Starting Now (Blossom Street #9)(6)

“Join a gym,” Charlene suggested. “It’ll help. Here’s your father.”

“Libby, what’s up?” Robert Morgan asked. He’d never been a warm and fuzzy father, but after losing Timmy and Molly, he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with Libby at all.

“I’d thought I’d drive over to Spokane for a visit,” Libby said. “It’s been a while since I was last home.”

“You mean to say you still don’t have a job?” The question felt like an accusation.

“I’m trying, Dad,” she said, fighting back a defensive response. It wasn’t like she hadn’t put effort into this job search. She’d run herself ragged, cheerfully subjecting herself to one rejection after another. It seemed the longer she was unemployed, the harder it was to interest a potential employer.

“Well, you’re welcome to visit.” Heavy emphasis was placed on the last word.

Visit. Not stay. Visit.

Libby exhaled, swallowing down yet another bitter lesson in humility. “Thanks, Dad.”

That weekend Libby drove over to Spokane on Saturday morning and stayed until late Sunday morning. The visit was short and sweet. Charlene looked on sympathetically as her father found it important to ply her with unsolicited and unwelcome advice.

Don’t be a quitter.

Try harder.

Don’t be so picky.

Be willing to start at the bottom.

Prove yourself.

He said all these things as if Libby hadn’t been trying.

Monday morning, following her stepmother’s advice, Libby found a local gym on the Internet, stopped by for a tour, and at the end of the visit signed a twelve-month contract. She should be watching her pennies more closely, but at the rate she was gaining weight it would be cheaper to pay gym fees than it would be to purchase the entirely new wardrobe she’d need if she got too fat to fit into the one she already owned.

“Do I need special workout clothes for the yoga and Pilates classes?” she asked the perky girl who’d given her the tour of the facility. She’d introduced herself as Gina and she had a Miss Universe figure.

“Nothing special; just something loose and comfortable.”

Libby snickered. “If I had anything loose I wouldn’t be enrolling at the gym.”

“Funny.”

Libby didn’t think it was all that humorous.

The next morning at eight, she arrived to find the gym packed. Every machine was in use, and the sound of whirling wheels filled the cavernous room. Libby had chosen to wear sweatpants and a T-shirt and felt incredibly out of place. The other women wore stylish color-coordinated outfits. Looking around, she was convinced she was the fattest woman in the room.

“You can have my machine,” a tall, good-looking man around her age offered when she approached the row of treadmills.

“Thanks.” She waited until he finished, stepped onto the base, and set the speed at a brisk pace to walk a mile and a half. Before she finished she thought she would throw up. Libby had no idea she was so badly out of shape.

Afterward, in an effort to catch her breath, she sat in the dressing room on the bench and bent forward, elbows on her knees. The wall clock told her it was nine. She would be at her desk right now if she still worked at the firm, and would probably have already put in two hours of hard work. Those days were gone. Now the rest of the day stretched out before her as a complete blank. At least now she was walking off the pounds she’d gained.

After showering and changing clothes she returned to her condo and spent the next hour on the computer in a futile job search. She broke for lunch, watched the noon news on television, and fifteen minutes of the soap opera that followed. When she realized she was getting hooked on the story line, she abruptly turned it off and headed back to the computer. A couple of days last week, she’d actually taken a nap. A nap in the middle of the day—it was outrageous. The mere thought of watching soap operas and taking naps horrified her. An unknown person was taking over her body and she had to find a way to stop this hostile takeover.

When she arrived at the gym the next morning, a professional-looking woman around her age opened the locker next to Libby’s. She looked vaguely familiar. Then it hit her. She was an attorney at one of the bigger law firms in town. It took Libby a few minutes to recall her name. Megan … Maggie … no, Maddy Something. Why oh why hadn’t she paid more attention?

Her father had offered one bit of good advice. He’d suggested that Libby needed to network more.

The problem was, Libby had been so intent on making partner that she hadn’t invested a lot in professional friendships. It wasn’t that she didn’t have any friends. She made an effort to keep in touch with a few people from college and law school. Her problem was, she didn’t know how to network. But she was willing to learn. At this point she was willing to do just about anything that might lead to a job.

Well, there was no time like the present.

“Hi,” Libby said, closing up her locker. “It’s Maddy, isn’t it?”

Maddy turned to look at her, but her face was a blank.

“I’m Libby,” she said, smiling. “Libby Morgan from Burkhart, Smith & Crandall.” No need announcing she was currently without employment.

“Oh, hi.”

It didn’t look like Maddy recognized her.