“Hey, I'd be careful how I treated the uncle who's holding some fine seats for tomorrow night's Cubs game.”
There were shrieks of joy as Matt held up the proof. “Dugout level. Seven P.M. Be there or be square.”
“Matt Ransom, tomorrow night is a school night. The boys haveâ”
He walked to his sister and bussed her on the cheek. “Chill out, San. When you're nine and your uncle comes to town, baseball is required. You and Dan can come, too, if you behave.”
He reached past her to the stove, lifted the lid of the largest pot, and studied its contents. “Here I thought you'd learned something new and exotic during your travels, but I see you're still relying on Ragú.”
Sandra grabbed the lid back and pushed him out of the way. “Ha. You know better than to use that word in my presence. Now open that bottle of wine, pronto. I want to try this dish out on you.”
She looked him up and down. “And then I'd like to hear what in the world is going on between you and Dr. O.”
31
Just as she'd hoped, the trip to the beach had broken Olivia's cycle of wallowing and hiding. She still had trouble falling asleep, and she woke way too early, but now she made a point of putting those late-night and predawn hours to good use.
She spent time every morning on the new book she'd pitched to her editor about why women were reluctant to ask for what they wanted most. When it got light out, she did a three-mile run, took a quick shower, and downed a bowl of cereal. By seven forty-five she was on her way to work.
There she funneled her energy into her callers and their problems, squashing speculation about why Matt hadn't called and shrugging off offers of sympathy with a “win some, lose some” philosophy she wished she could actually feel.
At noon, when
Liv Live
was over, she went out for lunch with friends, or used the time to do research for her book. She accepted a speaking engagement, and was careful not to get too defensive when Matt's name came up.
She knew from experience that if she continued to pretend that she was fine, at some point she would be. So she threw her shoulders back, held her head high, and strode through her life with all the gusto she could muster. Inside she was a quivering mass of Jell-O, but since nobody could see inside, she managed to keep the wobbliness to herself.
Though she would die before admitting it, some days she found herself in front of the television set at one o'clock, when
All My Children
came on. And still sitting there when
Oprah
ended at five.
Worse, she couldn't bypass a Braves game on TV, and her skill with the remote was improving at an alarming rate.
Diane was the only person who seemed aware of the terrible dichotomy between Olivia's outer calm and her inner turmoil, and Olivia suspected her producer's latest diet and exercise regimen had as much to do with trying to keep an eye on Olivia as it did with improving her health.
Olivia sat on her front porch step waiting for Diane to arrive for their after-dinner walk. The evening was mild, and the shouts of children playing in a nearby cul-de-sac mingled with the hum of a lawn mower two houses away. When Diane pulled up to the curb, Olivia ambled down the driveway to greet her. After a few discreet stretches, they began their walk.
At the half-mile mark Diane announced, “I swore off Twinkies this afternoon.”
“That's great,” Olivia replied.
“And I'm thinking about working with a personal trainer.”
“That's great, too. I'm glad to see you so serious about your new exercise program.” Olivia smiled and picked up the pace. They walked for a whole minute before Diane asked, “So have you heard anything from Matt?”
Olivia stumbled over an uneven spot in the sidewalk and took her time righting herself. “No.” She eyed her producer, but couldn't bring herself to ask the same question in return.
As it turned out, Diane required little to no pumping. She got a little heel-toe action going and swung her bent arms as she confided, “Ben says Matt's out of town, but he doesn't know for how long.”
Olivia wanted to ask where he'd gone and whether he'd said anything about her on-air confession or the jab she'd taken at him with the “Survivor” show, but asking Diane to ask Ben to ask Matt how he felt smacked of high school machinations. The last thing she intended to do was let people know how much Matt's actions, or lack thereof, mattered.
They walked in silence for a time, and just when she'd decided there was no way she could bring up Matt's name without embarrassing herself, Diane said, “I know you told me you're not interested in the gory details, but Ben thinks Matt's in Chicago. T.J.'s the only one who's heard from him.”
“Um, thanks,” Olivia managed.
They completed a full circuit of the neighborhood and walked up the hill to stand in front of Olivia's mailbox. Diane bent and wrapped her hands around the backs of her knees in a very impressive stretch. Straightening, she did a few quick air punches and said, “Well, I really enjoyed our walk. Maybe we could make it a regular thing.”
