Woman of Substance

WOMAN OF SUBSTANCE

ANNETTE BOWER

SOUL MATE PUBLISHING

New York

WOMAN OF SUBSTANCE

Copyright©2012

ANNETTE BOWER

Cover Design by Rae Monet, Inc.

This book is a work of fiction.  The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved.  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the priority written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher.  The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

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Published in the United States of America by

Soul Mate Publishing

P.O. Box 24

Macedon, New York, 14502

ISBN-13: 978-1-61935-110-3

www.SoulMatePublishing.com

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

For  Cam

Acknowledgements

To the Canadian Storytellers’ Writers Workshop at Notre Dame College, Wilcox, SK, Terry Jordan, facilitator and the fellow participants where I first imagined Robbie in disguise.

To the Bees: Byrna Barclay, Linda Biasotto, James Trettwer, Leeann Minogue, Anne Lazurko, Shelley Banks, Brenda Niskala, Rod Dickinson, Kelly-Anne Ries.

To the Saskatchewan Romance Writers.

To Lawrence Hill for distant mentorship at Booming Ground, UBC.

To The Saskatchewan Writers Guild.

To Catherine Bush the Fiction Colloquium Facilitator, Sage Hill Writing Experience.

To Brenda Novak’s Annual Online Auction for Diabetes Research.

To Deborah Gilbert of Soul Mate Publishing, who donated a valuable critique, which resulted in an offer to publish this novel.

To my husband, sons, daughter-in-laws and granddaughters, my parents, extended family, and friends, who sustain me through their love, understanding and humor.

Chapter 1

The golden leaves in Wascana Park slipped to the ground around Robbie Smith. The sun added perfection to her field study adventure.

Four girls on roller blades sped around a bend, charging right at her. One yelled, “Get out of the way, Tank.”

Robbie’s foot slipped, and the bulk around her middle sloshed to one side. She flung out her arms to break her fall.
That was a waste of time
. She raised her head, then spit a leaf out of her mouth. “Get back here and help me up,” she shouted.

She pushed on her hands and got her knees under her. Thank goodness the park was empty when she hoisted her rear end into the air.
I’m fat, I’m fat. Remember I’m supposed to be fat. How can I not remember? I can’t get up.

Stuck. Someone’s coming. Oh love a duck and save a rose. What’ll they think?
She peered around her shoulder, and then under her arm. She couldn’t see anyone. Her borrowed polyester slacks snagged on dry brown grass. Her thighs rubbed against each other when she struggled to stand. She looked around and saw a garbage can. She could crawl over and pull herself up.

Footsteps crunched through leaves, before the breathless words, “I’m coming,” reached her ears.

Her breaths came in rapid pants. In her twenty-five years she could count on one hand the times she’d felt trapped.
I’m not trapped, just slow-moving. Think. Think
.

At least help was on the way. Perspiration rolled from her forehead into her eyes. Her face was probably a mess. Was her disguise ready for close inspection? She blew out a frustrated breath.
Figures, the first time I venture out with the polyester body suit, and I get caught.
She’d taken every precaution, and even spent forty-five minutes on her makeup, but did her face appear proportionate to her over two-hundred-pound body? She could explain this situation if she had to. It wasn’t catastrophic. Sure, it was a glitch in her research but not the end of the world.

She lifted her head and saw the old man from the park bench. His black earflaps pulled tight to his head.

“Here, try this,” he said, handing her a cane. He stood with a wide stance and seemed to sway in a gust of wind.

“You sure you can spare it?”

“Don’t waste time. Just get up.”

Robbie steadied one leg under her. The aluminum didn’t slide or sink when she pushed hard on the cane.
Come on. I can do this. It’s just like getting out of a squat position, which I’ve done a thousand times.
With a heave, she stood. “Thank you.” She handed the cane back to him.

“You’re welcome.” His palm wrapped around the curved handle.

Her wig felt like a visor on a cap. She reached round and gave it a quick tug. “Did you see those kids? I fell and they didn’t even stop.”

His breath wheezed in and out before he spoke. “Young hooligans. Nobody’s safe.”

She brushed dry grass and leaves from her coat and slacks, and glanced over her shoulder to see if all of her body parts were aligned. “I look like I’ve rolled around on the ground.”

He leaned closer. “Can’t be helped. If you land in the dirt, some is bound to stick.” He plodded through the leaves with his head bent as if watching that each foot found a safe landing place. “When you came into the park, you reminded me of my Mabel. I was hoping we’d have a chance to meet.”

Robbie heard the longing in his voice.

“Name’s Frank Proctor. Frank by name and frank by nature.”

