The Whitney Chronicles - Judy Baer Mills & Boon Silhouette

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This Closely?

      That’s one thing I’ve learned since I found God and He found me. It’s easy to talk Christianity, but not so easy to walk it. Fortunately, I lost track of Ms. Speedy in the church. By the time Bible study was over, I even felt like praying for her. (“Oh, Lord, keep that nutcase off the streets….” Just kidding!!!)

      Ironically, I know lots of people who will spend hours at the gym so they can live longer—and then drive thirty miles an hour over the speed limit to make up for all the time they wasted doing it.

      Thoughtlessly, I ate one of the éclairs to soothe my nerves.

      I had four calls on my answering machine when I got home. Three from my mother—“Whitney, you forgot the dishrags I knitted for you out of scrap yarn.” (Now how did that happen?) “Whitney, do you want me to invite that nice young man from church and his mother over for dinner?” (As if she could even catch him!) And, “Whitney, I don’t know where my mind is these days. I’m so forgetful. Did I tell you that you forgot your dishrags at my house?”

      Menopause can be brutal. I know now why women over fifty shouldn’t have babies. They’d lay them down and forget where they put them.

      The fourth call was from Eric Van Horne. He’s a very special man in my life. We’ve been friends for years, and I don’t know if a more good-natured man exists. We dated for a while, and I really thought Eric might be the one for me. He’s brilliant, but impulsive and completely undependable. I spent many nights wondering if he had actually asked me out and, if so, where was he? I knew from the outset that no matter whom Eric dated, she’d have to agree to take second place to his love for airplanes. News of an air show in a neighboring state would drive everything else from his mind. He’d jump into his car, sniff the air and head in the direction of jet fuel. And on Monday he’d remember we’d had plans for the weekend.

      Ardor fades quickly after sitting by the phone for a few weeks waiting for a call. Actually, we came to the decision together that until either I learned to love madcap spontaneity or he learned to be dependable and predictable, we’d just be friends. So far we’ve managed to navigate the bumpy waters of remaining friends and seeing each other socially.

      “Hi, Whit! Sorry I didn’t call sooner. Wanted to tell you about the great air show I attended. You should see my photos!”

      “I don’t know if I can stand being dumped for a crop duster again, Eric.”

      “What a kidder you are, Whit. I took a picture of a woman and the plane she uses for acrobatics. She reminded me of you.”

      “At least you thought of me.” I can’t be too hard on him. Eric is darling, but has what Kim calls “zero mac.” He enjoys life too much to be cool and is way too exuberant to be macho.

      Actually, that may be his best quality.

      The Bible verse that comes to mind when I think of Eric is Proverbs 18:24: “Some friends may ruin you. But a real friend will be more loyal than a brother.”

      Mitzi may be in the first category. Kim and Eric are in the second. While Mitzi spends the day making snide remarks about my age (as if she’ll ever see thirty-five again!), Eric called a second time to apologize for standing me up. He says he just “lost track of time.”

      Somehow, I believe him. I’ve known from the start that Eric has the attention span of a flea, a heart of gold and a bloodhound’s nose for airplanes, and I wasn’t going to change him no matter what I did. I’ve never gone into a relationship with that rehab-attitude. I take a guy for what he is, not for what I think he could become.

      Eric is actually a much better friend than he is a date. A girl could get old waiting around for a guy like him.

      I was too exhausted to cook supper, so I just heated a family-size ready-made lasagna in the oven. It was so big, I figured it would last me for days. Tasty, too. Then I started thinking about work. Ate a little more lasagna. As I put away the pan, I realized I’d eaten quite a little more. Now there’s just one measly portion left for lunch tomorrow.

      Tomorrow! I’ll restart my diet, seriously this time. I’ll count calories. To make sure I didn’t forget, I dug out my old calorie counter from previous diets.

      I can’t believe a measly portion of lasagna has 230 calories. That would mean the rest of my frozen dinner would have…1840 calories! Feeling a little sick, but driven to find out exactly what kind of havoc I’d wreaked, I did today’s math.

Breakfast: two slices dry toast—140 calories 1 apple—81 calories
Lunch: tuna salad with low-fat mayo on bibb and endive lettuce—150 calories 6 hard candies—125 calories 1 ounce M&M’s—140 calories
Snack: other 31 ounces of M&M’s—4,340 calories
Accident: 1 éclair—500 calories
Dinner: 7 portions of an 8-portion heat-and-serve lasagna—1840 calories
Snack: Tums—0 calories (medicinal, don’t count)

      Seven thousand three hundred and sixteen calories?

      I have to stay calm. Running screaming into the street would not help. I ran by it again…. I’m on a 1200-calorie-a-day diet; 7316 divided by 1200 equals…six days. That means I can’t eat again until September 21!

      Stay calm. Start over. Tomorrow will be a clean slate. I’ll utilize all I’ve learned so that I don’t make those mistakes again. Can rubber bands stretch enough to compensate for today?

      My prayers for tonight: For a successful trip to Las Vegas, for my boss and officemates (as undeserving as they may be—just kidding!), Mom’s hot flashes, Dad’s sanity, Eric’s memory and my life as a thirty-something. Where do You want me in this new decade of my life, Lord? And gratitude—for all of the above and for Your Son, Who loved me more than I can ever imagine.

      Humbly,

      Whitney

      CHAPTER 2

      God wants everyone to eat and drink and be Happy in His work. These are gifts from God.

      —Ecclesiastes 3:13

      September 20

      I’m getting the hang of this journal thing. It’s like telling a close personal friend about my day. I haven’t made much progress in the self-improvement area other than managing to get the zipper closed on my fat pants.

      I returned the black blouse. Since I’d put the blouse on my credit card, I didn’t really feel I’d spent any money—or gained any when I returned it. So, being financially even, I went shopping, bought shoes and, naturally, charged them. There is something to be said for the tactile quality of cash. It is definitely much harder to pry out of my hand than plastic.

      My feet are pretty much the only things on my body that don’t change size. Of course, my mother did tell me if I didn’t wear shoes, my arches would fall and I’d be flat-footed for the rest of my life. She also taught me that if I didn’t quit crossing my eyes, they would freeze that way, and if I drank coffee, it would stunt my growth. It’s a wonder I’m alive today considering all the risks I took.

      September 21

      Dad has begun hiding out to get away from Mother and her wildly fluctuating body temperature. He offered to come over and fix my plumbing (which isn’t broken), build me a piece of furniture (something he’s never done before in his life) and repaint my ceilings. He is one desperate man, so I invited him over for a visit. I thought I might cheer him up.

      “Have you got something for me to do?” were his first words. “Please?”

      “What’s

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