скачать книгу бесплатно
Hunt frowned. “There’re those people who can’t cope with the prospect of death. For me, it’s the prospect of living that’s got me stymied.”
“Well, just get out there and join the human race. If I can do it, you can! I mean, we all know how hopeless I am when it comes to remembering names and making polite small talk.”
“Let alone impolite small talk.”
Ben pointed at his friend. “See! You’re witty even when you’re not trying! My God, you could practically charm a doorknob!”
“And don’t think I haven’t.”
“So think how many more doorknobs are out there awaiting your unique talents.” Ben noticed the dog in his peripheral vision. “Besides, if what I’m saying doesn’t convince you, I’m pretty sure Fred here will.” He nodded in Fred’s direction. “Don’t look now, but I think you’ll find there’s something shiny hanging out the side of his mouth, something finlike.”
Hunt rushed over to the reflecting pool. “Holy crap, Fred!” He slapped the pamphlet he was still holding against his pants to get the dog’s attention. “That’s one of Mother’s prized koi. She’s going to kill you.” Fred bit down proudly. There was a noticeable crunch.
“Your mother would never kill an animal. She’s on the board of the Grantham animal shelter. I know because she hit me up for a large donation,” Ben said.
Hunt rubbed his mouth. “You’re right. Fred, I think you’re going to live.” He turned slowly back to Ben. “Do you think Mother would hit a recent cancer victim?”
Ben crossed his arms, looking very pleased, indeed. “With gusto. During her visit she was telling me how much she enjoyed the class on weight lifting to prevent osteoporosis.”
Hunt took off his baseball cap, and ran his hand through the thin strands. “Then the only way to get out of this…” He reluctantly looked down at the Adult School listing.
“Exactly.”
Hunt raised his eyes. “And I suppose she already has a course in mind?”
Ben scoffed. “You doubted that for a second?”
“Tell me it’s a large lecture where I can hide in the back of the room,” Hunt implored.
“I could tell you that, but…”
Hunt closed his eyes. “Okay, tell me the truth. I’m man enough to take it.”
“It’s a water aerobics class. Here, give me back the course listing, and I’ll read you the details.”
“Water aerobics?” Hunt grimaced and held out the pamphlet.
Ben flipped the pages. “Here it is. ‘Light Water Aerobics. This six-week class is designed for pregnant women, older citizens and those recovering from injuries, or those wanting a lighter, low-impact workout. Meets Wednesdays, 7:30 p.m., Grantham Middle School Swimming Pool.’” Ben closed the booklet. “See, it sounds perfect.”
Hunt frowned. “If it’s so perfect, why don’t you sign up for it?”
“Because I’m not pregnant, old—”
Hunt snorted.
“Excuse me, thirty-eight is not old. Nor am I recovering from an injury. Besides, I know from Katarina’s experience that her knee rehabbed really well in the water. I mean, what have you got to lose?”
Hunt rubbed his lips again. They were perennially chapped despite a constant application of lip balm. “I don’t know. My dignity? Besides, six weeks? That’s kind of a long commitment.”
“I’ve got news for you. Getting a dog isn’t exactly a short-term affair either—right, Fred?”
Hearing his name, the dog sat up in a way that for any other dog might be considered majestic. On Fred, it emphasized the fact that his head seemed to belong to a breed completely unrelated to the rest of his body.
Suddenly inspired, Fred jumped out of the pool and shook himself all over Hunt.
Hunt brushed the water off his pants. “This affair could be shorter than you think. I wouldn’t say he’s exactly ingratiating himself.” He bent down to grab the leash lying on the flagstones and reached for the dog’s webbed canvas collar. Not quickly enough, though.
Fred was off and running again, this time through a stand of hibiscus.
Hunt stared gloomily at the leash hanging limply in his hand. “So what do I have to do to join this class?”
“Nothing…well…practically nothing. Your mother has already enrolled you. All you need to do is show up tomorrow night, with a bathing suit and towel. How hard can that be?”
