Catching His Eye

“I’ve made cabbage rolls for dinner,” she said.

“Ah, Mom, you spoil me.”

She smiled, and the wrinkles around her eyes made it hard for him to keep his own grin in place. How could he leave her to fend for herself?

“Do you have everything you need?”

He nodded. “It’s just like it always was.”

“It’s home,” she said. “It’ll always be your home. You know that, don’t you?”

His mother hadn’t ever been a big woman, but she’d shrunk somehow over the years, so when he hugged her, the top of her head came only to his chin. He held her cautiously, afraid to squeeze too hard for fear she’d break. She’d lost too much weight. Her little arms went around his waist, and for a long moment, they rocked each other.

Scott knew without doubt that he was responsible for this woman, just as she’d been responsible for him for all his growing-up years. She wouldn’t sell the store, and she couldn’t run the store, so that left him.

Instead of being the newest ESPN sports commentator at the unheard-of age of twenty-six, he was going to be the manager of Dillon’s Market.

Nothing was fair except a fine spring day.

“ARE YOU INSANE?”

Hope shook her head. “Come on, Emily. You know you want to.”

“I do not!” She hopped off the bed and grabbed her clothes, anxious to get out of her nightgown and end this conversation.

“You do so,” Hope said, following her across the hotel room to the bathroom. “It’ll be a great adventure. And face it, girl, you need an adventure.”

“An adventure in humiliation? No, thank you.”

“Who said anything about humiliation?”

Emily couldn’t believe her friend was so dense. Actually, Hope was such a dreamer, it made sense she couldn’t see the downside of her little scheme. But Lily had both feet firmly on the ground. Sam had been the most practical person in Sheridan, and now that she’d moved, she was probably the most practical person in San Francisco, too. Zoey had some flights of fancy from time to time, but surely she could see this was a disaster waiting to happen.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Emily said. “And when I get out, I don’t want to discuss this again. Capiche?”

Hope opened her mouth, but Emily didn’t stick around to hear her argument. She went into the bathroom and locked the door behind her. Of all the nutty…

She put her fresh clothes on the counter, turned on the water in the shower, and then she blew it. She took off her nightgown and saw herself in the mirror.

Oh, God.

It wasn’t that she was hideous. It was that she was so plain. Nondescript brown hair. Eyes that were a dull shade of brown. Of course, the double chin did wonders for her face. The rest of her? Five feet four inches short and damn near one hundred and sixty. She wanted to cry.

Instead, she banished her own image from her memory and climbed into the shower. Washing occupied her mind for a while, but if she didn’t cool it she’d have no skin left. She stopped her feverish scrubbing and surrendered to the water. With closed eyes, she relaxed her shoulders, unclenched her hands.

They thought they could make her over. Transform her like Cinderella the night of the ball. But she knew better. She didn’t have what it took to be beautiful. Even if she lost all the weight and got new makeup and clothes, she’d still be plain old Emily Proctor. And Emily Proctor didn’t get to have Scott Dillon.

So why bother?

She held her breath for a moment, steadied herself with a hand on the cold wall. For the first time ever, she actually realized what she’d just said.

Why bother? If she couldn’t have Scott Dillon, why bother? Oh, God. She was the one who was insane, not her friends. What kind of a life choice was that? Wasn’t she worth bothering for? Just for being here? For being her?

No. The answer to that had been no her whole life. Because she couldn’t be as pretty as Julia, or as stylish and witty as Hope or as classy as Sam or as brilliant as Zoey, or as brave as Lily, she’d thrown in the towel on her own life.

Coward! That’s what she was. A big, yellow coward. Hiding out in the only place she’d ever lived, sneaking pieces of chocolate instead of feasting at the banquet of life.

She’d lost the game before it had begun.

So what if she’d never get Scott Dillon. If she didn’t do something about her life, she’d never be Emily Proctor. Not the Emily Proctor she was supposed to be.

At twenty-six, she had no idea who that was supposed to be. High school teacher? Yes, but that shouldn’t be all of who she was. Drama teacher? Again, that wasn’t enough. Friend. Yes. Yes, that one was very important. Daughter? Of course. But every definition she came up with was about something outside of herself.

Who was she? Right now, standing naked in the shower at the Sheridan Holiday Inn?

Tears welled only to be washed away, leaving no trace. Her fate would too, if she didn’t do something about it.

And the something closest at hand was as Hope put it, the Scott Dillon Diet, Exercise and Beauty Regimen. With emotional, physical and spiritual help from The Girlfriends.

It would mean no more French fries in the car. No more ice cream in the middle of the night. It would mean exercising, and sticking to it even when it was uncomfortable. She’d actually have to acknowledge her body, her lifestyle, her loneliness.

Something funny happened in her stomach. Fear, but not just fear. Excitement. That was it. She actually felt excited.

Maybe she couldn’t have Scott, but she could have a life. And maybe, if she learned to respect and love herself, she’d be ready to have someone else love her, too.

She turned off the shower and grabbed a towel from the rack. This was it. Her last chance to change her mind. If she told the gang she was in, they’d never let her alone about it. They were nothing if not persistent.

Stepping out onto the bath mat, she looked at the mirror, but all she saw was fog. Moving closer, she rubbed out a large clear circle. It was time to say goodbye. To all the old comforts. To the familiar pain.

She waved, and then the fog crept back and she wasn’t there anymore.

Chapter Two

The lunch bell rang, and twenty-one copies of Romeo and Juliet slammed shut at the same time. It was no use going on. Her fourth-period senior English class had already gone to lunch, even though they waited, albeit impatiently, for her to give the homework assignment and excuse them.

“Read pages eighteen through thirty, and write two pages about the relationship between the Montegues and the Capulets.”

A collective groan almost obscured the scraping of chairs as her students rushed to escape. But today Emily didn’t care. She had her own agenda.

Day four of the regimen had started out badly. Because she was a fool, she’d started her exercise program with far too much vigor, and her muscles, particularly her leg muscles, were proving her folly.

She winced as she erased the blackboard, cursing her own stupidity. Why had she ever agreed to this cockamamy scheme? It was dumb, it hurt, and she didn’t want to play anymore.

She wouldn’t tell the others, though. Not yet. There was plenty of time to disappoint her friends.

And herself.

Damn. There went a perfectly good opportunity to quit. Now she’d have to eat her salad with balsamic vinegar dressing, no oil. She’d have to drink her eight ounces of water. She’d have to keep her word.