LITMIR.BIZ

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door to the sauna opened and an aerobicized woman with short, bottle-blond hair entered, wrapped in one of the blue-and-white-striped club towels.

      “Hey, Marjorie.”

      Marjorie Almswhite, one of the wealthier women who frequented the club, was a widow with a wicked sense of humor and an eye for young men.

      “Hey, Cecilia. Were you spinning?”

      “No, just the treadmill today.”

      “Too bad. Kevin was teaching the spinning class.”

      The heat seemed to go up a few degrees in the sauna, as all the women audibly sighed.

      Kevin Trawler, one of the fitness instructors at the club, wasn’t what you’d call classically handsome. But he had a certain naive charm and the tightest butt Cecilia had ever seen. He was also about half the age of most of the women who frequented his classes.

      “I know,” Cecilia said. “I couldn’t get in. The class was filled.”

      “Early bird gets the worm,” said Gretchen Stevens in a smug, singsong voice.

      “Are you?” Marjorie asked.

      “Am I what?”

      “Getting the worm?”

      They all laughed.

      “As a matter of fact,” Gretchen said defensively, “I caught Kevin looking at my boobs today during class.”

      “Really?” said Marjorie. “Are you sure he wasn’t looking at your belly button? They’re in the same general area these days.”

      Gretchen pulled her towel tight around her and huffed out of the sauna, slamming the door behind her.

      Some of the women snickered.

      Cecilia shook her head. “Getting the worm…”

      Marjorie sighed. “Honey, it’s been so long since I got a worm like that, I wouldn’t remember what to do with it.”

      “I wouldn’t even know where to get a worm like that,” said Betsy Gardner, the club’s resident airhead.

      “At the bait shop,” Marjorie returned.

      “Don’t you mean the jail-bait shop?” said Cecilia.

      “What? You don’t approve?” Marjorie said.

      Cecilia shrugged. “Far be it from me to ruin your fishing fantasies. I just think I’d prefer someone a little more…mature.”

      Liar, liar, pants on fire, her mind whispered, as the memory of Jake Eamon’s hands on her shoulders pulsed like a subliminal message through her brain.

      She shifted uncomfortably. It was getting way too hot in that sauna.

      “Who wants an old worm when you can have a nice young one?” Marjorie said.

      Betsy leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes. “I hate to break it to you Marjie, but the only way you’re getting a nice young one is if you pay for it.”

      Marjorie shrugged. “Hey, if I knew of a good bait shop around here, I’d shell out in a second.”

      By the silence in the sauna, Cecilia suspected they were all thinking the same thing.

      Too bad it wasn’t that easy.

      “Let’s face it,” Betsy said gloomily. “None of us is going fishing anytime soon.”

      CECILIA MADE a quick stop at the Shop ’n Bag on her way to the turnpike. She’d run out of a couple of things, including ibuprofen, which she desperately needed at the moment, both for her hangover and a raging case of cramps. She also wanted to pick up some of Brian’s favorite snacks for the car ride.

      She trudged through the store, studiously avoiding the customer service counter and the cigarettes, loading her basket with over-the-counter products she hoped would stave off the symptoms of various ailments she’d been cultivating. Tension headaches from work. Corns from the absurd high heels she’d become addicted to. Pulled muscles from the gym. Heartburn from Ben.

      She picked up a bag of salted pumpkin seeds and some granola bars for Brian, and snagged a giant bag of M&M’s for herself. Chocolate had powerful healing properties.

      At the checkout, she plunked her basket on the conveyor belt and dug through her purse for her VIP card. She held it out to the checker, a young, all-American-type guy with a mop of blond hair, who completely failed to notice she was there.

      That never would have happened five years ago.

      Okay, maybe it would have happened five years ago. But definitely not ten years ago.

      “So what’re you gonna do?” said the checker to the bagger, another frat-boy type. Both wore Temple University sweatshirts.

      “I don’t know,” said the bagger. “I can just about afford beer with what I make here. Tuition? Forget it. I’m going to have to take next semester off.”

      “Excuse me…” Cecilia waved her card at the checker.

      Ignored again.

      “But you’re supposed to graduate in May, dude,” the checker said.

      The bagger shrugged. “What can I do? I already have so many loans out, I’m gonna be freakin’ forty by the time I pay them off.”

      “Hey!” Cecilia said.

      The boys finally looked at her.

      “Forty isn’t that old.”

      The checker’s ears turned red. “Sorry, ma’am.”

      “‘Ma’am,’” she muttered under her breath.

      The checker unloaded the stuff from her basket and ran it over the scanner.

      “Gimme those,” she said, grabbing the M&M’s out of the bagger’s hand and opening them with her teeth.

      “Yes, ma’am.”

      “Stop calling me ma’am.”

      “Yes, ma—” He clammed up.

      The checker scanned the box of tampons she’d picked up, and a knowing look passed between the two guys.

      She pointed at the bagger. “Oh, you think I’m just a hormonal old lady, huh? I’ll have you know, we old ladies work hard to maintain ourselves. Do you know how many pints of Ben & Jerry’s I’ve passed up for my butt’s sake? Do you know how many miles I’ve logged on the treadmill?”

      The bagger shook his head. “No, uh…miss?”

      She gave them both a scathing look. “You owe me for that hard work. You, and every other man on the planet. So you better not ever call anyone under eighty ‘ma’am’ again.”

      “Yes, miss.”

      “And one more thing.” They looked at her the way men should always look at women—both fearful and expectant. She leaned in. “You better have the decency to watch my ass when I’m walking away.”

      CHAPTER 5

      Whatever you do, don’t let yourself get backed into a corner.

      In the half hour it took to reach the top of the winding hill leading up to the Catalina School, Cecilia had eaten half the bag of M&M’s, added up everything and everyone she owed in her head and chewed her thumbnail down to a bloody nub.

      She found a parking spot in the circle outside the boys’ dorm and climbed the wide, stone steps to the door, admiring as she did every weekend the placid beauty of the place. No wonder Brian loved it here.

      The dorm rested on the crest of the hill, which overlooked a sprawling formal garden arranged on tiers, meticulously maintained since the school

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