Hunt sighed as Fred moved on from rummaging through the hibiscus to trampling the fragile pale pink flowers of fall-blooming cyclamen. “Tell me, do you think Mother has any pâté in the house?”
“Why? Are you feeling peckish?” Ben asked.
“No, I’m looking for something to bribe the dog with to get him to come. And knowing Mother, she won’t have anything as mundane as liverwurst.”
Ben laughed. “I’m sure there must be some imported Brie.” Then he glanced down at his watch. “I’d stay and help, but I’m already late for picking up Matt from school. The only thing worse than seeing your mother angry is seeing my teenage son pissed off.”
“And you call yourself a friend?” Hunt teased. “Oh, all right, far be it from me to cause any family disharmony. And just to show you how cooperative I can be, I’ll make nice with Mother and attend this water-whatever class.”
“Light Water Aerobics.” Ben sidestepped to the gate. He rested his hand on the latch. “Hunt, one more thing…”
Hunt was busy weaving and bobbing, trying to out-maneuver the dog. Fred let him come to just beyond arm’s length. Hunt lunged. Fred scampered away. Hunt swore.
“Hunt?” Ben said again.
“I know, I know, tomorrow night. Seven-thirty. I’ll be there.”
Ben paused. “Do you want me to leave the course listing?”
Hunt waved him off. “Don’t bother. I think you pretty much hit the highlights.”
“If you say so,” Ben agreed. He left quickly—Hunt couldn’t help thinking—curiously relieved.
CHAPTER THREE
WEDNESDAYS WERE ALWAYS a bitch as far as Sarah was concerned. She closed her eyes and rubbed her lower back. This particular Wednesday was proving to be beyond bitchy.
She turned her head and eyed the seventy-year-old woman next to her who was adjusting the plunging neckline of her bathing suit. For someone her age, she looked fantastic. Okay, she had the usual upper arm waddle and her thighs, while toned, showed signs of cellulite. But, hey, Sarah wouldn’t mind having that body at that age. Even half her age for that matter.
Sarah looked down at her swollen belly with its spidery stretch marks. “Wanda, do you really think a bikini is the way to go?” Thirty weeks along in her pregnancy, she was exhibiting all the expected signs, like clockwork.
Talk about stretch marks. Besides her belly, pink and purple lines now etched her breasts and inner thighs. Lovely. Then there was her belly button, which had gone from being an innie to a full-blown outie.
All those women who positively glowed in pregnancy? Not Sarah. Her cheeks might be flushed, but pimples had a way of erupting daily on her chin and the tip of her nose. She had found this incredibly expensive “nighttime eruption solution” that seemed to help. A little.
Sarah rubbed her swollen belly and told herself to quit being cranky. After all, it was all worth it, right? Still, just because she could accept the changes in her body didn’t mean she felt obliged to flaunt them. “Maybe I could wear a T-shirt over the bikini top?” she said.
Wanda grabbed the combination lock from her tote bag and slammed the metal locker shut. “Nonsense, baby bumps are all the rage now, isn’t that right, Lena?” Wanda turned to her good friend. Lena was Wanda’s tennis partner as well as Katarina’s grandmother.
Lena adjusted the strap of her bathing cap under her chin. “What’s that? Who’s right?” Lena patted Sarah protectively on her arm. “Never mind. You would look wonderful wearing a burlap bag. And in that suit—” she raised her arms, hands open “—you are the image of a Rubens beauty in all your womanly glory.”
Sarah twisted her neck around. “Are you trying to tell me that my butt looks fat?” She gripped one cheek in an assessment.
“Nonsense, dear,” Wanda said. “You’re every woman’s dream—a long-stemmed American beauty, curvy like the legs of a Chippendale table, and with breasts the size of cantaloupes. That’s why we all agreed that the bikini was absolutely, positively the right choice.”
Sarah shook her head. “Thanks, I think.” She was still trying to wrap her head around the image of Chippendale furniture and cantaloupes until she decided it was just another strange moment in an already eventful day.
