explain,” I say. ““Rob’s a good guy. You’ll see.”
“Now?”
“Yes, now.”
I call Rob on my phone. “Hey, Rob, it’s me. I have a new personal trainer for Ward. He can’t start of a couple of weeks, but he’s one of the best. I can vouch for him.” I wink at Jamie as I pass the phone to hi. Already I feel a little happier about returning to the mansion tonight. It’s not home, I don’t have a place I can call home right now, and that thought leaves me feeling unsettled.
But at least seeing Jamie every day will be something to look forward to.
Chapter 11
WARD
“I’ve found you a new trainer,” Rob tells me.
“I don’t need a new trainer,” I protest. “I managed to do a workout myself.”
“I heard.”
“From who?” Though I have a pretty good idea from who. I don’t tell him that I haven’t done one since that day I found Mari in the gym. I’ve avoided that room, and her, for days.
“Mari.”
I hope he hasn’t got her spying on me. That would be below the belt. I’m aware that he’s worried I’ll stop writing completely, like before, but that’s not going to happen this time. I wonder if that’s the purpose for him hiring a live in housekeeper for me. “What did she say?” I ask, curious.
“That you were working out in the gym. That you’d figured out something with your story. It pleases me to that you’re making an effort to be nice.”
“It was a passing comment. Not a conversation.” Why in the hell is she talking about me to Rob?
“Jamie Hurst starts in a few weeks’ time. He needs to sort out a couple of things.”
“When was this decided?” I was getting used to the idea of having the mornings to myself, without the added stress of a personal trainer.
“You need someone, Ward. I told you, James Garvey suffered a heart attack. The way you’re going, I have reason to worry.”
“So you found me a new trainer,” I state, wanting to change the conversation.
“Mari found him, actually.”
“Mari?”
“Jamie is a friend of hers. They both got laid off at the same time, so try not to fire him.”
“Him as well?”
Rob laughs. “You worry me sometimes.”
“I worry myself.”
“I’m serious. Give the guy a chance.”
I hang up, curious now to see what this new trainer friend of Mari’s will be like. She’s gone out to do some grocery shopping. I know this because she left me another note on the kitchen island telling me. Maybe now is a good time to go to the gym while she’s out of the house.
Why am I tiptoeing around her? Why do I care?
There’s something about Mari that makes me more self-aware, but I’ll be damned if I can figure out what it is. I’m not attracted to her, I barely know her. Then why do I care what she thinks?
She makes me feel less of a man. I hate for her to see my flabby, unfit body, and I hate that she is fit and slim, and can easily do the things I struggle to.
I never used to be like this. Not in my thirties but hitting forty as brought its own set of problems.
Sitting at my desk, writing, or pretending to write, has many disadvantages. It’s not just the emotional mind crushing feelings of imposter-syndrome which riddle me, but the sheer difficulty of writing something that people might want to read. Time and again I wonder if I can actually do this. Always I wonder if I have failed. And apart from the emotional toll, my writing has also taken a toll on my health. My stomach bears the brunt of it.
It makes me angry each time I see a photo of James Garvey looking dapper, distinguished and a picture of success. He’s what a real author looks like.
I head into the kitchen and glance at Mari’s note again.
Chopped fruit in the fridge. More salad and quinoa for lunch.
I look in the fridge to find the plate of food. It looks bright and colorful, but it doesn’t look appetizing. I’m tempted to have a couple of donuts, but I am also embarrassed by my gym encounter with Mari. It shouldn’t make a difference, but it does.
I leave the plate of salad and instead reach for the bowl of chopped fruit. I’ve written four pages this morning and I’m pumped. My characters are taking shape and the plot is thickening.
Something has changed.
I feel motivated to write, and though I’m not back to my