“I was going to get you on the treadmill but you can have a breather.” He flipped a page on his clipboard. “Instead we’ll take your baseline stats so we can monitor your progress in the coming weeks. Let’s head over to the scales.”
“Scales?” Renita’s courage flagged again. “You mean…?”
“We measure your weight,” he said matter-of-factly. “And your height. Also bust, waist and hip circumference. Calf, upper arm, thigh…”
She stopped listening. The mortification she’d experienced in high school was nothing compared to the horror of standing on the scales with Brett O’Connor recording her weight.
Her air sole running shoes felt as heavy as moon boots as she followed him out of the cardio room and over to the upright tape measure in the open space next to the refreshment area. The girl with the blond ponytail glanced up from her books again. Great, now Renita had an audience of two.
Brett measured her height first. No problem there. She was five foot six. He confirmed it and wrote the number in his loopy scrawl on her sheet.
Renita knew what was coming next and could feel her face growing hot. She prayed for some emergency, like a fire in the building or an earthquake.
“Hop on the scales. Don’t be shy,” Brett said, either unaware of her embarrassment or ignoring it. “Everyone goes through the process.”
Not even she knew exactly how much she weighed, or the circumference of her waist.
The phone rang in reception. Brett disregarded it, waiting for her to get on the scales.
“Shouldn’t you get that, Dad?” the schoolgirl said when the phone kept ringing.
Finally he noticed the empty desk. “Hang on, I’ll be back in a minute,” he said to Renita. Setting the clipboard on top of a filing cabinet, he walked off.
Renita released her breath. She wiped away the perspiration trickling down her temple.
“I’ll finish measuring you,” the girl said, getting up.
“That’s nice of you.”
“Not really. As soon as he’s done with you he can take me home.” The girl’s eyes were the same deep blue as Brett’s. Her fresh young skin was dusted with powder and blush, and her lips were shiny with pink gloss.
“You called him Dad,” Renita said. “Are you Tegan?”
“How do you know my name?”
“Brett told me about you yesterday when he came to my bank for a loan. I’m Renita.”
Tegan glanced toward reception. “He could come back any minute.”
“Right.” Renita stepped on the scales. She forced herself to look at the digital readout. It was worse than she thought.
“Guys are clueless sometimes,” Tegan said, busily writing. “Even my dad.” She picked up a tape measure and, motioning for Renita to lift her arms, stood on tiptoes to slide it around her bust. Again she noted the number. When Tegan moved to measure her waist, Renita sucked in her stomach.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the teen said. “It’ll just take longer before you show a loss. Anyway, once the measurements are entered on the sheet he doesn’t look at them.”
“Are you certain?”
“Positive,” Tegan assured her. “Not even for the real hotties.”
“Thanks,” Renita replied drily. But she relaxed, even adding a little extra girth by pushing out her stomach.
Tegan glanced up. “Cheater.”
Renita laughed sheepishly and glanced over to reception. Brett was writing something down. “It looks as if he’s winding up the call.”
“We’re almost done.” Tegan took the last few measurements. “What were you guys talking about?”
“When do you mean?” Renita said, confused as to why the girl was asking.
“After your situps,” Tegan explained as she entered the last numbers on the sheet. “I just wondered, because he jokes around a lot, but he doesn’t usually have conversations with his clients.”
“He was just giving me a pep talk.” Renita changed the subject. “What homework are you doing?”
“Math.” Tegan made a face. “I suck at it so bad.”
“Just like your father.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ll have to ask him.” Renita nodded at the sheet of measurements and smiled. “Thanks, Tegan. We girls have to stick together.”
The teen held up her hands. “I only helped you because I want my dad to finish quickly.”
“I didn’t mean anything by it,” Renita said, surprised by the undercurrent of antagonism. “Is there a problem?”
“Women are always trying to get to my dad by cozying up to me. I’m sick of it.”
“I’m not interested in your father,” Renita protested.
Tegan’s wry expression was cynical beyond her years. “That’s what they all say.”
AFTER DINNER BRETT SET UP his laptop in the breakfast nook. At the other end of the table, the Beginners Book for Sailors was held open to a page on knot tying by strands of soft white rope Tegan was supposed to be using to practice.
Instead she was Wii dancing in the adjacent family room, gyrating her narrow hips in time to pop music as she followed the movements of the figure on the TV screen.
“Tegan, have you studied your knots for this week’s lesson?”
“Not yet. Can you do them with me?”
“After I finish this.” Brett opened a new spreadsheet and labeled the first column Item. Beneath that he typed in “Exercise Bike.” Then he started a new column, Unit Cost, and plugged in “$5,995.” Quantity “6.” Punching the numbers into his calculator, he came up with a figure that he entered into the column labeled Total Cost.
He sat back and frowned. It wasn’t the total cost. That wouldn’t come until he’d added up all the rows with their individual items. He scrolled back to Unit Cost and changed it to Unit Price, then altered Total Cost to just plain Cost.
Tegan missed a step and the dance game ended. As the next program loaded she wandered over to the table and leaned against his shoulder to peer at his laptop. “Whatcha doing?”
“Costing out new gym equipment.” He typed in “Elliptical Cross Trainer,” Unit Price “$8,795,” Quantity “6.” He calculated, then double-checked. This time Renita wouldn’t catch him out on a single mistake. “How are the sailing lessons going?”
“I get all wet and the salt spray wrecks my hair.”
“You’re lucky. I never had the opportunity to take sailing lessons when I was a kid.”
Tegan picked up the ropes and studied the diagram, making a halfhearted attempt to work a bowline before tossing the rope aside. “I have a partner for the sailing dinghy. Her name’s Amy.”
“Is Amy a friend at school?”
“She’s in my grade.” Sighing heavily, Tegan tried the knot again. “Who was that woman you were training today at the gym? Renita someone.”
Brett glanced up. “Renita Thatcher, the loans manager at the bank.”
Tegan planted her elbows on the table to undo the knot. “Do you like her?”
“Sure, I like her. I like everyone.” Brett consulted the equipment catalog for the StairMasters and entered