albeit third string, to stay that way. Laney resisted the urge to feel for twangy grays in her highlights or shove a thumb sideways and check her real set of breasts’ further gravity changes. By the time the real estate market bounced back and/or Steve decided he’d recovered from Chronic Fatigue, or whatever it was he was calling the malaise that kept him from looking for a new job until his severance package ran out, her jowls could hang where her breasts used to be. “I suppose I could up the Zoloft even more than the doctor suggested.”

“Or you could get that book I recommended.”

A few Costco runs back, Sarah picked up a copy of her latest favorite self-help title and was threatening to toss it over a pile of Kirkland men’s jeans and into their shared cart. Laney managed to intercept, promising she’d pick it up at the library.

“Seriously, Laney. If you see yourself living in health and abundance, believe you deserve it, and envision for yourself exactly what you want…”

“I know, I know.” Laney eyes wandered along the length of Sarah’s toned curves, stopping at the dragonfly tattoo at her hip. Though identical in size, color, and location to her own, Sarah’s somehow looked more delicate. “I’ll attract everything I truly need and desire.”

“Get the book and you’ll believe it.”

“I’ll do it this week. In the meantime I still need to figure out how to make some more money before I have to flip burgers in Lakewood or somewhere where no one knows me.”

Sarah ran her nails lightly down Laney’s arm. “Surely, we can come up with something more promising to supplement your income until another listing sells.”

“Like what?”

Sarah pulled Laney to her and kissed her softly, then not so softly. “Maybe there’s something we can do together.”

H
ope breathed in the heady mixture of fresh rain, spring blooms, and chocolate. Even in a high school auditorium made humid from the steady patter of rain and an overflow of people seated in folding chairs, Easter, with its message of renewal and new life, was, by far, her favorite holiday.

“God did not spare His own Son, but delivered Him up for us. How shall He who would do that, not also freely give us all things?” Frank Griffin, boyishly handsome with his dark hair and broad smile, yet somehow larger than life in a velvet-trimmed robe, closed the Bible with a regal thump. He looked out from his pulpit onto the capacity crowd. “So, here we are, enjoying the abundant blessings our Lord has provided on this special day.”

And she was.

Jim, dozing beside her, had made it home on the red-eye from New York in time for the service. She rested her head on his shoulder and visualized the two of them at next year’s Easter, newborn in tow, among the sea of pastel-suited families.