She clasped his outstretched hand. “Robin Smyth.” It wasn’t an untruth. Robin Mary Smith was on her birth certificate, even though most people called her Robbie, but the slight surname change was part of her strategy. The tip sheets for maintaining a secret identity suggested the deception should be close to the truth. The truth was she didn’t have to alter her stride to match her steps to his as they shuffled back to his bench. The bulk of her thighs helped considerably.

“I haven’t seen you around the park before.” He bent at the waist and lowered himself to the bench.

“I’ve been here.” She’d waved to him many times when she’d run past him without her disguise. She just hadn’t introduced herself before today. When she sat down beside him, the extra inches on her behind almost bounced her back to her feet.

“Relax. Enjoy the sun.” He pulled a bag of cold toast from his pocket and passed her a piece.

As the geese began to paddle to the shore, she said, “The geese trust you.”

He teased the bread into crumbs with bony fingers. “These here birds know me. I like to be outside. I live over there.” He turned toward a seniors’ care home, where she’d often seen men and women sitting on benches and in wheelchairs around the front door.

“How’s that working out for you?” she asked. The man’s legs looked like pencils covered in black socks extending from under his pant legs and into his Velcro-fastened running shoes.

“Not bad. There always seems to be too much food, so I share.” He tossed the handful of crumbs toward the birds. After a brief moment, he spoke longingly. “I remember when my mouth used to water as soon as my hand touched the back doorknob of our home. My Mabel sure knew her way around the kitchen.” He breathed deeply. “But Mabel, the kitchen, and the aroma of a good meal are all gone now.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It is what it is.”  He brushed crumbs off his hands and reached into his breast pocket, pulling out a worn leather wallet.

The guard goose honked an alert, and the geese waddled back to the water. A man about six foot two came toward them. His dark eyes focused on Frank. Frank gripped his cane against the man dressed all in black.

Robbie straightened her back and watched his quick feet and long legs nimbly sidestep the goose poop on the sidewalk. She held onto her cell phone.
Come on. Give your head a shake. I’ve been in this park many times and I’ve been safe. Just because this morning I was bullied, all of a sudden I’m ready to fend off the enemies around every corner.

“Granddad,” the man in black called.

“Jake?” Frank rubbed his eyes.

“Yes, it’s me.” The words held a smile.

Frank clamped his fingers on the bench rail and stood. Robbie watched as the stranger’s two long arms swooped around Frank and wrapped him close to his chest. Seconds before his warm brown eyes closed, the stranger’s five-o’clock-shadowed jaw relaxed and a smile pulled across straight white teeth.

Witnessing the love between these two men, she felt as if her heart grew larger, like the Grinch’s Christmas heart that grew three times its size. With her hands supported on the bench, she stood. Should she wait and say goodbye, or should she just slip away? The stranger’s brown eyes opened and his brow furrowed.

“When’d you get here?” Frank asked his grandson as he slipped back onto the bench.

“A couple of hours ago. Just enough time to pick up the car and find you. Who’s your friend?”

Frank turned and blinked.

Robbie extended her hand. “Robin Smyth.”

The man reached past Frank, gripped her hand, and gave it a quick shake. “Jake Proctor.” He drew his eyebrows together and met her gaze. She felt a glow of warmth readying her lips for a welcoming smile.

But then she watched him look down to her chest, past her protruding belly, to the length of her tree trunk legs and finally down to her black oxfords. She tugged at her jacket where it stretched across her chest. Was he going to ask her why she was wearing a costume? Halloween was last week.
Stop cowering.
If he asks, I’ll tell the truth.

Instead, Jake turned away from her and squatted beside Frank.

Perhaps he didn’t notice anything was amiss. Robbie was caught between pumping her fist into the air and whispering an enthusiastic “yes” and wondering when this man in black might ask her for an explanation. All of the hours she’d spent in the costume designer’s studio getting the torso fitted and natural-looking, and the padding on the leggings which helped splay her legs at the proper angle had paid off. The hours she’d mixed colors in the theatrical makeup department dedicated to creating the illusion of a larger face and securing the right amount of wax along her gum line. The three different fittings to have a latex mold made for her neck had actually worked. Perhaps she appeared ordinary. Or didn’t he really see her? Didn’t he notice her curly auburn wig, her purple bling-encrusted eyeglasses? He wouldn’t know that her eyes were a different color because he hadn’t met her before. So she’d give him that break.

She put her arms on her hips.
Look at me!
she commanded silently.
See me as I am.

Okay, Frank might have eyesight challenges because he wore glasses, plus his age and his apparent physical fragility wouldn’t help. This Jake had the telltale fold that ran from his nose to the corners of his mouth that appear during a person’s thirties. He didn’t wear thick glasses, or if he didn’t see well his shoes would be spotted with goose droppings. He also said he had a car so he wasn’t sight challenged.

