Nick turned back to the TV. Rebecca wrinkled her nose and pickedup a celery stick to munch on. Enough of this silliness. She forced thoughts ofSpencer Thompson out of her head.
Because she would see her tomorrow, and she intended to have hershit together by then.
Sheneededto.
Chapter Six
Mondays were busy. Always. Rebecca had come in at 5:30 that morningfor a private session with a client who preferred to get his workout in beforehe hit the office. Rebecca liked that way of thinking, understood it, didn’teven mind thatshehad to get up that early. The only time it was hard for her was when she alsohad a late appointment. Like today. The brides class was at six, so she’d behere until after seven. Nearly fourteen hours to her workday.
The good news was this: because Mondays were so busy, they flewby, and that helped her not to dwell on any sense of fatigue. She didn’t have achance to. She’d slept well, gotten in a full eight hours, so she was doing allright. A glance at the clock told her it was 5:45. Almost time for her brides.
And Spencer.
She’d done her best to keep her thoughts on other subjects allday, but Spencer had a strange talent for worming her way into Rebecca’s brain,to the point where Rebecca felt like Spencer was shadowing her all day, hangingout in the background, watching every move she made. She knew it all boileddown to nervous anticipation. Spencer had said she’d come back, but would shereally? Did she simply say she would to get Rebecca off her back, when sheactually had zero intention of showing up? Rebecca knew it was a definitepossibility. In fact, that was exactly something she herself might have done ifthe roles were reversed.
Doing her best to shove her nerves into dark corners in her brain,Rebecca popped the last section of a tangerine into her mouth just as shenoticed Mr. Shanahan settling himself into the seat of one of the recumbentbikes. He sat there and stared at the screen as if unsure what to do next.
“Hey there, Mr. S. How are you today?” Rebecca moved in front ofthe bike so he could see her. He was an elderly man of eighty-four and hadsuffered a minor stroke several weeks ago. That meant that there were timeswhen he got confused, wasn’t quite sure what to do next.
He looked up at her, his rheumy blue eyes soft, the left side ofhis face just a bit slack. “Hello, Ms. McCall. I’m okay. You?”
“Rebecca,” she said, with a smile. “Ms. McCall is my mother.”
That earned her a grin from him and a playfully dismissive wave ofhis hand.
“Can I help you with the settings on this?”
He inhaled, then blew it out in obvious frustration. “I alwaysthink I’ve got it and then I sit down and I’m completely lost.” He frowned.
“It’s okay. These things can be more complicated than necessary.First, let’s get your feet onto the pedals.” She bent down and helped him slideeach foot onto the large, black pedals and then she tightened the straps sothey wouldn’t slide off. Standing beside him, she pointed to things on thescreen. “Okay. You’re supposed to take it easy, if I remember correctly.Right?”
Mr. Shanahan grunted in apparent irritation. “I guess so.”
“Well, we don’t want you keeling over from pushing harder than youshould. That would be bad for all of us.”
That got her a chuckle.
“So we’re just going to go at a nice, easy pace.” She set the bikeat a reasonably low level of resistance, then pointed to a number at the bottomof the screen. “This is your time, so you can see how long you’ve been riding.”
With a nod, Mr. Shanahan started to pedal.
“Good?” Rebecca asked.
He nodded again. “Feels fine.”
“Terrific. Pedal away. And don’t overdo it.” She rested a hand onhis shoulder and watched as he rode.
“Thank you for helping a decrepit old man, Ms. McCall. Muchappreciated.”
“Please. You are far from decrepit.” She stepped away and backbehind him so he couldn’t see her, but she stayed and watched for severalmoments, making sure he had the hang of it, that he wasn’t off balance orpushing harder than he should. In her many years in the fitness industry, onething Rebecca had discovered was that clients—overwhelmingly male clients—oftenpretended to be fine with a move or a weight or a stretch because they didn’twant to seem weak in front of a woman. So they’d strain too hard or push toofar to keep from failing in front of her. She’d had several clients with whomshe’d had gentle discussions on the subject. The last thing she wanted wassomebody to get hurt on her watch, so she stood where she could observe Mr.Shanahan for a bit, make sure he was safe. It was her job. More than that, itwas her passion. She couldn’t imagine doing anything else.
* * *
Spencer was surprised. She could admit it. She was alsounexpectedly touched—that one was harder to accept. In her mind, Rebecca McCallwas a sort of ice queen. A hardass. Little bit of a bitch. But none of thosethings applied to the scene Spencer watched from the drinking fountain as shefilled her water bottle.
No, what she saw was Rebecca being gentle. Patient and kind. Shehelped the old man get his sneakered feet onto the bike pedals, then strappedthem in for him. Then she calmly helped him set the bike to the rightresistance, pointed out different things he might want to keep track of. Butmost surprising was how she stepped away. The old man evidently thought she wasgone, as he focused hard on what he was doing. But Rebecca wasn’t gone. She hovereda few feet behind him, arms folded across her chest, and watched. Just watched.Made sure he was doing okay.
Yeah, Spencer was surprised.
