Family Be Mine

Hunt frowned. “There’re those people who can’t cope with the prospect of death. For me, it’s the prospect of living that’s got me stymied.”

“Well, just get out there and join the human race. If I can do it, you can! I mean, we all know how hopeless I am when it comes to remembering names and making polite small talk.”

“Let alone impolite small talk.”

Ben pointed at his friend. “See! You’re witty even when you’re not trying! My God, you could practically charm a doorknob!”

“And don’t think I haven’t.”

“So think how many more doorknobs are out there awaiting your unique talents.” Ben noticed the dog in his peripheral vision. “Besides, if what I’m saying doesn’t convince you, I’m pretty sure Fred here will.” He nodded in Fred’s direction. “Don’t look now, but I think you’ll find there’s something shiny hanging out the side of his mouth, something finlike.”

Hunt rushed over to the reflecting pool. “Holy crap, Fred!” He slapped the pamphlet he was still holding against his pants to get the dog’s attention. “That’s one of Mother’s prized koi. She’s going to kill you.” Fred bit down proudly. There was a noticeable crunch.

“Your mother would never kill an animal. She’s on the board of the Grantham animal shelter. I know because she hit me up for a large donation,” Ben said.

Hunt rubbed his mouth. “You’re right. Fred, I think you’re going to live.” He turned slowly back to Ben. “Do you think Mother would hit a recent cancer victim?”

Ben crossed his arms, looking very pleased, indeed. “With gusto. During her visit she was telling me how much she enjoyed the class on weight lifting to prevent osteoporosis.”

Hunt took off his baseball cap, and ran his hand through the thin strands. “Then the only way to get out of this…” He reluctantly looked down at the Adult School listing.

“Exactly.”

Hunt raised his eyes. “And I suppose she already has a course in mind?”

Ben scoffed. “You doubted that for a second?”

“Tell me it’s a large lecture where I can hide in the back of the room,” Hunt implored.

“I could tell you that, but…”

Hunt closed his eyes. “Okay, tell me the truth. I’m man enough to take it.”

“It’s a water aerobics class. Here, give me back the course listing, and I’ll read you the details.”

“Water aerobics?” Hunt grimaced and held out the pamphlet.

Ben flipped the pages. “Here it is. ‘Light Water Aerobics. This six-week class is designed for pregnant women, older citizens and those recovering from injuries, or those wanting a lighter, low-impact workout. Meets Wednesdays, 7:30 p.m., Grantham Middle School Swimming Pool.’” Ben closed the booklet. “See, it sounds perfect.”

Hunt frowned. “If it’s so perfect, why don’t you sign up for it?”

“Because I’m not pregnant, old—”

Hunt snorted.

“Excuse me, thirty-eight is not old. Nor am I recovering from an injury. Besides, I know from Katarina’s experience that her knee rehabbed really well in the water. I mean, what have you got to lose?”

Hunt rubbed his lips again. They were perennially chapped despite a constant application of lip balm. “I don’t know. My dignity? Besides, six weeks? That’s kind of a long commitment.”

“I’ve got news for you. Getting a dog isn’t exactly a short-term affair either—right, Fred?”

Hearing his name, the dog sat up in a way that for any other dog might be considered majestic. On Fred, it emphasized the fact that his head seemed to belong to a breed completely unrelated to the rest of his body.

Suddenly inspired, Fred jumped out of the pool and shook himself all over Hunt.

Hunt brushed the water off his pants. “This affair could be shorter than you think. I wouldn’t say he’s exactly ingratiating himself.” He bent down to grab the leash lying on the flagstones and reached for the dog’s webbed canvas collar. Not quickly enough, though.

Fred was off and running again, this time through a stand of hibiscus.

Hunt stared gloomily at the leash hanging limply in his hand. “So what do I have to do to join this class?”

“Nothing…well…practically nothing. Your mother has already enrolled you. All you need to do is show up tomorrow night, with a bathing suit and towel. How hard can that be?”

Hunt sighed as Fred moved on from rummaging through the hibiscus to trampling the fragile pale pink flowers of fall-blooming cyclamen. “Tell me, do you think Mother has any pâté in the house?”

“Why? Are you feeling peckish?” Ben asked.

“No, I’m looking for something to bribe the dog with to get him to come. And knowing Mother, she won’t have anything as mundane as liverwurst.”

Ben laughed. “I’m sure there must be some imported Brie.” Then he glanced down at his watch. “I’d stay and help, but I’m already late for picking up Matt from school. The only thing worse than seeing your mother angry is seeing my teenage son pissed off.”

“And you call yourself a friend?” Hunt teased. “Oh, all right, far be it from me to cause any family disharmony. And just to show you how cooperative I can be, I’ll make nice with Mother and attend this water-whatever class.”

“Light Water Aerobics.” Ben sidestepped to the gate. He rested his hand on the latch. “Hunt, one more thing…”

Hunt was busy weaving and bobbing, trying to out-maneuver the dog. Fred let him come to just beyond arm’s length. Hunt lunged. Fred scampered away. Hunt swore.

“Hunt?” Ben said again.

“I know, I know, tomorrow night. Seven-thirty. I’ll be there.”

Ben paused. “Do you want me to leave the course listing?”

Hunt waved him off. “Don’t bother. I think you pretty much hit the highlights.”

“If you say so,” Ben agreed. He left quickly—Hunt couldn’t help thinking—curiously relieved.

CHAPTER THREE

WEDNESDAYS WERE ALWAYS a bitch as far as Sarah was concerned. She closed her eyes and rubbed her lower back. This particular Wednesday was proving to be beyond bitchy.

She turned her head and eyed the seventy-year-old woman next to her who was adjusting the plunging neckline of her bathing suit. For someone her age, she looked fantastic. Okay, she had the usual upper arm waddle and her thighs, while toned, showed signs of cellulite. But, hey, Sarah wouldn’t mind having that body at that age. Even half her age for that matter.

Sarah looked down at her swollen belly with its spidery stretch marks. “Wanda, do you really think a bikini is the way to go?” Thirty weeks along in her pregnancy, she was exhibiting all the expected signs, like clockwork.

Talk about stretch marks. Besides her belly, pink and purple lines now etched her breasts and inner thighs. Lovely. Then there was her belly button, which had gone from being an innie to a full-blown outie.

All those women who positively glowed in pregnancy? Not Sarah. Her cheeks might be flushed, but pimples had a way of erupting daily on her chin and the tip of her nose. She had found this incredibly expensive “nighttime eruption solution” that seemed to help. A little.