False Start (15 page)

Lester was sitting with his feet up on his desk and his hands folded in his lap. He couldn't have looked more serene if he had just gotten a deep tissue massage. Smiling at her, he replied, "Too late."

Dianne dropped into the same chair she had occupied earlier that day and gasped, "It's not even two o'clock. You said to meet you back here at two."

That was when Mattie noticed they weren't the only ones in the room. In the corner behind them, leaning on Lester's credenza, was Nick.

Feeling goose bumps spread under the sleeves of her sweater, she asked, "What are you doing here?"

He held up a bag from the restaurant. "Your salad. I thought you might want it later."

"Oh. Thanks."

When Mattie reached out to take it from him, she noticed a sleek dark brown leather clutch resting against his hip. "What are you doing with my purse?"

He picked it up. "This? You left it on your seat. I went to your cube first, but you weren't there."

She tried yanking it from his grasp, but he held firm.

Not letting go, she whispered an obligatory, "Thank you."

His reply was hushed. "You're welcome. I didn't open it, I swear."

As he released it, her mind flashed back to the note he delivered to her on the playground when they were kids.

I didn't read it, I swear.

He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, "I'm lying. I had to open it just a little to make sure it was yours,
Mathilde Jean Ross
."

Mattie gasped. Her heart plummeted into her stomach.

"You looked at my driver's license?" she hissed.

Nick DeRosa was now in possession of two vital pieces of information she would have killed to keep private—her weight and her address.

Breathe, in through your nose, out through your mouth.

As she tried to recall if there was any other item in her purse that would provide fodder for recrimination, like a crumpled french fry wrapper or a receipt from her favorite pizza place, she heard Dianne ask again, "What do you mean I'm too late?"

Lester nodded toward Nick and said, "According to Coach, Mattie's already nailed it."

Mattie peered hard enough at Nick to drill holes into the wall behind him.

I did?

Nick nodded his head in Lester's direction. "You're on."

Mattie faced Lester. "Yes, I did."

After pitching the story to him, much the same way she did to Dianne, Lester looked at Nick and said, "You're right. I think that title is a perfect fit."

"Title?" Mattie glanced at Nick, frowning.

"The title," Lester shot back. "It's catchy, personal, familiar, and provocative. It's exactly what I was looking for. You know, I really admire you for putting yourself out there like that."

Confused, Mattie spun back toward Nick who was still leaning against the credenza with his arms folded. He raised his eyebrows as if to ask, "What?"

Holding a hand to the side of her face to prevent Lester from seeing her, she mouthed, "Team Plate Spinner?"

Nick shook his head back and forth before looking down at his shoes.

Running out of patience, she let out a sigh, turned back to Lester and said, "I'm sorry, Les, but I came up with a couple of different titles. Which one are you referring to?"

 "You know, I wish I had known earlier that you were bullied as a kid."

She was perplexed. "Uh, well, it's not exactly the kind of thing that comes up in everyday conversation."

"I gotta tell you," he continued, "Nick is the perfect medicine for what ails you. I should know. I speak from experience. What he did for my son."

Lester paused to look at photo of Bobby, beaming in his cross-country uniform, on his desk.

"With what you've gone through and Nick's enormous talent, you two are made for each other. I couldn't have asked for a better pairing for this piece. Our numbers are going to go through the roof on this one."

Edging closer to him with her eyes narrowed and hands balled into fists, Mattie asked, "What's the title, Les?"

He continued as if he didn't hear her. "Damn shame you're already married. You two are a match made in heaven."

Standing directly in front of his desk, Mattie leaned down and placed her hands on top of it. "Tell me the title."

Lester grinned like a man who had just won a lifetime supply of hundred-year-old scotch. Shifting in his seat, he put both feet on the floor before announcing, "We're going with 'Fatty Mattie Meets the Comeback Kid.'"

To Dianne, he said, "Run it."

"What?" Mattie gasped.

After making an uncharacteristic fist pump, Dianne was already on her way to the production department, and Lester was busy dialing his phone.

