His Kind of Perfection

Josh dropped his hands to rest on his hips. “Just calling it like I see it. Anyway, however you spend your weekend, I’d love to cover for you. Anytime you need me, just holler.”

They said their goodbyes but left the specifics hanging since Kale had no definite plans. He waved until the boy was out of sight, and then changed into his reflective clothes and took off for his nightly jog.

He’d started by walking around the parking lot for five minutes and had added an additional five each week until he’d gotten up to forty-five minutes. At that point, he’d decided he’d rather drop dead from exertion than boredom and began to jog. Sometimes it was difficult to tell the difference in his heavy gait. But, at the beginning of October, he’d finally ventured out to the highway and had fixed a goal in his mind of someday jogging all the way to his friend Beecher’s marina at Taylor’s Grove—a nine-mile trek.

But tonight the goal in miles didn’t seem important. The star he was reaching for took on the familiar shape of Addy. He would walk, jog—hell, he’d all-out run, he was so committed to doing whatever it took to get into the shape he needed to be to win her back.

He clocked his distance with his phone, making it a full mile-and-three-eighths—his personal best—before slowing to a walk and turning back for home.

Almost a mile-and-a-half and getting a visit from Addy all on the same day? He felt lighter indeed as a bubble of hope swelled in his chest.

An hour later, his celebration was complete with a cold beer in one hand and one of Mama G’s pizzas in the other.

How Mama G kept her pizzas so hot over the miles of delivery in this rural area of Kentucky amazed him. He dropped the box on the table as he passed and blew on his burning fingers. He grabbed a plate from his cupboard and filled it with three pieces of Mama G’s Special—hamburger, pepperoni, Canadian bacon and green pepper.

When he flipped the carton closed to keep the pizza warm, the bright yellow paper taped to the top caught his eye. Not the usual list of coupons from Benton merchants, this one heralded GRAND OPENING SPECIAL AT BENTON FITNESS across the top, and beneath that a photo of two sickeningly gorgeous people dressed in full workout regalia. The man’s sculpted biceps bulged under the weight of the barbell he gripped in front of his chest while the woman pumped large hand weights with perfect form and, well, perfect everything, as far as he could see.

Kale’s gaze lingered a moment longer on the woman before drifting down to the caption. Manager/Personal Trainer Gilbert Rice and Personal Trainer Brianna Rice are ready to help you become what you’ve always dreamed of being.

Kale affected the voice of Saturday Night Live’s bodybuilding characters, Hanz and Franz. “Gilbert and Brianna Rice. ‘We want to pump—” he clapped “—you up.’” He snorted at his joke.

His gaze drifted back to the photo of the perfect people who enjoyed, he was sure, a perfect marriage. How did people like them find a spouse? No ordinary person would be good enough. Maybe somewhere out there was a special dating service that specialized in uniting perfect people. He could see it now—Your Perfect Match.

Well, one thing was certain—that these two found each other was a good thing. That way, they didn’t mess up two other imperfect people’s lives.

He ripped the paper from the box and looked over the different types of memberships. The prices were reasonable and the gym had flexible hours. He bit into the pizza, which had finally cooled enough to eat.

With cold weather scheduled to arrive soon, a gym membership might not be a bad idea, and adding weight training to his workouts would speed up the entire “getting in shape” process.

Kale set the pizza box in the refrigerator, not as hungry as he’d originally thought. He’d finish it tomorrow for lunch instead of eating the entire thing tonight.

Juggling the plate, two beers and the TV remote, he finally settled on the couch for a couple of hours of football—something he and Addy had always enjoyed together.

Hell, combining jogging with weight lifting, he might get shaped up in no time.

Addy might be warming his bed again before Christmas.

* * *

THE LEAVES OF the white ash tree were on the ground now. The sight sent a pang through Stella. Oh, the oaks were still hanging full, but even they had started to loosen their grip. Two or three more weeks of mowing and all of the leaves would be mulched for the winter.

And then what would become of Ray Cyree?

She knew it was silly to fret about the man. He was at least sixty years old, she’d determined from bits of conversation. Certainly old enough to take care of himself. But he had so little to show for all his years—a plywood box sitting atop an old pickup with a bed taking up most of the space and everything else he owned crammed into storage boxes piled from floor to ceiling.

