California Girls(54)

She nodded. “I’m not sure I will later, but I appreciate the information.” She knew he was right, about all of it, but she wasn’t exactly in a rational place. “I just want to give her a healthy little baby.”

“I know and I’m sure you will.” He released her hand and looked at her leg. “Yup, that’s ugly. Okay, let’s check you out and find out what’s going on, then we’ll start the torture.”

She laughed. “Sounds like a plan. So are you single?”

He raised his eyebrows. “You work fast.”

“Not for me. But I do think you’d like my friend DeeDee. You share a sense of humor.”

“I saw your friends and would be open to meeting any of them. Once you’re patched up, let’s casually introduce me.”

“Let’s.”

*

Finola knew she had to get her act together. Hiding out in her house was only making her more depressed. She was withdrawing from everything that wasn’t work-related and that was not a healthy path.

She was still angry about her stepfather’s comments. She knew she wasn’t responsible for Nigel’s affair and to suggest otherwise was simply cruel. Yet she couldn’t let the idea go. Nor could she stop feeling guilty about not joining her sisters to help with their mom’s house sorting. She spent a restless night and morning pacing in the house feeling trapped. By noon she knew she had to do something.

She went to the grocery store and stocked up on food for the coming week, then checked the schedule of her favorite workout studio. She saw there was a barre class starting in an hour. She would go to that, sweat out her frustration then come home and make a plan for the next few days. First on her list would be an apology dinner with her sisters.

The Encino fitness studio was both upscale and snooty. Women came to work out and to judge. No jiggle went unnoticed, no slack thigh went uncatalogued. Finola wasn’t thrilled with the spirit of the place, but the classes were excellent and many movers and shakers worked out there. Life was all about who you knew.

She had barely started stretching when she heard a familiar voice saying, “Is this space taken?”

She smiled at her assistant. “Hey, Rochelle. You’re young and beautiful. Why aren’t you on the beach with some hunky guy?”

“I’m always here on Sunday afternoon. You run into the most interesting people.”

“Good.” Those connections were why Finola had given Rochelle the membership as a Christmas gift. The young woman was going to be someone to be reckoned with in the not too distant future.

Finola let herself relax a little. Having Rochelle in the class would mean she had a buffer. An unexpected bonus, she thought gratefully. While her strict diet had taken care of any lingering effects of the week of carbs and not moving, Finola knew she was still incredibly vulnerable. It wouldn’t take much to shatter her like a dropped crystal vase.

For the next fifty minutes Finola couldn’t think of anything but keeping up. She scooped, lifted, held and breathed until she was shaking, with sweat dripping down her back. When they relaxed onto mats to stretch, she was pleased to find that her mind had quieted. She was strong, she told herself. She would use the next week to get her act together. She would stop hiding and walk with her head held high.

They finished class and rose. Rochelle was as out of breath and sweaty as she was.

“It kills me every time,” she admitted.

“It’s supposed to.”

One of the women from the class looked out the window. “Huh. There’s something going on in the parking lot. I wonder if Jennifer Lawrence is taking a private class again. My daughter just loves her.”

Finola’s heart sank. No, she told herself. She wasn’t going to assume anything. She had to remember to be strong.

Several women moved toward the window. Without saying anything, Rochelle joined them, then quickly returned to Finola’s side.

“Six photographers waiting by the door. I don’t see a news van, so they’re freelancers. Jennifer Lawrence really might be getting a private lesson.”

The sweat that broke out on her back had nothing to do with the workout. “Do you really believe that?”

Rochelle’s gaze locked with hers. “No. How do you want to handle this?”

Finola pressed a hand to her stomach. She had to get out of the studio and to her car. Once she was there, she could make her escape. There was a chance that this had nothing to do with her, but she couldn’t count on it.

The problem wasn’t the distance to her car, it was the pictures. They would last forever. Oh, why had she worn such an ugly dress over her workout clothes?

“What did you wear in to class?” she asked her assistant.

Rochelle smiled. “A leather skirt and denim jacket. Not practical, I know, but I, ah, didn’t come from my apartment.”

Despite her terror and the nausea, Finola smiled. “Aha, so there is a hunky guy.”

“There might be. Let’s go get changed.”

There was a small dressing area in back. The previous class had cleared out and the new one was heading to the studio. They had the space to themselves.

Rochelle opened her locker and got out her street clothes. She held out the skirt and jacket. Thank God they were both black, as were Finola’s leggings.

She pulled on the skirt, then slipped on the sandals she’d worn in. She and Rochelle wore the same size clothes, but they weren’t even close on shoes. She pulled a comb from her bag then dug around for a hair fastener. Rochelle had her sit in front of the mirror, then combed her hair back and secured it in a high, perky ponytail. Finola applied lip gloss and put on her oversize sunglasses. Rochelle slipped on her dress.