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“She was in awe.” Brett was careful to temper his sarcasm.
Janet grabbed the catalog of exercise equipment Brett had been poring over earlier like a kid with a Christmas toy flyer. “Let’s start picking out your new goodies.”
“Uh, I’ll get to that later.”
She regarded him with a frown. “Is everything okay? Yesterday we couldn’t tear you away from this brochure.”
“Everything’s fine. I just have to drop Tegan off at my parents’ house for dinner.” He reached for his keys and called over his shoulder, “Are you ready, Tegan?”
“Coming.” She ambled toward him, the straps of her unbuckled shoes flapping, her school bag slung over her shoulder.
Brett turned back to Janet. “If my six o’clock arrives before I get back, have her warm up on the treadmill. I won’t be long.”
In his silver E320 Mercedes, Brett cruised down the leafy main street of the village. Tegan chatted about school. Now and then he murmured “yes” or “uh-huh.”
“Cool!” Tegan said after one such response. “Thanks, Dad!”
“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” he replied automatically, then sent her a swift glance. “What did I just say yes to?”
Her eyes widened, all innocence. “Me getting a new dress for the dance.”
“You’ve got dozens of dresses in your closet. Why don’t you wear one of those? It’s not like anyone in Summerside will have seen them before.”
“I only have two party dresses and I’ve grown out of both of them. Besides, I’m older now.”
He swiveled to look at her, noticing her developing figure and the way, sitting side by side, her head now reached his shoulder. “I guess you’re right.”
The older the girl, the more expensive the dress. He’d learned that during his marriage.
Slowing to a halt for the single stoplight in town, he spied the Community Bank on the corner and frowned. Charm had always been his biggest asset, but it hadn’t worked with Renita. His efforts to renew their friendship had fallen flat. If that’s the way she wanted it, he would stick to business in the future. But he needed his loans manager to be onside to make the gym a success.
His eye fell on a poster erected on the grass verge, advertising the Diabetes Week Fun Run. Renita had been touchy about her father’s condition. She was likely worried and feeling helpless, wishing she could do something to fix the problem.
“That’s it,” Brett muttered. “Two birds with one stone.”
He got out his phone and punched in her number at the bank. Her office was the last one on the end, he realized.
“Renita Thatcher.” She sounded preoccupied.
“I just wanted to let you know about a special deal the gym is offering,” he said, making it up on the spot.
“Brett? Is that you?”
“Two-for-one memberships. I’ll throw in five free personal training sessions if you sign up before the end of the week,” he added recklessly. She’d said she wasn’t into exercise, but when people caught the bug they usually came to love the feel-good high of being fit.
“And you think I’m interested because…?”
“Your father is diabetic. I’ll bet his doctor has told him to exercise. Does he already belong to a gym in Mornington or Frankston?”
“No,” she said. “But he walks his dog, Smedley.”
“You and Steve can get fit together. You’ve got six weeks before the Fun Run—”
“No, no, no,” Renita protested. “I told you, I’m not entering the run.”
Undeterred, Brett pushed on. “Your dad would be more likely to work out if he had a partner to encourage him, wouldn’t he?”
“Brett—” She broke off.
In the silence that followed he could feel her frustration. He thought he understood her reluctance. “Having a personal trainer, you won’t have to keep up with all the gym bunnies in a class,” he said. “You work at your own pace, with a program tailored to your needs.”
“Pushing a little hard, aren’t you, Dad?” Tegan murmured from the passenger seat.
Brett motioned to his daughter to be quiet. There was another long pause. Had he pushed too hard? Embarrassed Renita? He didn’t want to do that.
“It would be good for Dad,” she conceded finally. “I’ll think about it.”
Satisfied, Brett put down his phone and moved through the green light. “She said she’d think about it,” he said to Tegan. But she was really saying yes.
“I’M MISSING THE cricket match on TV,” Steve grumbled as Renita dragged him through the doors of the fitness center.
“This won’t take long.” She hoped not, at least. Gyms were alien territory, bristling with strange machines and hard bodies. And spandex. Oh, God, she could just imagine what she would look like with every blubbery bulge outlined by spandex.
