In His Good Hands (5 page)

“Reverse psychology might have worked in high school, but I’m a grown woman.” She climbed to her feet again. “Too smart to fall for lame motivational tricks.”

“I wasn’t trying to trick you.” Brett rose fluidly, his manner brisk. “Let me give it to you straight. Exercise is damn hard work, especially when you’re not used to it. Give yourself a chance. The benefits will be worth it.”

Renita wiped off her upper lip, put her smudged glasses back on and sipped from her water bottle.

Was she going to storm out of here because she couldn’t handle chafing thighs and lactic acid burn in her muscles? If Brett had pushed on with his schoolwork when everything was against him, she wasn’t going to back down from a physical challenge.

“All right,” she said. “What’s next?”

“I was going to get you on the treadmill but you can have a breather.” He flipped a page on his clipboard. “Instead we’ll take your baseline stats so we can monitor your progress in the coming weeks. Let’s head over to the scales.”

“Scales?”
Renita’s courage flagged again. “You mean…?”

“We measure your weight,” he said matter-of-factly. “And your height. Also bust, waist and hip circumference. Calf, upper arm, thigh…”

She stopped listening. The mortification she’d experienced in high school was nothing compared to the horror of standing on the scales with Brett O’Connor recording her weight.

Her air sole running shoes felt as heavy as moon boots as she followed him out of the cardio room and over to the upright tape measure in the open space next to the refreshment area. The girl with the blond ponytail glanced up from her books again. Great, now Renita had an audience of two.

Brett measured her height first. No problem there. She was five foot six. He confirmed it and wrote the number in his loopy scrawl on her sheet.

Renita knew what was coming next and could feel her face growing hot. She prayed for some emergency, like a fire in the building or an earthquake.

“Hop on the scales. Don’t be shy,” Brett said, either unaware of her embarrassment or ignoring it. “Everyone goes through the process.”

Not even she knew exactly how much she weighed, or the circumference of her waist.

The phone rang in reception. Brett disregarded it, waiting for her to get on the scales.

“Shouldn’t you get that, Dad?” the schoolgirl said when the phone kept ringing.

Finally he noticed the empty desk. “Hang on, I’ll be back in a minute,” he said to Renita. Setting the clipboard on top of a filing cabinet, he walked off.

Renita released her breath. She wiped away the perspiration trickling down her temple.

“I’ll finish measuring you,” the girl said, getting up.

“That’s nice of you.”

“Not really. As soon as he’s done with you he can take me home.” The girl’s eyes were the same deep blue as Brett’s. Her fresh young skin was dusted with powder and blush, and her lips were shiny with pink gloss.

“You called him Dad,” Renita said. “Are you Tegan?”

“How do you know my name?”

“Brett told me about you yesterday when he came to my bank for a loan. I’m Renita.”

Tegan glanced toward reception. “He could come back any minute.”

“Right.” Renita stepped on the scales. She forced herself to look at the digital readout. It was worse than she thought.

“Guys are clueless sometimes,” Tegan said, busily writing. “Even my dad.” She picked up a tape measure and, motioning for Renita to lift her arms, stood on tiptoes to slide it around her bust. Again she noted the number. When Tegan moved to measure her waist, Renita sucked in her stomach.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the teen said. “It’ll just take longer before you show a loss. Anyway, once the measurements are entered on the sheet he doesn’t look at them.”

“Are you certain?”

“Positive,” Tegan assured her. “Not even for the real hotties.”

“Thanks,” Renita replied drily. But she relaxed, even adding a little extra girth by pushing out her stomach.

Tegan glanced up. “Cheater.”

Renita laughed sheepishly and glanced over to reception. Brett was writing something down. “It looks as if he’s winding up the call.”

“We’re almost done.” Tegan took the last few measurements. “What were you guys talking about?”

“When do you mean?” Renita said, confused as to why the girl was asking.

“After your situps,” Tegan explained as she entered the last numbers on the sheet. “I just wondered, because he jokes around a lot, but he doesn’t usually have conversations with his clients.”

“He was just giving me a pep talk.” Renita changed the subject. “What homework are you doing?”

“Math.” Tegan made a face. “I suck at it so bad.”

“Just like your father.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll have to ask him.” Renita nodded at the sheet of measurements and smiled. “Thanks, Tegan. We girls have to stick together.”

