Worth the Weight

Published by
Mara Jacobs

Copyright 2012
Mara Jacobs

Cover design by
Kim Killion

Formatting by
www.formatting4U.com

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from the author at
[email protected]
. This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

For more information on the author and
Mara’s
works, please see
www.marajacobs.com

ISBN:
978-0-9852586-0-3

Prologue

Make no little plans; they have no magic to stir men’s blood.

Make big plans, aim high in hope and work.

~
Daniel H. Burnham

Liz
z
ie Hampton had a plan. Now she just needed the nerve to carry it out. As she drove into the Copper Country, the three-county western tip of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, she started to have second thoughts. Determined to follow through, she repeated to herself, like that little engine, “I think I can. I think I can.”

The sun shone brightly, which was not always the case in the Copper Country, even in mid-June.
She
took the blinding light as a good sign, a sort of welcoming committee. She drove through downtown Houghton, the small city that neighbored her equally small hometown of Hancock.

Some would call it quaint. Some would call it run-down. Lizzie called it home.

She
crossed the Portage Lake Lift Bridge to Hancock. The swelling of her heart surprised her, as it did every time she came back
.
She truly loved it.

She unclipped her long black hair, shook it out, then rubbed her neck and rolled her stiff shoulders. The 10-hour drive from Detroit felt like 20
.
She slipped her oldest Springsteen CD into the player. Her love affair with Bruce had begun at the tender age of 13, and he was still bringing her home 2
2
years later.

Just over the bridge separating Houghton and Hancock,
she
pulled into Bob’s Mobil, famed in the area because of its marquee. Just below the ever-increasing gas prices read a daily changing Bible verse.

What made this sign so special was that no one had ever seen Bob, or anyone on his staff, change the marquee. And people had tried…hard. There had been stakeouts commanded by drunken Michigan Tech students. Local law enforcement – who really had nothing else to do in the peaceful area at 4 a.m. – would keep an eye out. Even Lizzie herself, aided by her two best friends and a bottle of Boones Farm Tickled Pink, had given it a shot years ago.

No one had ever seen the “changing of the verse”, and it was jokingly discussed that maybe it wasn’t Bob who did the rotating, but a higher power.

Today’s verse was
“Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.”

She
sighed over that.
Guess she wasn’t in line for the earth, because she sure as hell had no intention of being meek on this visit
.

She
gassed at the pump,
then walked into the station to pay. Inside,
she
went to the coolers and pulled out a Diet Pepsi. She stood for a long time in front of the candy aisle, the glorious bright colors of red, orange and yellow wrappers invited her into their world of secret treasures.

Old habits, dark feelings, and strong yearnings waged war within
her
. God, would it always be this hard? Would she always have to rely on sheer willpower? Would the cravings ever go away?

Turning quickly away from the aisle, lest the lonesome call of the Kit Kat make her succumb, she made her way to the checkout.

“Hi Bob,”
she
said as she grabbed a
USA Today
, both Detroit papers, and the local paper,
The
Copper Ingot
, scanning its front pa
ge for her best friend Katie’s
byline. She put them all on the counter.

“Lizzie,” Bob acknowledged her presence and rang up her gas, pop and papers. Bob never said more than a grudging first name to his customers, but amazingly enough, he remembered everyone, whether they stopped by every day or once every four or five years as Lizzie did. Throw in her startling change in appearance since she’d last been in Bob’s, and his recognizing her was even more impressive.

During her ten years of obesity,
she’
d only come home three times. The imagined embarrassment at seeing high school friends had kept her from venturing too far from her parents’ place during those visits. Just to Alison and Katie’s places, occasionally to the Commodore for pizza, and to Bob’s for pop and the papers.

She hadn’t walked away from the candy aisle unscathed during those years.

As she gathered her purchases, she looked around for somewhere to get rid of her fifty-eight cents in change.
As
she
knew there would be, a canister sat next to the register. A picture of an angelic and tragic looking girl of around nine or ten, sitting in a wheelchair, adorned the converted tennis ball can
.
The only inscription read “Help Hannah” in crude, hand-written letters above the photo. Lizzie dropped the coins into the canister. She turned to close her purse, then opened her wallet and gathered out her single bills and stuffed them in as well.