But she had to admit Brett was right—her father needed a concrete goal in his quest to improve his health. “If the place looks good you can become a member and sign up for the Fun Run.”
Steve balked on the black mat just inside the foyer, blinking at the bright lights and loud music. “I’m no runner.”
“You don’t want another hospital episode.”
“I don’t want a stroke, either.” His slacks sagged at the back and his shirt buttons strained over his barrel-shaped belly. Behind his steel-framed glasses, his brown eyes revealed his reluctance.
“That’s why you’re going to get fit before the event,” Renita coaxed. “When I was a kid, who told me I could do anything I set my mind to? Now I’m telling you you can do it. I know you can.”
“There’s no one here,” Steve said, glancing at the reception desk, with its scuffed lime-green paint. “Let’s go.”
“Shh, listen.” Renita could hear Brett talking on the phone in an office behind the desk. “Let’s wait a minute.”
The faint odors of perspiration and rubber floor mats conjured up the discomfort and small humiliations of high school gym class. Chafing thighs, sweaty clothes, being picked last for every team…
Renita moved farther into the building, taking in the gym’s poor state of repair. Paint was chipped on the corners of the pillars, the linoleum flooring was worn, and Out of Order signs hung from several of the exercise machines. Brett would have his work cut out for him, turning the facility into the fitness center of his dreams.
“This is a dive,” Steve muttered, echoing her thoughts. “Why’d you bring me here?”
“Because my bank is lending money to the new owner.” Knowing her dad kept a keen eye out for a bargain, she added cannily, “Plus there’s a sale on memberships.”
“I get enough exercise walking Smedley.” Steve removed his glasses and polished them on the hem of his shirt, drawing Renita’s attention to his round stomach.
“You’ve been walking for weeks now and haven’t lost an inch off that gut of yours,” Renita said. “That trip to the hospital was a wake-up call. You need to change your habits.”
In the multipurpose exercise room to their left a female fitness instructor was barking out encouragement to a perspiring middle-aged man doing sumo squats. “See, Dad, that could be you.”
“In that case, let me outta here. If we leave now I can still catch the last of the cricket.” He spun and headed for the exit, surprisingly nimble despite his bulk.
Renita grabbed his arm. “Oh, no, you don’t.”
“Can I help you?” Brett, wearing a navy polo shirt sporting the gym’s logo, emerged from the office. “Hey, Renita. G’day, Mr. Thatcher. Steve, isn’t it? Nice to see you again.”
“Brett O’Connor?” Steve turned to Renita with a frown. “You didn’t tell me this was Brett’s gym.”
“Didn’t I?” She deliberately hadn’t mentioned Brett by name, worried that it would deter Steve, even though he was a rabid footy fan and a supporter of Brett’s old team, the Collingwood Magpies.
“Welcome to the gym.” Brett extended a hand to Steve, nodding to Renita. “I’m pleased you’re taking me up on the two-for-one gym membership.”
“Dad’s interested, not me.” She stepped back and nudged her father forward.
He threw her a startled glance. “But you said—”
“I said I might.” Okay, so she’d fibbed a little to get him to come. It was for his own good. While she was happy to persuade her dad to sign up, it didn’t mean she was going to join. Sure, she needed to lose weight, but she had no desire to sweat and puff, especially around Brett.
“I’m not joining unless you do,” he protested.
“Do you follow football, Steve?” Brett said casually, leaning against the counter.
“Of course.” Almost grudgingly, he asked, “How do you like Collingwood’s chances for the cup this year?”
Brett rattled off a bunch of football statistics and tossed around names, drawing Steve deeper into conversation. Renita’s dad bought it hook, line and sinker, even reciting Brett’s own stats to him. As if the conceited ass didn’t recall every goal he’d kicked. If her father still harbored a grudge for the sporting hero, he wasn’t showing it.
“Which was your high point?” Steve asked. “The year your team won the Grand Final or when you were awarded the Brownlow Medal?”
“I ought to say the Grand Final, but if I’m honest, it was winning the Brownlow.”
