Fatty Patty (A James Bay Novel) (2 page)

Priscilla cocks her head, eyes him for a moment. “He’s wearing goggles. Maybe you should buy yourself a pair.”

“I don’t need goggles.”

“But—”

“No goggles,” I say firmly. “They’re just one more thing I can’t afford. Besides, they won’t help me swim any faster.”

Still, I can’t help wondering. Could goggles help? I slip another peek at the swimmer. The guy is fast. Really fast, despite his size. A flash of neon whips through the water as he nears the end of the lane.

“They can’t cost that much. Look, he’s headed our way. Let’s ask him.” Priscilla lifts an arm.

“No, don’t!” I make a grab to stop her, but, as usual, I’m too late.

“Hello!” She waves him down as he comes up for air.

“Are you nuts? Stop that,” I hiss. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Priscilla blinks. “Trying to help. I thought you wanted advice.”

“Well, I don’t. And even if I did, I certainly wouldn’t ask some guy wearing…” I squint, sneak a better look as he grabs the pool edge. Gaudy neon plastic covers his eyes. “From some guy wearing purple goggles.”

“What’s wrong with purple? I think they’re cute.”

“Maybe on a five-year-old,” I mutter.

He steadies himself with a beefy hand. “Something wrong, ladies?” His voice hangs cool in the humid air and the look he shoots me isn’t much warmer.

Oh, God, did he hear what I said?

“We were admiring your goggles.” Priscilla flashes him a smile that lights up the pool. “Patty’s not much of a swimmer and I was telling her maybe she should get herself a pair. What do you think? Would goggles help?”

“I suppose that would depend on the color.” He yanks the goggles from his face and splashes them through the water. “Then again, your friend looks a little older than five.”

Me and my big mouth. When will I learn to keep it shut? I cling to the edge when suddenly my hand slips and I sink like a stone, ending up with a mouth full of water.

A burly hand grabs me. “Whoa.”

I sputter and cling tight, gasping and coughing as he thumps my back a few times. His arms around me feel like a big safety net.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine,” I choke, though my self-esteem is plenty soggy.

Priscilla kneels at pool side. “Patty, for God’s sake, what are you doing?”

I have no clue. I finally quit coughing, but it’s hard to catch my breath. Brawny shoulders keep me upright, and his arms hold me close. His face is round and ruddy, and he’s older than me, maybe mid-thirties. Neatly trimmed moustache. Nice eyes, especially without all that purple plastic hiding them. Soft brown eyes. Eyes that smile.

Not that he’s smiling. And I don’t blame him. I’d be mad at me, too.

One corner of his mouth turns up. “A five-year-old, hmm?”

“Sorry,” I say quietly. “Sometimes I talk way too much.”

“No problem.” His smile widens. “Goggles might not be a bad idea. They add lots of chemicals to this water. My eyes get irritated if I swim without them.”

I nod toward his lane. “We were watching. You’re good.” Especially for someone so big. It’s hard to tell since we’re both in deep water, but I’d bet a week’s paycheck he could stand to lose at least fifty or maybe even seventy pounds.

“Swimming’s a great workout.” He swishes his goggles through the water, snaps them in place, covering up those soft brown eyes. “Sorry, ladies, I don’t want to lose my stride.”

He ducks under the lane dividers, then heads down the length of the pool, picking up his former rhythm in merely a few strokes.

“You should move into the next lane,” Priscilla urges. “The two of you could race.”

“Get real,” I mutter, watching him. “I’ll never be able to swim like that.” He’s already reached the far end of the lane while here I am still languishing at poolside like a beached whale. This whole losing-weight-by-swimming isn’t going to be as easy as I thought. I felt so righteous yesterday, plunking down money to buy a pass at our little town’s community pool. Money I can’t afford. Money swirling down the drain if I don’t get moving.

Brand new school year. Brand new body. Brand new me.

“Come on, Patty, I know you can do it.”

Good thing Priscilla has faith in me because suddenly I’m not so sure. Is there something wrong with me? I’m lousy when it comes to money and math. Maybe the other teachers have it all wrong, nominating me year after year. Maybe the final panel of judges knows something I don’t. Maybe I don’t deserve that award.

Do I really look that bad?

