“You’ll be all alone.”
“Alone isn’t such a bad thing,” Meg told them.
“At forty it is,” Lindsey said dramatically. “I’ll worry myself sick about you,” she continued.
“She will,” Brenda confirmed, nodding twice.
Meg figured it was a good thing she was sitting down.
“Tell me, Mother,” Lindsey said, “what would it hurt to start dating again?”
“Honey, has it ever occurred to you that I’m happy just the way I am?”
“No,” Lindsey returned. “You aren’t happy. You’re letting life pass you by. It’s time to take action. I don’t know what went wrong between you and Dad, but whatever it was must’ve been traumatic. You haven’t had a relationship since—have you?”
Meg didn’t answer that question, but wanted to reassure Lindsey about the break-up of her marriage. “It was a friendly divorce.” In fact, Meg got along better with Dave now than she had when they were married.
Brenda shook her head. “There’s no such thing as a friendly divorce. My dad’s an attorney and he should know.”
“I don’t want to talk about the divorce,” Meg said in her sternest voice. “It happened a long time ago and bringing it up now isn’t going to help anyone.”
“It might help you,” Lindsey said, her eyes intense, “but I can understand why you don’t want to talk about it. Don’t worry,” she said, and a bright smile transformed her face, “because you’re going to get all the help you need from Brenda and me.”
“That’s what I was afraid of.” Meg stood up and moved toward the door.
“Your diet starts tomorrow,” Lindsey called after her.
“And your exercise regime,” Brenda added. “You haven’t got a thing to worry about, Mrs. Remington. We’re going to find you a man before you know it.”
Meg closed her eyes. If thirty-seven was so young, why didn’t she have the energy to stand up to these two? She wasn’t going on any diet, nor did she have time for exercising.
As for having Lindsey as a wardrobe consultant … That was ridiculous, and Meg intended to tell her daughter and Brenda exactly that.
First thing in the morning.
Meg soon learned exactly how serious Lindsey and Brenda were about finding her a husband. She woke Saturday morning to the sound of a workout DVD playing loudly on the television in her bedroom.
She lay facedown, awakened from a pleasant dream about a sunny beach. Her arm hung over the side of the bed, her fingertips dangling an inch or so above the carpet.
“You ready, Mrs. Remington?” Brenda called from the doorway.
She tried to ignore the girl, but that didn’t work.
“You ready?” Brenda called a second time. She seemed to be jogging in place. “Don’t worry, we’ll go nice and slow in the beginning.”
“I’m not doing anything without speaking to my attorney first,” Meg muttered. She stuck out her arm and searched blindly for the phone.
“Forget it, Mom. That isn’t going to work.” Lindsey walked into the bedroom and set a coffee mug on the nightstand.
“Bless you, my child,” Meg said. “Ah, coffee.” She’d struggled into a sitting position before she realized caffeine had nothing to do with whatever Lindsey had brought her. “What is this?” she barked.
“It’s a protein supplement. The lady at the health food store recommends it for toning skin in women over thirty.”
“Are you sure you’re supposed to drink it?” Meg asked.
Lindsey and Brenda looked at each other blankly.
“I’d better check the instructions again,” Lindsey said and carried it away.
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Remington, we’ll have you whipped into shape in no time.”
“Coffee,” she pleaded. She couldn’t be expected to do anything, let alone exercise, without caffeine.
“You can have your coffee,” Brenda promised her, “but first … “
Meg didn’t bother to listen to the rest. She slithered back under the covers and pulled a pillow over her head. Although it did block out some of the noise, she had no trouble hearing the girls. They weren’t accepting defeat lightly. They launched into a lively discussion about the pros and cons of allowing Meg to drink coffee. She had news for these two dictators. Let either one of them try to stand between her and her first cup of coffee.
The conversation moved to the topic of the divorce; Brenda apparently believed Meg had suffered psychological damage that had prevented her from pursuing another relationship.
It was all Meg could do not to shove the pillow aside and put in her two cents’ worth. What she should’ve done was order them out of the bedroom, but she was actually curious to hear what they had to say.
Her divorce hadn’t been as bad as all that. She and Dave had made the mistake of marrying far too young. Meg had been twenty-two when she’d had Lindsey, and Dave was fresh out of college. In the five years of their marriage there hadn’t been any ugly fights or bitter disagreements. Maybe it would’ve helped if there had been.
By the time Lindsey was four, Dave had decided he didn’t love Meg anymore and wanted a divorce. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but it did—and it hurt. Meg suspected he’d found someone else.
She was right.
For a long time after the divorce was final, Meg tried to convince herself that her failed marriage didn’t matter. She and her husband had parted on friendly terms. For Lindsey’s sake, Meg had made sure they maintained an amicable relationship.
Dave had hurt her, though, and Meg had denied that pain for too long. Eventually she’d recovered. It was over now, and she was perfectly content with her life.
She’d started working at Book Ends, an independent bookstore, and then, with a loan from her parents she’d managed to buy it.
Between the bookstore and a fifteen-year-old daughter, Meg had little time for seeking out new relationships. The first few years after the divorce she’d had a number of opportunities to get involved with other men. She hadn’t. At the time, Meg simply wasn’t interested, and as the years went on, she’d stopped thinking about it.
“Mother, would you please get out of this bed,” Lindsey said, standing over her. Then in enticing tones, she murmured, “I have coffee.”
“You tricked me before.”
“This one’s real coffee. The other stuff, well, I apologize about that. I guess I misunderstood the lady at the health food store. You were right. According to the directions, you’re supposed to use it in the bath, not drink it. Sorry about that.”
Meg could see it wasn’t going to do the least bit of good to hide her face under a pillow. “I can’t buy my way out of this?” she asked.
“Nope.”
“You’ll feel much better after you exercise,” Brenda promised her. “Really, you will.”
An hour later, Meg didn’t feel any such thing. She couldn’t move without some part of her anatomy protesting.
“You did great, Mrs. Remington,” Brenda praised.
Meg limped into her kitchen and slowly lowered herself into a chair. Who would’ve believed a workout DVD, followed by a short—this was the term the girls used—one-mile run, would reduce her to this. In the past hour she’d been poked, prodded, pushed and punished.