“Baby steps, Uncle. Baby steps.” He sidled up to the largest bell thing. “This is a kettlebell. This one weighs seventy-two-point-two pounds, also known as a two pood.”
“A what?”
“A two pood. A pood is a unit of measurement unique to kettlebells.” He pointed at the matching kettlebell beside the one he was standing in front of—his posture was loose, easy, but straight, hands at his sides, feet shoulder width apart. “Stand in front of it, like this.”
I followed his lead as he showed me how to pick it up without hurting my back, how to swing it, clean it, press it…all sorts of evil torture which left me jellied from head to toe, drenched with sweat, and feeling more alive and more accomplished than ever.
For the first time in decades, I felt like just maybe there was a future ahead of me worth seeking.
8
Liv
Work pickedup pace over the next few weeks, becoming not just busy but downright hectic. When I moved up here, I’d had the idea of being semiretired, but once I made the move, I realized that even with the nest egg from life insurance plus the sale of our home, I would still need to work. Perhaps not entirely for financial reasons, but for mental and emotional reasons, too. I needed something to do, to keep busy—to keep my mind off the loss of my husband, the worry about my daughters, and just to simply keep looking forward.
So, to that end, I accepted new clients until I was working not just full-time, but overtime. Viewing spaces to be redesigned, coming up with sketches and plans and materials, dealing with the renovations and subsequent inevitable structural and architectural issues, making sure everything went as well as things can go, talking to contractors and resolving disputes…I was barely sleeping and only managed a few brief paddles down the channel with my friends from my standup paddleboarding club, and a short hike now and then.
Two weeks passed in a blur. I was sitting on my balcony sipping coffee one Sunday morning when I realized I hadn’t seen Lucas or even spoken to him since the hike, and I felt a twinge of guilt. As well, I realized that the heavy pit in my stomach, and the ache in my chest were symptoms of missing him, things I’d been ignoring and attributing to being intensely busy.
Had I been too hard on him?
I didn’t think so. I’d only spoken the truth. If he and I were to become closer and he were to, God forbid, have another heart attack I would…honestly, I wasn’t sure I’d survive it emotionally.
But I justmissedhim. I missed his drawl and even his coarse manners and rough language. I missed his bluff bravado, which mixed so oddly with his self-deprecating humor.
I was supposed to meet a client in twenty minutes to go over some material revisions for her new kitchen, but…I didn’t want to. It was a beautiful day, warm, sunny, peaceful. I wanted to be out on the water, paddling or canoeing. I wanted to be out on a trail with Lucas.
Argh. I shouldn’t just cancel on my client, because she was in the final phases of her remodel, but she’d already changed her mind about the backsplash twice. Maybe if I rescheduled, she’d have more time to think and would end up wanting to stick with our current selection.
I dialed her number, explained that I needed to reschedule; she wasn’t thrilled, but I suggested she stop by the store and look at other options for her backsplash, and we’d reconnect on Monday to discuss what she’d decided.
That taken care of, I felt a weight lift off of my shoulders. I decided that I wanted to be out on the water more than I wanted to hike, so I changed out of work clothes and into paddling gear—skintight knee-length leggings which compressed around the cuffs, a tight sports bra, a tank top, and a zip-up jacket which also compressed around waist and wrists to keep water out in case I ended up in the water. Some grippy shoes, polarized sunglasses, and a big floppy hat to keep the sun off my neck. I loaded my board into the back of my truck and strapped it down, and headed for the pier…
By way of Lucas’s condo.
I buzzed his unit, and within a few seconds, got a buzz on the intercom in return. “Hello? Who’s it?” He sounded sleepy, groggy.
“Wake up, sleepyhead,” I sang. “Time to go paddleboarding!”
“Huh?”
“It’s Liv,” I said, laughing. “Can I come in?”
“Mmm. Yeah. C’mon up,” he grumbled, and the door buzzed and clicked.
I trotted up the steps and into the building, and then to his unit, where he was standing in the doorway, looking bleary-eyed and groggy.
And shirtless.
He had lost weight—visibly, noticeably. His shoulders were more rounded with muscle, his arms were tighter, his belly was smaller, and his face was thinner.
“Liv,” he murmured. “It’s fuckin’ early, babe.”
I laughed. “It’s nine o’clock, Lucas. I wouldn’t call that early.”
“Yeah, well, I’m retired, and I’m not working this morning, so it’s early.”
I felt a tremor in my stomach as he stretched, arms lifting over his head—his torso flattened and his arms bulged, and I got a sense of what he might look like in another few months of doing whatever he was doing.