“See ya, Bob,” she said, getting only a grunt in reply.

She got in her SUV and grabbed her notebook from the passenger seat. She’d written “The Plan” across the front in red marker. All her tablets were labeled in front. It made it easier to find the one she was looking for amongst the two or three she’d have in her large purse at any given time. She easily flipped to the page she sought
.
The page had a Diet Pepsi stain and was slightly curled up at the bottom edges. She’d flipped to this page often in the three months since she’d first
began her planning
.

The familiar tingling that putting a plan to paper gave her returned. She looked through the bullet points and felt a rush of accomplishment at the check marks that accompanied all but one of the items.

Secure loose ends at work.
This item was first, of course, and had taken the most time. There were several sub-heads beneath it, all completed. Still, she’d check in
with a call
at least once a day while she was gone
, plus she was always available through text, email, IM, Skype, you name it
.

Make arrangements with Robin.
Her cleaning lady was up to speed on looking after her condo while she was gone. Nothing to worry about there.

Have mail transferred to Mom & Dad’s.
A quick form dropped at the Post Office
on her way out of the city
had taken care of that.

Buy new wardrobe.
That had been tough and had given
her
hours of anxiety at the department store. She’d bought lots of work clothes in her new size, but had been content to spend her leisure time at home in her old sweats and shorts. No longer. The number of suitcases in the back of her Navigator attested to that task being checked-off.

Bruce moaned
Born To Run
as she pulled out of Bob’s parking lot and turned up the hill toward her parent’s house. Her eyes scanned the last item on the list.

The only item left unchecked.

The reason she was here.

Find, fuck and forget
Finn
Robbins
.

Chapter One

√ Call K & A about movie times

“God, I love the smell of theater popcorn, there’s nothing else like it.”

Finn
Robbins heard the female voice from behind him. He couldn’t say the same. The smell of fresh popcorn made him sick. It seemed the aroma stayed with him wherever he was, the buttery stuff burning into his nose with every breath. It was enough to make him puke.

It’
d been okay when he’d worked here years ago, but this time around it was too much. Everything was too much.

Something about the voice made him turn. Three women stood at the concession stand counter, one of the new high school kids waiting on them.
Finn
had his head buried, connecting a new Coke tank. The old
tank
had just died, spraying Coke all over his white shirt. Just another sign that
the universe
was having a good laugh at him.

He checked out the women. Mostly all he saw were
packs of
kids and couples at the theater. It was refreshing to see a group of thirty-something women together. The two he could see were striking, but in very different ways. Completely opposite in looks. The firs
t was tall and Nordic looking, and strikingly beautiful
.
A Viking princess.
The other was all soft curves, darker skin and hai
r, but still blonde. A dark Finlander and a light Finlander
, the two mainstays of the Copper Country.

There was something a little familiar about them. Maybe they came to the theaters often? He dismissed that. He’d have definitely remembered the Viking.

The woman behind the two got her order and turned, allowing
Finn
to see only a flash of long black hair ending just above a wonderfully lush butt. He tried craning his neck, but from where he stood he couldn’t get a clear view of
her
.

Those damn high school kids were too fast. They had the women’s orders done before
Finn
had a chance to get out from behind the counter and
get a proper look
. He wanted to figure out where he knew the two from, and definitely wanted to see the third.

There was something about that voice. Maybe he could catch
a glimpse of
them after the movie as they left the theater.

Lizzie couldn’t concentrate on the movie, which was unusual. She, Katie and Alison had been seeing movies at the
Mine Shaft
together since sixth grade when they were finally allowed to go without parental supervision.

One parent would drop the three girls off in downtown Hou
ght
on. They would see the movie,
then cross the street to the Big Boy for a hot fudge ice cream cake. One of the other girls’ parents would pick them up in front of the Big Boy exactly one and one-half hours after the movie was scheduled to get out. In that time, the girls would dissect the movie while plying themselves with the decadent dessert.