She stared at Jake, but he only nodded at intervals as Frank spoke. He reached over and picked up Frank’s open wallet from the bench.

When he looked at her, his eyes narrowed. “Do you meet my grandfather often?”

“No.” She studied the bridge of his nose. “We’ve just met.”

“Let the woman alone.” Frank held his hand open for Jake to return his wallet. “She reminds me of your grandmother when we were young and still went to the movies and dances. Those were good days. After I convinced her to marry me, they only got better. You find a good woman yet?”

“Granddad, I worry about you.” He raised an eyebrow at Robbie.

If it wasn’t such a nicely shaped brow or, if his hair didn’t fall playfully on his forehead, or even if he didn’t have the broad shoulders that filled out his leather jacket, she might be worried. But most of all she enjoyed his height. For some inexplicable reason, she shifted and wondered how far she would need to stretch so their lips could meet.
Hello, Robbie, Frank’s talking here.

“You live too far away to worry very hard,” Frank said.

“I’m here now.” Jake nodded toward the worn billfold. “And your wallet is on the bench in plain view.”

Robbie’s cheeks burned. “You, you think I’m asking Frank for money?” She forced herself to stand straight and gripped her hands so she wouldn’t brush at the dirt clinging to the front of her jacket and kept both feet on the ground so she wouldn’t kick him in the shins. These solid shoes would give him a good bruise.

“For starters, you look as if you could use some clean clothes. There’s bread on the bench. And there’s the open wallet and a frail, old, man.” His clipped words and flashing eyes when he nodded toward each item left no room for doubt as to exactly what he thought.

Struggling between her outrage and the genuine concern in Jake’s eyes, she said, “Ah, Sherlock Holmes, I presume.”
Nincompoop. Just goes to show a well-fitted jacket and height can disguise real character, too.

“No.” He put his hands behind his back and jutted his chin forward. “I’m a concerned grandson.”

“Stop it, both of you,” Frank growled. “Here’s the picture of Mabel I wanted to show you before Jake turned up out of the blue.” He handed his billfold to Robbie. Behind yellowed plastic was the image of a woman with dark curls smiling at the camera holding a baby wrapped in a blanket.

“That’s our Mabel.” He looked from Jake to Robbie.

“Yes.” Jake stood behind Frank and his hands hung loosely at his side.

Robbie felt a sense of relief. She turned toward Jake and pointed at the baby. “You?”

“No.” Jake sounded resigned. Robbie understood that sometimes a person just has to allow the story to be told.

“Girl, your glasses need cleaning? She’s holding this boy’s mother.” Frank chuckled. “Mabel looked young until the day she died.”

Jake reached toward Frank and spoke gently. “The nurses asked me to bring you back for a rest.”

“Guess we’d better go. Don’t want to rock the boat. They might take away my privileges.” His lips were blue.

“Let me help you.” Robbie felt his bird-like arm through his coat sleeve. “One good turn deserves another.”

He patted her sleeve. “Maybe I’ll see you again, Robin Girl,” he said as he leaned into Jake.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’ll watch for you. We’ll protect each other against hooligans.”

Jake’s arm wrapped around Frank’s back, making him appear protective and reassuring as he shortened his stride to match his grandfather’s. The autumn light played across Jake’s black leather jacket and dress pants as they moved toward the care home.

Robbie turned the opposite way toward the path that led to her street. Perspiration formed on her upper lip. Under her breasts, a rivulet of sweat trickled to her navel. While she placed one foot in front of the other, the breeze ruffling the sleeves of her jacket, she thought about the way Frank clung to his grandson and the familiar tone of the banter between them. She was fortunate she lived only eleven miles from her parents and often shared meals, ideas, and memories. She wondered why Jake had been away and why his return surprised Frank. From Frank’s point of view, Jake had been away a very long time. Jake had the tanned look of someone who spent a great deal of time outdoors.

The flip of a curtain at the edge of the picture window across the street indicated Mrs. Mitchell wasn’t quite as involved in her daytime TV. Robbie raised her hand and waved. The curtain dropped.
I’d better talk to her now or she’ll be phoning the police when she sees a strange woman coming and going from my door.

Robbie rang the doorbell and thought about what she might tell her neighbor.
The truth works or as close as possible.

She heard the thump of the walker as it hit the floor in the front hallway. The door opened as far as the safety chain would allow. “Can I help you?”

The odor of stale air escaped and assaulted Robbie’s nostrils. She reached up and rubbed her nose. “Hello, I’m visiting Robbie and she asked me to tell you not to worry when you see me coming and going.”

“Don’t try to fool an old lady. Are you friends?” Mrs. Mitchell’s hearing aid squealed when she turned up the volume.

“Yes.”
Truth. I am probably my own best friend right now.

“Tell Robbie to give me a call when she gets home.”