The teen held up her hands. “I only helped you because I want my dad to finish quickly.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” Renita said, surprised by the undercurrent of antagonism. “Is there a problem?”

“Women are always trying to get to my dad by cozying up to me. I’m sick of it.”

“I’m not interested in your father,” Renita protested.

Tegan’s wry expression was cynical beyond her years. “That’s what they all say.”

“Tegan, have you studied your knots for this week’s lesson?”

“Not yet. Can you do them with me?”

“After I finish this.” Brett opened a new spreadsheet and labeled the first column Item. Beneath that he typed in “Exercise Bike.” Then he started a new column, Unit Cost, and plugged in “$5,995.” Quantity “6.” Punching the numbers into his calculator, he came up with a figure that he entered into the column labeled Total Cost.

He sat back and frowned. It wasn’t the total cost. That wouldn’t come until he’d added up all the rows with their individual items. He scrolled back to Unit Cost and changed it to Unit Price, then altered Total Cost to just plain Cost.

Tegan missed a step and the dance game ended. As the next program loaded she wandered over to the table and leaned against his shoulder to peer at his laptop. “Whatcha doing?”

“Costing out new gym equipment.” He typed in “Elliptical Cross Trainer,” Unit Price “$8,795,” Quantity “6.” He calculated, then double-checked. This time Renita wouldn’t catch him out on a single mistake. “How are the sailing lessons going?”

“I get all wet and the salt spray wrecks my hair.”

“You’re lucky. I never had the opportunity to take sailing lessons when I was a kid.”

Tegan picked up the ropes and studied the diagram, making a halfhearted attempt to work a bowline before tossing the rope aside. “I have a partner for the sailing dinghy. Her name’s Amy.”

“Is Amy a friend at school?”

“She’s in my grade.” Sighing heavily, Tegan tried the knot again. “Who was that woman you were training today at the gym? Renita someone.”

Brett glanced up. “Renita Thatcher, the loans manager at the bank.”

Tegan planted her elbows on the table to undo the knot. “Do you like her?”

“Sure, I like her. I like everyone.” Brett consulted the equipment catalog for the StairMasters and entered the unit price. Tegan was still there, studying him. “What now?”

“You were different with her. Not…flirty and fake, but just, I don’t know…different.”

He winced. “I act
fake
with women?”

“Not always. Just with gym bunnies and football groupies.”

“Oh, them.” Brett was tired of women who gushed over him because he used to be a professional football player. By comparison, Renita’s prickly standoffishness was a breath of fresh air. “I knew Renita in high school.”

Tegan started working another knot. “Was she your girlfriend?”

“She tutored me in math.”

“Ah, so that’s what she meant.”

“Sorry?” Brett murmured, deep in the middle of a calculation.

“I told her I hated math and she said, ‘Just like your father.’ Were you really crap at it?”

“Yes, I was crap at it.” Pointedly, he added, “But
you
don’t have to be, not if you study.”

Tegan frowned at the granny knot in her hands and double-checked the diagram in the book. “Did you look at the notice I brought home asking for chaperones for the junior high school dance? Will you do it?”

“Sure.” Brett lost track of which number he’d entered into the calculator. “Wait a minute. What did I agree to now?”

Tegan repeated what she’d said.

He rubbed a hand through his hair, bemused. She had a habit of asking him things when he wasn’t really listening. Sometimes he wondered if she did it on purpose. “Okay, I’ll chaperone.”

“Good.” A run of musical notes signaled the Wii was ready for the next dance game. Tegan tossed the rope down and ran back to the other room.

He began to go over his calculations one more time. He punched in the last few numbers and came up with a grand total of $235,000.

It was a lot less than the three hundred grand he’d asked for. Surely Renita couldn’t say no again. He thought about her training session. As at their meeting at the bank, she’d avoided talking about personal matters. Well, fine. If that’s the way she wanted it. This time when they met, he’d be all business.

Johnny, the calico cat, was curled up asleep beneath the huge shady leaves of an oyster plant. Hearing his name, he opened almond-shaped green eyes and yawned.

Renita stooped to stroke the cat’s gold-and-gray fur, then straightened painfully. In a way, Brett’s assumption had been correct—her pets were her kids. Their needs were simple and they gave her utter devotion. She would like to have children someday, but for now she lavished her affection on Frankie, Johnny and Lucy.