She shuddered, remembering the “tour” he’d given her last week of his strange home. She hadn’t actually gone in—she didn’t need to. The glance he’d allowed had filled her brain with enough sights to haunt her ever since.

He’d opened the front door and let her sit for a moment in the driver’s seat. The passenger’s seat had been removed, replaced by a short plastic unit with drawers like she’d seen in discount stores. A built-in twin bed took up most of the space, made up with a set of threadbare, but clean sheets. He’d pointed out his kitchen, which consisted of a cooler, a hot plate and built-in shelves filled with every kind of canned soup imaginable.

“I buy a bag of ice every day, and I have a small gas-powered generator when I need heat or electricity to cook,” he’d told her, pointing proudly to his “amenities.”

She’d tried to hide her dismay at his living conditions, but he must’ve seen through her. “I’m a simple man, Ms. Stella. I have everything I need, and most of what I want.”

Perhaps it was that comment that affected her most.

She shifted her gaze from the falling leaves outside to the spacious kitchen she stood in. A 3,500-square-foot house seemed obscene for one person to occupy, and for the fifty-millionth time since Isaiah’s abrupt departure, she wondered if she should downsize.

The thought of leaving her home with its comforts, but most of all its memories, made her heart ache. But the thought of having so much when so many others had so little was a double-edged sword.

“Stop your brooding, Stella,” she admonished herself aloud.

A soft rap on the back door startled her out of her reverie. When she opened it, she was surprised and delighted to meet Ray Cyree’s snaggle-toothed smile.

“Morning, Ms. Stella.”

“Good morning, Ray. You’re a day early. Today’s Wednesday.”

In the four months since they’d met at the park, Ray had become a good friend. She still didn’t know too much about him as he was tight-lipped when it came to talking about his history. A haunted look came into his eyes whenever the subject of wife or children came up, and he would shrug it off. But he could talk endlessly about his travels, and he was punctual to a fault, and for that reason alone, he’d earned her trust.

He pulled a small bouquet of zinnias from behind his back and thrust them awkwardly toward her. “I brought these for you.”

It was Stella’s turn to feel awkward, and she hurried to cover it. “Why, thank you, Ray. They’re beautiful.” She accepted them, but a flicker of worry flared in her mind. She hoped he hadn’t cut them from Sue Marsden’s yard. Sue had a hissy fit if anyone touched her flowers.

Ray’s grin softened. “I finished the concrete work on the church steps yesterday, so the pastor and his wife invited me for breakfast this morning. When I mentioned how beautiful her flowers still were, Ms. O’Malley cut these for me. I thought I’d pass them on to you.” He shrugged. “Just a small way of saying thanks for all you’ve done to help me.”

“Why, that’s very kind of you.” She buried her nose in the flowers, finding only a faint scent lingered.

Ray gave another of his signature one-shouldered shrugs. “Ms. O’Malley should get the credit.”

“Faith and Sawyer O’Malley are dear to my heart.” She gave him a conspiratorial wink. “Did you know we may be in-laws someday?”

“So I hear. Ms. O’Malley mentioned your son and her daughter...?” Ray had held up first one finger for Gil and then added another for Thea. He wiggled them together and crossed them as his tone died away.

Stella smiled and crossed her own fingers. “Yes. We hope.” Aware they had been standing in the doorway for a while, Stella gestured behind her to the kitchen. “Won’t you come in for a cup of coffee?”

“No, ma’am.” Ray nodded toward the garage. “I was wondering if it would be okay if I mowed today instead of tomorrow.”

“Oh, sure. I’m leaving soon for Benton. That new gym where my children are working has its grand opening today. But you know where everything is, and I trust you to lock up when you finish...like always.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Ray bobbed his head. “I’m sorry to switch days, but Ollie Perkins needs some changes made to his house—accommodations for his blindness and whatnot—and Pastor O’Malley recommended me for the job.”

“That’s wonderful. You’re making a name for yourself in Taylor’s Grove.”

Ray shrugged. “Just trying to eke out a living, you know?”

Stella nodded. “Yeah, I know.”

“Well, once I get started on the rewiring at Ollie’s house, I won’t want to stop in the middle. So I thought I’d get your yard done today, and start on his work tomorrow.”