Next thing she knew, Nick was at her side. Taking her by the elbow, he escorted her out of the office.

In the hallway just beyond, she stopped and faced him. Flabbergasted, she asked, "Do you mind telling me what just happened in there?"

He checked his watch. Then, focusing on his jacket zipper that hadn't worked right since she snagged her dress on it, he replied, "Sure. You just got what you wanted. All you have to do now is run with it."

Mattie let out a short laugh and clapped her hands together.
That was way too easy.

Adrenaline pulsed through her veins. So much to do. She had to tweak her first piece, setup a special blog and social media page, and plan out her monthly submission schedule from January through October.

As her mind raced, she heard Nick say, "Yeah, well, you can thank me later."

He turned toward the elevator bank.

About to burst with excitement, Mattie tugged the arm of his jacket. "Nick. Wait."

What would a married woman do?

With perhaps a bit too much exuberance, she took both of his hands in hers, squeezed them and said, "Thanks so much."

Then, in a move that surprised even her, she reached up to kiss him on his cheek. His clean-shaven, deodorant-soap-scented cheek.

Hesitating for just a second, Nick leaned down to receive it when Mattie remembered the boundary she herself erected between them.

No kissing.

Her forehead bumped against his jawbone. Releasing his hands, she smiled at him again and turned away flustered, but certain of one thing.

I am so selling this ring.

"I always cook with wine. Sometimes I even add it to the food."

– W.C. Fields

As expected, the Gazette launched the new feature on the Sunday prior to the New Year. It got a prominent mention on the front-page banner and made the front page of the weekend section. Mattie had to admit that the high school photo from her freshman year that she volunteered certainly was impactful. Under a mound of hair pulled back by two woefully inadequate barrettes stationed on either side of her head, was the weak half smile of a chubby, self-conscious teenage girl.

During the week that followed, a few walkers and runners braving the cold blowing off the frozen waters of Lake Michigan spotted Mattie and Nick as they jogged along their usual route. Some pointed. A few even waved. Considering the many layers that covered them from head to toe, Mattie found this surprising. By the second week, a dozen or so actually followed them. By the end of the third week, people stationed themselves along the path just to, cheer her on.

Mattie loved it. Nick, not so much.

With her first 5k a little over a week and a half away, he was hoping to push Mattie to go three miles without stopping. Instead, they were interrupted three times by fans either wanting to take a picture with her or have her autograph something.

"We're gonna have to change our route," Nick told her during their cool down.

"You're just jealous that nobody asked you for an autograph," Mattie observed.

Her attempt to impress him with her spot-on deductive reasoning fell flat.

"Unlike you, I'm not in it for the recognition." His voice was gruff as he leaned against an overpass pylon to stretch the backs of his legs.

Mattie put her gloved hand on a streetlight pole and pulled her right ankle up behind her with her right hand.

With her defenses already on high alert, she let out a laugh, "Since when? From what I recall, you could never get enough."

The dark cloudy skies above cast a menacing shadow across his face. "That was a long time ago."

Releasing her right ankle and pulling on her left, Mattie replied, "I see. So, now, you're just in it for the money. Is that right?"

"Damn straight."

"That must be one hell of a bonus they've promised you."

"Now who's jealous?" Nick huffed as he bent down and grabbed the tips of his shoes.

The horn of a car tearing through the intersection nearby blared as a taxi cut into the flow of traffic. Exhaust fumes filled the air, and Mattie started feeling tiny pelts of sleet sting her already-raw cheeks.

Tired of his crabby mood and the repartee that was not going in her favor, she tried changing the subject. "Any exciting plans for the weekend?"

Nick stood up straight. "No. You?"

Since Tom had to work the graveyard shift, Mattie planned to spend the night with Claudia, watching a chick flick marathon until he got home. Big fun.

"No," she sighed.

Wiping his forehead with his sleeve, Nick asked, "Really? Nothing?"

Then, citing topics of
Plate Spinner
columns past, he continued, "No family game night or cookie-baking for kids or making chores fun with Mr. Plate Spinner and all your little saucers?"