“Patty, you’ve got to stay focused. You’re so good at everything you do. Just keep your mind on that, and I know you can do this. You can’t quit now.”

Priscilla’s right. If I quit now, I’ll be nursing another heartache at this year’s award ceremony.

Maybe, if I concentrate on the three P’s—Professional, Polished, Perfect—and never let my eyes slip from the prize, maybe,
just maybe
, I’ll come out the winner.

“Okay, start counting.” With one last yank at the bottom of my suit, I slip back under the water.

# # #

Four laps later, my body refuses to go another inch, and I call it quits for the day. Every muscle—muscles I didn’t realize I had—ache as I wade up the gentle incline of the handicap ramp. Thank God school doesn’t start for another two weeks. That gives me fourteen days to get myself in gear.

Priscilla halts at the door to the shower area. “I don’t think I need to bother. I never even got in the pool.”

I reek of chlorine. “Meet you outside. Promise I won’t be long.”

“That’s what you always say. I’ll wait in the car.” Priscilla starts for the women’s locker room and I head for the shower. Our small northern Michigan summer resort community of James Bay is renowned for its beautiful beaches, but personally I’ve always thought Lake Michigan way too chilly for my tastes. And while the upper stratosphere of elite residents are wealthy enough to indulge their up-north style with vacation homes, private pools, and facilities at the James Bay Yacht Club, locals like me are lucky to have this community pool. I fling my towel on a hook, flick on the water, and soap up, welcoming the feel of the hot stinging needles hitting my body. Despite my time in the pool, I still feel grubby. I spent the afternoon at school on my knees, unpacking textbooks. Last I heard, they still haven’t hired a replacement for the other fifth-grade teacher and I’ve been doing all the prep work by myself. Hopefully the school board will get their act together and hire someone soon. I might be gunning for the grand prize, but there’s no way even Teacher of the Year can be expected to handle a class of fifty kids all by herself.

The shower room is big and wide. Cool blue tiles line the walls and there’s room enough for ten women. But whoever designed the place forgot the shower curtains. I lather bubbles on my arms and legs, and swish them across my bathing suit. I’m alone now, but that doesn’t mean some skinny little thing who wears a size four won’t waltz in here at any moment. I’m not taking a chance and showering in the nude. Bad enough being forced to share a dressing room with women like that. Showering naked in front of them with no curtain to hide behind would be the ultimate in humiliation.

It’s hard enough facing myself in the mirror every day.

If only Priscilla and I were identical twins. Either God has quite the sense of humor or our guardian angels took a vacation the day we were born. Priscilla weighed in at barely two pounds and was whisked off to the neonatal unit to be coddled by nurses who cooed over the precious baby with raven black hair and delicate features. Meanwhile, I came squalling into the world, tipping the scales at a healthy seven pounds with a hearty set of lungs and orangey-red curls. The hospital sprung me after four days while Priscilla didn’t come home for another two months. Except for the time I spent away at college, we’ve been together all these years.

Thirty years, to be exact. You’d think the two of us would be settled down by now, happily married, with families of our own. We’re settled down, all right… just me and Priscilla, rambling around together in the big old pink Victorian Mama left us—a shabby house with rotting windows, ancient plumbing and a habit of draining our joint checking account. If life’s supposed to be a journey, I’d much rather be zooming down a freshly paved highway than bumping through potholes like we’ve been doing the past couple years. Maybe I need to buy us a GPS. If I could convince Priscilla to sell the house, that GPS could steer us straight down the road to a brand new condo.

Then again, who am I kidding? Priscilla refuses to consider selling… and she’s not exactly the condo type.

Take care of your sister, Patty. She’ll never be healthy and strong like you.
Mama’s voice dances in my head.

Poor Priscilla. Allergic to everything, she’s always been a homebody. She swears she’s content working from home at her job transcribing medical reports, but I’m not buying. Being cooped up like she is with only the occasional trip to the mall or weekly visit to the grocery store would drive me nuts. Plus, with her looks, Priscilla could have her pick of any man. But how’s he supposed to find her if she stays home all the time?

And if he doesn’t find her, I’ll be doomed to living out my life in that pink monstrosity of a house we call home. I’ll never convince her to sell.

I wiggle out of my wet bathing suit and into my favorite t-shirt. It’s loose and comfortable, unlike the snug blue shorts pinching around my waist. Another summer gone, another few pounds found. Whatever possessed Priscilla to bake all those cookies? She knows better than to listen when I beg.

