Worth the Weight (9 page)

When he did call the following Monday, it wasn’t with explanations or apologies, just an invitation for her to join him Saturday at his strawberry farm. They agreed on late afternoon and he said he’d do something on the grill for dinner.

“This is it, I can feel it,” she told her friends. “Dinner at his place, it’s going to happen Saturday.”

“What about the son? How does he play into all this?” Katie asked.

She’d
thought about that of course, wondered if the son would impede her plan. But
Finn
’s asking her to his place could only mean one thing. And she was certain he wouldn’t want his son
around for that. “Maybe the mom has him most of the time. Or maybe she has him on the weekends and
Finn
has him during the week.” She shrugged and pulled her tablet from her bag. “I don’t know, but I’m sure he won’t be in the picture Saturday night.” She flipped the pages until she came to the checklist she’d
started
when
Finn
had called. “I scheduled manicure and pedicure appointments already. Is there any place around here I can get a bikini wax?”

She spent her time until Saturday hanging out with her mom and dad, who were still waiting by the phone for word to come about Zeke’s squadron arriving.

Afternoons were spent at Alison’s place trying to get more sun on her Michigan winter-white body. “I know it doesn’t cover up the stretch marks, but they don’t seem to glow as much when they’re tan.”

“Oh, Lizard, they’re not that bad,” was Alison’s weak reply.

“You’d think that when you lost weight the stretch marks you got when you gained weight would go away, like it was reducing itself or something. Some kind of karmic reward. But nooooo, I get them when I gain and I get them when I lose. It’s a double dose.”

Her office was running smoothly, with the exception of one of her clients being pulled over and being charged with a DUI. At Lizzie’s insistence that she fly back to Detroit to handle it, she was met with a strong refusal from the account executive who handled the client.

“
I’ve got it under control. I need to handle this so that LeVar and my other clients know they’re in good hands with me.”

“Okay, James, you’re right, it’s your show to run. Just remember, the public will forgive a sinner as long as he admits he sinned. I have a file of already prepared statements for something like this. Cybil knows where it is if you need help with it.
”

“Oh that’s right. The file of prepared statements for events you have no idea are going to happen?” James teased.

“Don’t laugh, you’re using it now, aren’t you?”

James laughed. “You got me there.”

James had worked for her from the start and was just as good at the nuts and the bolts of the business as
she
was. Her forte was, as it always had been, just plain being nice. She had a winning way with people and when she decided to woo a client, it was really no harder than shooting fish in a barrel.

In fields such as politics and professional athletics, filled with barracudas and back-stabbers,
her
genuine congeniality was a breath of fresh air. Besides,
she’d
always been a firm believer that you ca
ught
more flies with honey than vinegar.

The next day, when she read the write up in the
papers
and online,
and saw the coverage on
Sports Center
,
Lizzie couldn’t have been more proud of James and how he’d handled the situation. LeVar had come forward, admitting his mistake and enrolling himself in an alcohol abuse program. The public felt his sincerity and proactive responsibility were admirable.
As much as they could with this type of story becoming way too frequent.

Only Lizzie and James knew what a pain in the ass LeVar was and how he’d bellowed for hours that he wasn’t going into any “
fucking
twelve-step
pussy
program.” James did the math for him of the dollars he’d lose if the Lions didn’t re-sign him when his contract was up in a year. Or the salary lost from game suspensions by the NFL if he didn’t voluntarily seek some kind of treatment. LeVar reluctantly conceded to James’ plan of action. Lizzie sent a box of cigars to James at the office with a note telling him how well he had done and how proud Hampton PR was to call him one of their own.

After playing
a long game of
voice mail
tag, Petey Ryan finally got a hold of her. As she’d expected, he spent the first ten minutes of their conversation talking about evil triumphing over good when his Red Wings went down to the Avalanche in the Western Conference finals of the Stanley Cup playoffs.

“And then
, to totally piss me off? T
hey go on and win the fucking cup.”

“I’m sure that’s why they did it, Petey, just to piss you off.” She could almost see him in his plush living room in Bloomfield Hills, which
she’d
helped decorate. He’d be pacing back and forth, phone in one hand, a Styrofoam cup in the other which he’d use as a spittoon for the tobacco he was undoubtedly chewing.

“Fucking A they did! Hey Lizard, what are you doing in da Yoop?”

“Just a little R & R.”

“You don’t take R & R.”

“I do now.”

“All sorts of changes in you, hey Lizard?
Hot n
ew bod, long hair, new lazy-ass attitude.”

Petey could always crack her up. She was so glad they had remained friends after they’d dated
for a short time
in high school. He was probably her best friend in Detroit.
She
loved being in his company, he was like a favorite pair of sweats that you’d put on the second you walked in the door at the end of the day. It was almost like having Zeke close by, he and Petey were so much alike. She missed
him
when he wasn’t around. Being on the road so much during the season, and spending his off-season in the Copper Country, most of their conversations took place on the phone. “I do not have a lazy-ass bone in my new bod and you know it.”

“God, I love yanking your chain, Lizard, it’s so damn easy.” His voice became faint at the end and
she
knew he was turning his head to make use of the spittoon. At least he turned his head, and didn’t spit right into the phone. Chewing tobacco was a dirty, disgusting and tremendously unhealthy habit, but
many of the
Yooper guy
s
she knew, and lots of other hockey players, indulged. Petey’s voice returned. “Hey, Zeke back yet? Thought maybe I’d fly to Jax before I headed up there.”