Because at the end of a full schedule of running multiple physical therapy sessions, three of Sarah’s late Wednesday afternoon clients had thrown her a surprise baby shower. They included Wanda, a retired high school math teacher, who was having treatments for the tendonitis in her tennis arm. “I know it would probably get better if I developed a two-handed backhand, but at my age…”
Lena was there, too, a sturdy fireplug of a woman who when she spoke still had a hint of her native Czechoslovakia in her accent. Her arthritic knees had started to act up on her. Too many years of standing up at her hardware store and playing tennis. She’d had some arthroscopic surgery over the summer to clean up one knee, and was now diligently doing her rehab.
Rounding out the group was Rufus Treadway. A mainstay of the local African-American community, Rufus had had a hip replacement about a year ago. Unfortunately, he was not yet tripping the light fantastic, which was a real shame, as far as Sarah was concerned. So she’d pulled some strings and got him an appointment with the hip specialist at the University of Pennsylvania Hospital.
Anyhow, when the three of them had pulled out the streamers and party blowers, Sarah had been truly taken aback. Lena had made a plum tart. “Not to worry. It’s mostly fruit,” she had said.
And butter and eggs, Sarah had thought.
When they next produced several wrapped boxes, she was overwhelmed. “You shouldn’t have,” Sarah protested, expecting to get several hand-knitted baby sweaters and maybe a baby-size Grantham University baseball cap.
“Start with the squishy one,” Wanda insisted.
Sarah carefully removed the wrapping paper—no sense in wasting perfectly good paper when it could be reused—and found a Speedo bathing cap.
“How lovely. I don’t have one,” Sarah said, confused but careful to affix a smile.
“Now the flat one.” Rufus pointed to an oblong wrapped box.
That one yielded flip-flops. Another had a rolled up beach towel.
Sarah laughed. “I think I see a theme here. I know I always tout the virtues of swimming as a low-impact exercise for you all, so I’m glad to see the message is getting across.”
Then came the biggest box. It seemed to contain mostly tissue paper, but buried deep inside Sarah found a maternity bathing suit in electric orange. A teeny-tiny, two-piece maternity suit. “I didn’t know they made bikinis for pregnant women.” She held up the top and bottom to universal clapping.
And last but not least, Rufus pulled out a slim envelope.
“A ticket to the Bahamas?” Sarah joked. She slit the envelope open and read the contents, “This confirms your registration in the Adult School ‘Light Water Aerobics’ class for pregnant woman and those rehabilitating from injuries.’”
“Isn’t it great!” Wanda had exclaimed. “It’s tonight, and Lena and I have signed up, too! It’ll be like a continuation of our workouts here!” Then she squealed.
That should have been a tip-off, Sarah thought as she now stood in the women’s locker room on the second floor of the Grantham Middle School. Goose bumps appeared on more exposed skin than she cared to think about. She picked up her towel from the bench and wrapped it around her waist. There might be less of her on display to the world, but she was afraid she now looked like a beached whale in terry cloth.
Indeed, the whole idea of lowering her inflated body into a chlorinated swimming pool was just not all that appealing to her at the moment. Any sane person in a similar circumstance would be home, curled up in a comfy chair, watching the rerun of Comedy Central’s Daily Show and eating a grilled-cheese sandwich, better yet, mocha-chip ice cream straight out of the container.
“C’mon, dear, you don’t want to be late. If you think I’m a stickler for punctuality, wait till you meet Doris,” Wanda said.
Sarah scooped up her bathing cap and obeyed. So much for sanity. She followed Wanda and Lena down the stairs and, mindful of her manners, she held open the door to the pool area for the older women first. Wham! The heat and humidity assaulted her immediately. The smell of chlorine just about brought up the plum cake.
Sarah looked down and gulped. Finally, she risked lifting her head—and got her first look at the pool. “Wanda, I thought this class was for women only?”