She went to the garden shed for a scoop of bird seed and poured the mixture into the feeder, careful not to get any chaff on her suit. The cockatoo dipped his head for a mouthful of sunflower seeds and cracked them open. Renita ran a finger down the bird’s snowy wing feathers. With luck he would live for another fifty years and she’d be showing him to her grandchildren.

“Renita, are you home?” Hetty’s spiky gray head appeared over the side gate. She lifted the latch and came through, loose-limbed and graceful in her flowing pants and tunic.

Steve shuffled slowly behind in a plaid shirt and dark trousers, every movement eliciting a wince and a scowl from him. Lucy got up and went to greet them, nudging Steve’s hand for a pat, recognizing her pal, the dog lover.

“Dad, you look as sore as I feel,” Renita said.

“Never mind that. Have you seen Smedley? He’s missing.” Steve’s sparse hair was ruffled, his face flushed and perspiring. “He hasn’t turned up here, has he?”

“No, why would he do that?” Renita replaced the scoop in the bin and shut the door to the garden shed.

“Yes, why would he come to Renita’s house?” Hetty said impatiently. “She lives across town from our place.”

“I need to cover all bases,” Steve said, mopping his perspiring face with a handkerchief. “Man, it’s hot.”

“Are you okay?” Renita asked. “You didn’t walk here, did you?”

“We’ve already been all over Summerside by car,” Hetty explained. “That wasn’t good enough. Now we have to go over the same route on foot.”

“He could have been hit by a car and thrown into the grass by the side of the road,” Steve said.

“You always look for the worst-case scenario,” Hetty complained. “He’ll turn up eventually.”

“You see?” Steve muttered to Renita. “She doesn’t give a damn what happens to my dog.”

“Of course I care.” Hetty’s small hands tightened around the loose folds of her pants. “I’m traipsing all over the neighborhood, aren’t I?”

“Sit down for a while.” Renita led the way to the deck chairs on the patio. “I need to leave for work soon, but I’ll get you a cold drink.”

“Thanks,” Hetty said. “Your father could use a rest.”

“I’m not an invalid,” Steve snapped. “I’m training for a Fun Run. If I can’t walk a few miles I’ll be in big trouble on the day of the race.”

“Still, you should have a drink of water before you carry on,” Renita said.

“We can only stay for a minute,” he grumbled. “If I sit too long I’m liable to seize up completely.” He sank onto the cushions with a sigh.

As Renita filled glasses with ice and water she glanced at her parents through the window over the sink. Although they sat side by side, they looked away from each other, not speaking. A crisis should have brought them together, but it seemed to have had the opposite effect.

She carried the tray of drinks outside. “How did he get out?” she asked, trying to diffuse the tension.

“He dug beneath the fence,” Steve told her. “He never did anything like that before I went into the hospital. If your mother had been home where she was supposed to be, instead of gallivanting—”

“I was at a spiritual retreat.” Hetty’s voice had a gritty edge. “If
you
hadn’t eaten yourself into a diabetic coma—”

Renita’s cell rang from the kitchen, where she’d left it. “Excuse me,” she said, and ran back inside to answer it. “Hello?”

“Poppy here. Brett O’Connor called. He wants to know if you have time to see him today. I wouldn’t have called you at home, but since it’s Brett…”

Renita rolled her eyes. “I can probably squeeze him in first thing this morning. I’ll be there shortly.”

She hung up and went back to her parents. “I’ve got to go to work. Can I drive you somewhere?”

Hetty finished her water and put the glass back on the tray. “Thanks, Renita. You can drop me off at home.”

“I’m going to walk along the beach,” Steve said in a gruff voice. “The little fella loves chasing waves.”

“It’s too far,” Hetty protested. “Don’t you agree, Renita?”

“I’ve got to find my dog.”

“Never mind the ride, Renita,” her mum said in a long-suffering tone. “I’ll have to go with him.”

Renita walked them to the street. “Let me know if you find Smedley.”

She went back inside to finish getting ready for work. As she applied a light coat of mascara, she pondered the best way to handle Brett. At the bank she’d been too businesslike. At her personal training session she’d felt too vulnerable—though she wasn’t sure he’d noticed. They were going to meet regularly; there was no escaping it. She needed to find a middle ground, neither too familiar nor too cool.

She should chat a bit, she decided, the way he’d tried to with her. His daughter would be a neutral topic. Every parent liked to talk about their kid.