“Not yet. My parents are waiting by the phone. They’re going to fly down as soon as they have a hard date. They expect the carrier back to Virginia within the next three weeks, but the squadron usually flies off and back to Jacksonville a week or so before that. At least that’s what happened the last couple of floats.”

“Oh, well as long as your parents are going to be there. I just wanted to make sure someone would be there for him when they come in.” Although on other sides of the bridge during high school, Zeke and Petey
had
formed a deep friendship when they both attended Tech, Petey to play hockey and Zeke to get his engineering degree before he joined the navy to become a jet pilot.

“I think he’d probably prefer for you to be waiting for him. It would be a whole different kind of welcome home party with you than with my parents.” She could hear his laugh on the other end.
She’d
been with Petey and Zeke out on the town
many times
. The combination of two good looking, rugged men, one a professional hockey player and the other a jet pilot, sent Lizzie scurrying from the elbows that were thrown her way as women tried to get near them.

Babe magnets. Total babe magnets.

Petey grunted on the other end of the line. “That’s for sure...a whole different kind of party. Maybe I’ll wait and take a detour to Jax when I leave the Yoop and head back for training camp.”

“When are you headed up?”

“In a couple of weeks. Remembe
,
I’ve got that thing at the Joe with the team next week.”

It was
n’t
an event
her
firm had
orgainzed, so it was lower on her radar
. “Oh right. Well, I can’t wait for you to get up here, it’s not the same without your foul mouth giving Katie apoplexy.” Katie hated profanity, a fact that led both Petey and Alison to use it as much as possible in her presence.

“Ha ha, very fucking funny. Just have the sauna hot and the beer cold.”

“Always, Petey, always.”

Chapter Six

√ Get bikini wax

√ Get ingredients for cookies

√ Send cigars to James

Lizzie pulled her SUV into the driveway of
Finn
’s farm. The picking was done for the day and the fields behind the house were empty. In fact, the whole place looked empty.
She
knew that
Finn
, his son and his grandmother lived here, but there was almost an eerie feeling of desertion.

The house had definitely seen better days. It was an old two-story farmhouse complete with a veranda that wrapped around three sides. Lizzie was surprised to see that what would have been a wide entrance for steps leading up to the porch was replaced by a wooden ramp. Was the grandmother now in a wheelchair?

The house’s white paint was peeling and a couple of the black shutters had come off their hinges, but you could see it had been a magnificent building in its prime. It really wouldn’t take much to restore it. She wondered why
Finn
had let it go? She knew he wasn’t the lazy sort. He’d spent hours working with hi
s horses when they’d dated,
then would work at the
Mine Shaft
in the evenings.

The horses.

Her eyes swung to the right, to the barn, and saw more neglect. Yes, that’s what it was…the entire place looked neglected.

Only the trailer, to the left of the main house, refuted the idea that the farm had been deserted.
His
grandmother must be living there.
Or maybe they had a boarder?
Though the paint was also peeling, the trailer had a homey look to it. There were window boxes full of blooming petunias in glorious purples, pinks and reds. White and pink alyssum lined the entire perimeter.

The fields, at least, had the appearance of hard work and attention. The strawberry plants looked healthy and plentiful, even from where Lizzie stood. There were two strawberry fields behind the house, separated by the area
Finn
must have used to train and work with his horses. Wooden gates linked three separate corrals, the final gate leading beyond the fields and to the woods. Overgrown trails led off in several different directions. There were two more strawberry fields on the other side of the road on land also owned by the Robbins family. One was as thriving as the two others, but the fourth lay fallow.

Finn
had gotten rid of his horses, a
n occurrence Lizzie could hard
ly believe. His home showed an overall neglect. He’d taken the job at the theater six months ago. Something had happened here. Things were not quite right.

A movement at the front of the first field caught her eye. Someone who’d been crouched low now stood. He had his back to her, but
she
was able to tell who it was. The son. She hadn’t planned on that.

She’d assumed
they’d be alone tonight.
But thinking about it, it did seem
unrealistic. What was
Finn
supposed to do, send a seventy-year-old woman and a teen-age boy out on a Saturday night with a “don’t come back till morning” warning? Or maybe they had set up a signal? If there’s a quart of strawberries hanging on the doorknob, don’t come in?

She
smiled to herself as she imagined an overflowing quart of berries with a piece of old yellow yarn tied to two sides, hanging like a pendulum from a rust-tinged doorknob.

She
reached inside her SUV to the passenger seat and grabbed her purse, a bottle of wine and a container full of her world-famous chocolate chip cookies. She didn’t make them much anymore, she wouldn’t allow it, but she’d wanted to bring something for her dinner contribution besides the wine.

When she’d measured her tummy this morning she’d been pleased, so she figured, what the hell, and went to the kitchen with zeal. Of course, after eating the equivalent of
a
dozen cookies in dough, her good feelings about her body drained out as quickly as she drained the huge glass of milk that accompanied her indulgence.

After that, the skin tight knit top and short shorts she’d planned to wear were sent skulking to the back of the closet, as if it were their fault Lizzie couldn’t control herself around chocolate chip cookie dough. Instead, she chose a loose, French blue three-quarter sleeve, buttoned blouse and a khaki skirt that fell to her knees and had buttons its entire length.