“Absolutely. You sure you don't want to come in for a cold drink?” Olivia asked.
“Nah. I've got a bottled water in the car, and I want to get my sit-ups in before bed.”
Olivia's eyebrows shot up. “You're really serious this time, aren't you?”
Diane nodded and pulled her car keys out of her pocket. “And I'll tell you something else. Although I personally don't believe he's fit to lick your Nikes, if you think of anything else you don't want to know about Matt, I'll be glad to ask around.”
Time was supposed to fly when you were having fun. But if this week was any indication, it also flew when you weren't. JoBeth knew her life must look pretty fine from the outside: She had her own home, work she enjoyed, and Kevin Middleton waging a serious campaign to “win her back.” If only Dawg would stop trying to get together to discuss their relationship, she was certain she'd be on cloud nine.
It was a glorious Saturday morning, and she was spending it on a brown vinyl couch in the waiting area of Joe's Garage.
She eyed the two other patrons and then let her gaze roam around the room to the small corner table with its hours-old pot of coffee and plate of picked-over muffins. She resisted for about fifteen minutes before walking over to scope out the plate, which contained one blueberry muffin and a small mound of crumbs. Idly, she pushed buttons on the wall-mounted TV just above it. Unable to get a picture, she headed back to her seat.
For a few minutes she used her growling stomach as a diversion so she wouldn't have to think about the twist her life had taken.
Seducing Dawg had turned out to be an incredibly bad idea. Now she had more memories than she'd intended; memories that popped up at the worst possible moment, like when Kevin took off his shirt at the lake and revealed his scrawny chest, or when she tried to imagine a lifetime of waking up as Mrs. Kevin Middletonâwhich would require going to bed as her, too. If her regrets were only physical, it might not be so tough. But no matter how many times her head voted for Kevin, her heart cried out for Dawg.
Looking for another distraction, JoBeth dumped the contents of her purse on the scarred table in front of her and began a serious search for food. She found one cellophane-wrapped breath mint, two smashed M&Ms, and about a pound of accumulated trash, which she spent ten minutes separating into piles before tossing them into the can Joe had so thoughtfully provided.
She looked up to find both of the other customers watching her. “I hate waiting around, don't you?”
No answer.
“Either of you want that last muffin?” she asked.
One of them shrugged, and the other shook her head.
“Great.” JoBeth walked over to claim her prize. Her cell phone rang, and she used her free hand to paw through her purse.
Dawg's cell phone number appeared on the phone's tiny face, and JoBeth froze. She knew if she let herself have so much as a conversation with him, she'd crumble like a potato chip. Knew that if he said he loved her one more time, she'd say she loved him, too, and apologize for starting the whole marriage conversation. And then where would she be?
She wanted a partner, a partner who would share the good and the bad, who would be a father to their children and a mate for life. She wanted all kinds of things Dawg Rollins didn't. And that was that.
All week she'd been careful not to be where he might be, and she was prepared to claim all sorts of phone and technical failures if it ever came down to it. There was no way she could give Kevin a fair shake if she kept thinking about Dawg all the time. She turned the phone off and crammed it back in her purse.
JoBeth ate the muffin without tasting it, and when she couldn't take hanging around anymore, she stepped out into the work area of the garage. She found Joe bent double over the front of her Cadillac, his head stuck beneath the raised hood.
“How're you coming?”
“Almost done. Should be able to have you out of here in just a couple minutes.”
“Good.” JoBeth took her checkbook out of her purse, opened the driver's door, and leaned in to set her bag on the seat. She heard the hood thunk down into place. When she came back around the car, Joe was wiping his hands on the greasy towel that hung from his belt.
“What do I owe you?”
Joe finished with the towel and looked up in surprise. “Dawg just called and said he was on his way over to take care of it.”
“No, I'm paying.” She flipped open her checkbook, her heart starting to race. She needed to be on her way before Dawg arrived. “How much, Joe?”
“JoBeth, I don't want to get in the middle of anything. The man wants to pay the bill.”
“Joe Larson, this is my car and my responsibility. You tell me how much I owe you right now, or I'm going to call the Better Business Bureau and report you for, for . . . refusing to take my money.”