If Mattie's eyes could throw knives, he would've been a dead man.

Instead, Nick stood before her with his hands on his hips, sweaty and bothered—about what, she wasn't exactly sure, but she was about to find out.

"I've been reading your old columns."

A cold chill ran through her. "And?"

"I noticed the damnedest thing."

She was afraid to ask, but did anyway. "What?"

"You were already married when you were about to marry my brother."

*  *  *

"So what did you tell him?" Claudia gasped as she lifted a sleeping baby off of Mattie's chest. An empty bottle tumbled to the floor, depositing drips of formula on the hardwood.

"Nothing. I was speechless. I just walked away."

"Very smooth."

Claudia patted her youngest son's back until she heard a burp, then turned to deposit him upstairs in his crib. "I'll be right back."

Feeling a chill where a warm little body had just been snuggled against her, Mattie leaned over and wiped the formula off the floor, then got up and added another log to the fire. After depositing the baby bottle in the sink, she sat back down on the couch and spread the afghan their mom had crocheted in happier times over her legs.

Not exactly the ideal way to spend a Friday night, but she understood Claudia's concern about Tom working so late in one of the roughest neighborhoods for first responders.

"How about a glass of wine?" Claudia asked when she returned.

Mattie tried to remember the last time she had any. Thanksgiving was her best guess. Even though it was on Nick's "to-don't" list, she was feeling more than a little rebellious.

"Sure, why not? I get to sleep in until seven tomorrow morning.

Returning with a bottle tucked under her arm and two glasses, her sister handed one to Mattie, sat next to her on the couch, and uncorked the wine.

"I told you no good would come from wearing that ring."

Mattie nodded. "Yes, you did."

She looked at her once-coveted relic. The gleam was gone. She couldn't recall the last time she cleaned it.

"How many weeks have you been running now?" Claudia asked.

Mattie looked toward the ceiling and thought for a moment. "Eight."

Crinkling up her nose, her sister tilted her head. "Really? It seems longer than that."

"It does, doesn't it? Well, there's no looking back now. I'm just glad they decided to start off small with the campaign then build to a big crescendo in October. I'm not sure I'm ready to see my face plastered on the side of a bus."

"I still can't believe you agreed to let them use your old nickname."

Tugging the afghan a little higher on her lap, Mattie took a big swig of her wine. "'Old' being the operative word. That's not who I am anymore. Besides, if it can help somebody else, even if it's just one person, it'll be worth it."

Claudia, about to take a sip, lowered her glass. "Who are you, and what have you done with my sister?"

Recalling Dianne's reaction to her first column on the topic, Mattie frowned and replied, "You know, I'm getting a lot of that lately."

"Admit it. Nick's been a good influence on you. If this is how you're feeling after just eight weeks, I can only imagine how you'll feel in ten months."

"Nine," Mattie yawned as she stared into the fireplace.

"All right. Nine."

"You know, I've been trying to imagine what it will be like, crossing the finish line at the marathon. I actually have nightmares about it. People laughing at me."

"But you have Nick," Claudia cried. "He won't let that happen. You said it yourself in your article. He's going to be with you every step of the way."

Mattie grimaced. "In my nightmares, he's the one laughing."

The next morning, Mattie woke up, bleary-eyed. Lifting her head from the couch cushion, she tried to remember where she was. The answer came to her slowly, poking its way through the cotton webbing that seemed to have enveloped her brain.

C
laud and Tom's, but what day is it?

"Saturday," a little voice in her head whispered.

Groaning, she pulled herself up into a sitting position. Her head throbbed, and her stomach threatened to do terrible things. Checking her phone, she saw that it was 7:45.She had slept right through her alarm.

Oh no.

She considered texting Nick to tell him she was sick, but after their exchange the day before, the last thing she wanted to do was validate any suspicions he had about her. Before attempting to stand, she tried recalling what she could of the discussion she had with her sister just hours before. They never did get around to watching any movies. It wasn't until the two empty bottles came into focus in front of her that she remembered.