907 For Keeps Way (Cherry Falls)

Most days, anyway.

“All kidding aside,” Haley says, “tell me that you’re doing this for the right reason and not …”

“Derrick.” I spit his name out like the poison he is. “No. I’m not doing this because my husband left me for a younger woman. Why would you think that?”

“Kay …”

Haley’s voice is soft and kind, full of empathy for a woman scorned. I get it, but I hate it too.

“I’m not doing this for him or because of him,” I say, unable to bring myself to say Derrick’s name again. “I’m doing this for Anna. For me.”

“Okay. That’s what I wanted to hear.”

I wish I had another Snickers bar.

“I’m … tired of this,” I tell Haley.

“I know.”

“No, you don’t. You’re still young and in love and pretty and—”

“I’m not going to sit here and listen to you put yourself down. I’m not.”

I sigh. “I just … I want to feel like me again. Except I don’t know who me is anymore.”

And that’s the truth. Because somehow, sometime, I lost myself. He took more than his bags and belongings the day he walked out. The day he decided that I wasn’t the version of the woman he deserved.

Somehow, he took some of my self-worth too. My courage. My faith.

And I want that back.

The line gets quiet. What do you say after that? I pick a piece of lint off my wrinkled Cowboys T-shirt and wish I was somewhere else—anywhere else.

“I better go,” I say finally. “I have two minutes before my trainer will be looking for me.”

“Who is your trainer?”

I shrug. “Don’t know. The link I clicked on when I signed up was for a women’s fit course or something. I don’t even know who the trainers are here. There were two women on the ad—a blonde and a brunette.”

“I hope you get … crap. I can’t remember her name. She comes into Fireside sometimes and orders a seltzer. She’s adorable. You’d love her.”

“Wanna bet I don’t get her? I’ll get some former marine chick who thinks I want to be G.I. Jane.” I fake cry. “I just wanna be a less chubby Care Bear!”

Haley bursts out laughing. “Stop it, you goof.”

I laugh too. “Okay. I really do have to go, or that’ll be ten more push-ups or something terrible.”

“Call me when this is over. I want to know how it went.”

I grab my bag filled with various items I think a person would take to the gym and sling it over my shoulder. “You just want to revel in my misery.”

“Maybe.”

We chuckle at the same time.

I open the car door. The air is warm, almost uncomfortably so, and I wonder vaguely if it’s a sign that I’m close to hell.

“I’ll call you later. Bye,” I say.

“Bye, Kaylee.”

I end the call and then slip my phone into my bag.

The doors are glass and heavy. It feels like yet another sign from above that this place is not for me. Still, I put one sneaker-clad foot in front of the other, ignore the bile creeping up my throat and the way the workout pants I bought off Amazon slip into my butt crack, and approach the desk.

“Hi,” I say.

I’m greeted with a smile as warm as the towels the girl at the front desk is folding. “Hi! What can I do for you today?”

“I’m Kaylee Richards. I signed up online for the women’s fit … thing.” I shove a lock of hair behind one ear. “I picked today for my first personal training session.”

She snaps her gum and sets a towel down. “Okay. Let me check.” She moves to a computer and clicks around, humming the song that plays overhead. I’ve heard it before—it’s something Anna listens to, but I don’t know it well enough to hum it. “What did you say your name was?”

“Kaylee Richards.”

“Got it.” She snaps her gum again. “I’m Brittni, by the way.”

She’s pint-sized, blonde, and is supremely gorgeous. Of course her name is Brittni … with an i, according to her name tag.

Watching Brittni ups my anxiety, so I look around instead. Behind her is a cooler with water, Gatorade, and some kind of milk. It sits next to a doorway that appears to be a laundry room.

There are cute bar-like tables and stools on the right. A couple of benches have been set up to my left with a few pairs of shoes scattered underneath them. A sign instructing people not to wear their outside shoes inside the gym hangs prominently behind the bench.

“Okay, so, Kaylee, it looks like you aren’t on the schedule today.”

What? My cheeks burn.

“Really? Okay. That’s fine. Maybe I misunderstood.” My palms get sweaty. “I just picked today’s date on the form last week and assumed … You know what? I’m sorry. I’ll, um, I’ll call tomorrow and see about rescheduling or something.” Or not.