“I don’t blame you. Top honor,” Steve said gruffly. “How’s that knee of yours?”
“I had surgery on it last year. It’s fine unless I work it too hard.” Brett took a clipboard from the counter and passed it to him, along with a pen. “If you’d like to write down your name and contact details we can send you more information. No obligation, of course. What type of membership would suit you best—yearly, monthly or a ten-visit pass?”
Steve scribbled his name and phone number. “What’s the best deal?”
“Yearly,” Brett said. “But if you take out a trial three-month membership, and later want to convert to annual, we’ll do a pro rata.”
“The three-month trial sounds good.” Steve handed back the clipboard.
Brett tried to pass it on to Renita. “We have a two-for-one special, remember?”
“I told you, working out isn’t my thing.”
“Come on, Renita,” Steve urged. “We could split the cost.”
“Yeah, come on, Renita,” Brett echoed, a twinkle in his eyes.
How dare he tease her? Those days are over, pal.
“How about a tour of the facilities?” she replied. “I’d like to see what the bank is investing its money in.”
He gazed at her for a beat. “All right.”
He led them across to the cardio room, where stepping and rowing machines, elliptical trainers, reclining bicycles and treadmills stood empty. Brett flicked one of the Out of Order signs. “I plan on replacing all these machines as soon as I can get the financing.”
“That sounds good, doesn’t it, Renita?” Steve said.
“Sounds expensive.”
Next to cardio were glass-fronted squash courts, also not in use. Across the way was the multipurpose room. “That’s Janet, one of our fitness instructors, giving a personal training session.”
Brett moved into the weight-training room. Two men were working with free weights while a woman sweated it out on a machine. “All these will be replaced, too. Tea and coffee over there,” he went on, indicating three small tables with seating for about twelve. “I plan to put in a cappuccino machine.”
“It does appeal,” Renita murmured.
“Plus fresh carrot juice for a healthy alternative,” Brett added. He started up the central flight of stairs, toward the source of loud music and thumping feet. “Here on the second floor we have the aerobics room. We’ll add to the range of classes as demand grows, so there’ll be something to suit everyone.”
Renita followed, leaving Steve breathing hard, to bring up the rear. The door to the aerobics room was shut, so she looked over a half wall into the far squash court, which had been turned into a spin class room.
“I’ll be replacing all those bikes, too. And putting a new office in over here,” he added, drawing her attention to an unused space beneath a window at the front of the building.
He had confidence to burn, she’d give him that.
Steve made it to the top of the stairs and slumped onto a padded exercise bench.
“You okay, Dad?” Renita asked. He nodded, blotting his forehead with the back of his hand. She turned to Brett. “He would have to take it easy to start.”
“We tailor training to the individual. There’s also a low impact seniors class.” Brett glanced back at her. “There’s plenty for the younger crowd, too. Sure you don’t want to join?”
“She’ll join.” Steve leaned forward, elbows on his knees, trying to catch his breath.
“No, Dad, I…” Renita stopped, not wanting to argue with her father in public.
“I’ll be downstairs if you two want a moment.” Brett ran down the steps, leaving them alone.
She sat beside her father on the bench.
“Renita, honey, you were right. I’ve been fooling myself that walking is enough. Climbing up those stairs just now…” Steve wiped more beads of perspiration from his forehead. “I need more exercise. But I don’t want to do it alone.”
“The last time I worked out was in high school, and that was under duress,” she argued. “A gym is my worst nightmare. Maybe I could do the Fun Run with you. We could walk if we had to.”
“Ten miles is a long way for us couch potatoes, even walking.” He peered at her from behind his half-fogged glasses.
Renita dropped her gaze. Her mum was busy with her yoga classes and meditation. Jack—her brother—had his hands full running the local Men’s Shed volunteer group and manufacturing the GPS he’d invented for small aircraft. Her sister—well, Lexie was an artist, so absorbed in her portrait painting that she could barely manage her own life. It would have to be up to Renita to help their father.
And what about her own health? If she didn’t start moving, she’d just get fatter and fatter, to the point where she’d have real problems like her dad. Was that the future this brainiac was creating for herself?