I jam my gear in an old school bag and head out into the empty lobby. The unmanned counter has a display of swimming goggles under glass. I crouch closer for a better look. Maybe Priscilla is right. If I plan on getting serious about this exercise routine, I should plan on getting serious about the equipment, too. Besides, how much can goggles cost? Five dollars? Ten?

“Decide to buy a pair?”

I glance up and see goggle-guy himself strolling up to the counter, gym bag in hand.

“I’m debating.” My knees creak and I try not to wince as I struggle to stand. People my age shouldn’t be this out of shape. “Payday isn’t until next week.”

He’s taller than I expected but the extra inches around his middle are no surprise. Doesn’t he realize he’d be seriously attractive if he lost some weight? Crisp white shirt and tailored pants. Brown hair, still wet from the pool, tending to curls. Dark brown moustache framing his mouth. And those warm brown eyes. A woman could get lost in those eyes.

He drops his locker key in a plastic tub on the counter. “If you’re worried about money, you could probably pick up a cheap pair at the sporting goods store downtown.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Just thought I’d mention it.” His gaze sweeps slowly across my body, then finally returns to meet my eyes. “I don’t remember seeing you around here before.”

Good God, did he just give me the once-over? I feel the hot flush shoot up my face as I struggle not to tug at my waistband. Whatever possessed me to go out in public wearing these shorts?

“I just started swimming laps,” I stammer. “Today’s my first day.”

“Sam Curtis.” He sticks out a hand. “And you’re Patty, right?”

“Patty Perreault.” The firm, smooth touch of his hand is a surprise. Do men use hand lotion? I sneak a peek at his left hand. No wedding ring. “How did you know my name?”

“Your friend.” He glances around the lobby. “Did she already leave?”

I’m not surprised he noticed. Priscilla’s looks attract men the same way hot fudge sundaes make dieters drool. Why should Sam Curtis be any different? Overweight or not, he’s still a man.

“Priscilla is my sister and she’s waiting in the car.” I tug my hand out of his. “I have to go.”

Sam grins. “Worried she’ll get mad and drive away without you?”

The thought of Priscilla leaving in a huff makes me laugh out loud. “I don’t think so. Besides, it’s my car, and I’ve got the keys.” I jingle them with a smile.

He leans one elbow against the counter. “So… you’re going to start swimming laps. Coming back tomorrow?”

Tomorrow? Ouch. Climbing out of bed is going to be torture. Every part of my body already aches, down to and including my toes. “I don’t know,” I hedge. “Maybe.”

“I’m usually here every afternoon at five. Early mornings tend to be pretty crowded. I like having a lane to myself.”

“Are you in training?” I eye him carefully. Sam doesn’t look like an Olympian, but you never know.

“Me? I’m no health nut.” He gives an easy laugh. “I just like to swim. How about you?”

“I’m not sure.”

“About what? The training part or the swimming part?”

“Both, I guess,” I surrender with a grin. “Mind if I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.” He shifts his weight against the counter.

“How many laps did you swim today?”

“Fifty.”

My heart skips a few beats. I barely managed six; I can’t imagine doing fifty.

“I’ve got a dinner meeting tonight, so I cut my workout short. Normally I average about one mile.”

“You swim a mile every day?” I think about the informational sign posted near the pool’s edge and quickly do the math. “That’s eighty laps.”

“Don’t let it scare you. It sounds harder than it is.”

“If you say so.” I hear the doubt creep in my voice. Eighty laps is a lot of swimming back and forth. Maybe I should save myself the grief and give up right now.

He studies me for a moment, like he’s weighing whether I’m serious or not. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. Don’t think about the bigger picture. Try taking it one lap at a time.”

One lap at a time
? Who does he think he’s kidding?

Sam grabs his gym bag. “I’ve got to get going or I’ll be late. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow. And by the way, in case you do decide to buy a pair…” He nods at the goggles in the display case as he starts for the door. “The pink ones get my vote. They match your bathing suit.”

I stand there with my mouth open, watching as he strides out the door. Someone—a man!—noticed this ugly pink suit? No doubt about it. I’m definitely shopping for a new one tomorrow. Damn the cost.