She’d also enrolled in a meditation course. It was true that she gave up after one class (she couldn’t stand the way the teacher spoke so very, very slowly), but as she explained to Michael, the old Lyn would have forced herself to finish it, so that was definite progress.
Her battle with parking lots and panic attacks wasn’t quite over yet, but she was confident she would win. She would take a calmer, more relaxed approach to life—even if it killed her.
Lyn knocked on Kara’s door. “I need some fashion advice. Your father is useless,” she told Kara. “He just grunts. What do you think?”
Kara pushed her headphones down onto her neck and sat up on her bed. “I think unbuttoned but without the camisole. Show your ex your sexy stomach.”
Lyn unbuttoned the shirt to reveal her midriff and looked at herself in Kara’s wardrobe mirror.
“I’m too old for that, don’t you think?”
“No way. You look hot. Dad will freak.”
Lyn smiled and swung her hips.
“All right.” Michael probably wouldn’t even notice. She just wanted to please Kara really. “Thanks.”
The doorbell rang.
“Ooh! You’d better go quick before Dad punches him in the nose!” said Kara, in a tone of mild condescension, as if the affairs of Lyn and Michael could never hope to be that interesting.
Lyn met Michael in the hallway going to answer the bell, pulling rather sternly at his shirtsleeves, while Maddie ran ahead of him.
He blocked her way. “Cover your stomach, woman!”
Lyn did a netball feint and easily dodged around him.
She opened the door to reveal a rosy, double-chinned, smiley face.
“Hank?”
“Hey, Lyn!”
She peered at him. The boy from Spain was still there. He’d just been inflated like a balloon.
“I’ve packed on a few pounds as you can see.”
“Haven’t we all!” Lyn pushed open the door with one arm and rapidly buttoned up her shirt with the other.
“Not you! You look great! Wow!”
“Hank!” Michael crowed, his dimple creasing his cheek as he held out his hand. “Pleased to meet you, mate!”
In fact, thought Lyn, he sounded excessively pleased to meet him.
“Who you?” asked Maddie suspiciously, pulling at his trouser knee.
“I’m Hank, honey!”
Maddie observed him doubtfully and suddenly her face broke into a smile of delighted recognition. “Teletubby!”
“Come in!” cried Michael and Lyn simultaneously and loudly, studiously ducking their heads to avoid each other’s faces.
They entertained Hank with a barbecue on the balcony. He was pleasingly enthralled with their harbor views and Australia in general.
“This is the life!” he kept saying, as he sipped his beer and Lyn and Michael, who after all, lived the life, became expansive and smug.
After awhile, Hank’s fatness seemed to wear off, and when he laughed, Lyn could just catch a sliver of his former sexiness. It seemed unlikely however, that he would be making any more erotic appearances in her dreams. She blushed at the thought of eating mangoes in the bath with Hank, juice dripping from his double chin. “This is the life!”
Kara came down and ate lunch with them and was chatty and intelligent, asking Hank interested questions about America. She even cleared away the plates, as if it were her normal practice.
“What a charming girl!” said Hank after she’d gone back up to her room. “My teenage daughter won’t talk to me. She just sneers from her bedroom door.”
“Oh, Kara won’t talk to me either,” said Michael. “She thinks I’m an idiot.”
“Teenagers!” said Hank. “All the parenting articles say, Talk to them, listen to them! But how can you when they seem to find it physically painful to even look at you?”
“Kara walks ten paces behind me,” said Michael dolefully, refilling Hank’s glass. “She says I shouldn’t feel insulted—it’s just in case she sees somebody she knows.”
“And there’s so much to worry about! Suicides! Drugs! Boys!” continued Hank. “Those kids who go on shooting rampages. I can’t even imagine the guilt their parents must feel.”
“Oh, I don’t think Kara would shoot anybody,” said Michael worriedly.
“This year, we want to publish a sort of self-help title for teenagers,” said Hank. “Something funny. Not preachy. Speaks their language. I’ll tell you, though, we’re having a helluva job finding a good manuscript. Proves my point—nobody can talk to teenagers!”
“I’ll get us another bottle of wine,” said Lyn.
She went upstairs to Kara.
“That newsletter Cat’s been writing for you and your friends. Can I show some of them to Hank? He’s a publisher and he’s looking for an author. I think Cat could do it.”
“As if,” said Kara, dismissively.
“This could be good for Cat,” wheedled Lyn. “And I’ll let you borrow my leather jacket for Sarah’s birthday.”
Kara gave her a shrewd look. “And your new boots?”
Lyn squirmed.
“I haven’t even worn them yet myself! But O.K. Deal.”
“Don’t let Dad see it!” shrieked Kara as Lyn went back downstairs.
“Here’s something that might interest you,” she told Hank. “You can read it now, while Michael helps me with dessert.”
“Oh,” said Hank, looking disappointed. “Sure.” From the roar of laughter as she came down the stairs, he and Michael had obviously been doing some male bonding.
“Are you sure fruit and cheese are enough?” chortled Michael in the kitchen. “He probably eats pumpkin pie or, I don’t know, hotcakes. I didn’t know you liked your men so…tubby.”
Lyn shoved a piece of Brie into his mouth and a colander into his hands. “Shut up and wash the strawberries.”
“Who is the author?” asked Hank, when they went back out on the veranda. He looked thinner now he was talking in his professional voice.
“It’s my sister,” said Lyn proudly.
“Who hates self-help books,” contributed Michael.
“Well, I’d sure like to meet her while I’m here.” Hank cut himself a piece of cheese and looked fat again. “I think she could write in exactly the right sort of tone. This could be a winner.”