Joe laughed, a big belly laugh that made his midsection jiggle. “First I ever heard of being reported for
not
charging somebody. I got to remember that one.”
“Fine. You go on ahead and write it down
after
you tell me the amount.” She did not want to run into Dawg now, after a whole week of successful ducking and hiding.
Joe mumbled an amount that had to be too low. Her pen flew as she scribbled out the check, adding another twenty dollars just to show them both who they were screwing with.
Not waiting for her receipt, she jumped into the Caddy and started her up, noticing even in her hurry that the engine turned right over. Then with a last “Thanks” and a wave, she backed out, threw the car into drive, and burned rubber in her haste to escape.
Two traffic lights later, her pulse had slowed to something resembling normal. Resting her forehead on the steering wheel while she waited for the light to change, she told herself she'd done the right thing.
Right now, avoiding Dawg Rollins was a matter of self-preservation. Kevin Middleton was a fine man who would make a good husband. He'd already started talking about his vision of the life they could have together, and she suspected he was very close to popping the question. All she had to do was find a way to fall in love with him.
Dawg Rollins peered through the window at the indoor running track on the YMCA's second floor. It was a fine spring day, but he hadn't wanted to run alone where his thoughts would have nothing to settle on but JoBeth. Here, other runners were already pounding out their miles on the cushioned rubber oval, and because it was open to the workout area below, there were plenty of distractions to help the time pass quickly. Of course, given his knees and his forty-four years, the more forgiving indoor surface was nothing to be sneered at.
Fitting himself into the flow of runners, he started out easy, regulating his breathing and finding his pace. After the first two miles, he slowed and took an inside lane to get a better view of the activity below.
StairMasters, treadmills, and exercise bikes lined the mirrored walls. The center of the room had been divided into two sections, with free weights occupying the left side of the great room and strength-training equipment on the right. A Sunday afternoon crowd huffed and sweated its way through a hundred different workouts. Dawg's gaze skimmed over the group, picking out the serious lifters from the weekend warriors, enjoying the sight of the women who belonged in spandex and trying to avoid looking at those who didn't.
About mile four, he found himself focusing on an elderly couple working their way through a series of machines. The woman moved slowly, as if putting one foot in front of the other required great effort and concentration. One side of her body seemed frozen, and Dawg wondered if she'd had a stroke.
The man, whom Dawg assumed to be her husband, looked fit and comfortable, but he slowed his pace to match his wife's, and he held both of their towels, a water bottle, and a card for recording workout progress. He didn't look around, but focused all of his attention on the woman beside him.
When a machine became available, the man would adjust the weights and settings, help the woman carefully onto it, and then talk her through the exercise, penciling in the number of repetitions on the card when she finished. The woman's attention turned to each new machine, while the man's remained riveted on her. Dawg could almost feel his iron will joining and solidifying the woman's, and though he couldn't hear his words, Dawg imagined their loving tone.
Dawg's heart squeezed as he imposed himself and JoBeth into the scene. Perhaps it would be JoBeth leading him around, helping him grow strong again. Maybe they'd be lucky and never need to draw this deeply on each other's strength.
But whatever happened, he now understood that this was what it all came down to: the complete giving of oneself to another, the sharing of the good and the bad that life had to offer. This was what JoBeth had been asking for, but until recently he'd been too busy sidestepping the whole issue to actually listen to what she was saying.
Dawg slowed to a walk. He'd been such an incredible fool, it was no wonder she'd been avoiding him lately.
It was time to stop circling around the issue. He loved JoBeth Namey, and he knew now just how much he wanted to marry her.
He left the track and went down to the locker room to shower. He needed an engagement ring. Then he needed to find JoBeth and tell her what he'd decided. He could just imagine the joy on her face when he finally popped the question.
Dawg toweled off, dressed, and walked out through the strength-training area, hoping for one last glimpse of the couple who'd finally made him understand what an oaf he'd been.
He saw them making their way toward the water cooler, their hands joined and their heads bent toward each other. Dawg stood for a minute watching them move slowly through the sweating, jabbering crowd, and then he stared at himself for a minute in the mirror. He was more than ready to make JoBeth Namey his wife. Thank goodness he'd come to his senses before it was too late.