“Whatever gave you that idea?” Wanda asked all innocent.
Sarah looked around again. Three other women in various stages of pregnancy were there, none of them wearing bikinis. Great. She also couldn’t help noticing that they all had male partners in tow.
The couples clustered together in a circle, tight enough that a take-out venti couldn’t fit in between. As Sarah walked by, she could hear them exchanging due dates and giggles. Men-and-women giggles.
Wanda and Lena moved to the side of the couples group, where they joined an older man with a vertical scar down his chest. Bypass surgery. Next to him was another man who looked to be in his fifties, almost a carbon copy of the older guy except with more hair, considerably less weight, and a hollow look in his eyes and cheeks. Father and son seemed to be old friends of Wanda and Lena, since the four of them…well…mostly the three of them, were chatting it up. The son appeared to hang at the fringes nodding at appropriate times, but adding little to the conversation.
She was about to join them and introduce herself when the buzzer sounded, signaling the start of class. The instructor, clipboard in hand, with a whistle hanging from a lanyard around her neck and reading glasses halfway down her nose, strode to the edge of the pool. She might be pushing sixty, but she looked like she could wrestle a grizzly bear with one hand tied behind her back while teaching the fundamentals of lifesaving with the other. She blew her whistle. The giggling and whispers halted.
“Good evening, everyone. I’m Doris Freund, your instructor for Light Water Aerobics,” she announced.
“Why don’t I call the roll before we get down to business.” She started rattling off names with marine sergeant precision, and when she was partway down the list she called out, “Halverson, Sarah.” She peered over her reading glasses.
Sarah waved. “Pres—”
The door to the pool swung open. Doris looked up at the clock. Everyone else stared at the door.
Sarah immediately saw a man, and from his surfer’s shorts, lanky walk and thin frame assumed he was of college age. But after a quick glance at his face, she realized he was older—mid-thirties. He had the kind of features—sharp, high cheek bones, deep-set ice-blue eyes with lines fanning out at the corners, and a wide mouth with thin lips—that hinted at intelligence, wit, and, okay, might as well admit it, Sarah said to herself, long-term sex appeal. But there was also an air of mystery, or maybe it was sadness. Which only made him more intriguing. But truth be told, the physical attribute that had caught her attention was that he was thin. Very thin, on a frame that could use an extra twenty pounds.
Cancer and the side effects of chemotherapy. Pretty rough. He was young and as an expectant father…
Sarah waited, watching the door, wondering what his wife would look like. Only nobody came. She raised an eyebrow. So if he wasn’t an expectant father…
She saw him glance quickly around and stop. His mouth opened, but no words came forth. He surveyed the group slowly, then screwed up his mouth.
“I find as a rule that the class works better if we all arrive on time,” Doris said sternly. “I’ve scheduled a number of activities, and to maximize the benefits and everyone’s enjoyment I’d prefer not to have to rush any of them, if you catch my drift?” She waited for an acknowledgment.
The latecomer breathed in and lifted his head, elevating his proud chin. “Duly noted,” he said. He blinked. “Mrs. Montgomery?”
“Huntington? Huntington Phox, is that really you? I haven’t seen you since you were in fifth grade.”
“Fourth,” he said.
Doris arched one brow critically.
“Well, maybe you’re right. Fifth.” He didn’t sound convinced but obviously was astute enough to know when to give in. “And most people call me Hunt now,” he said.
“Yes, well, Huntington, it’s good to see you after all this time. But it’s not Mrs. Montgomery anymore. Mr. Montgomery passed away some twenty years ago.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“And then there was Mr. Dunworth.” Her voice took a reflective tone. “He was a merchant marine. But you know how they are. So now it’s back to Ms. Freund, my maiden name. But everyone may of course call me Doris.”
LIKE THAT WAS ABOUT TO HAPPEN, Hunt thought. He noticed that all the class members nodded nervously, all except this one tall woman with straight dark-blond hair that she was attempting to squeeze into a racing cap.
