Thanks so much for all your reviews! I am once again posting before my morning shift, which seems like an ungodly hour these days. Hope you enjoy.
Chapter 9
Sunday morning, in order to get a kick start on my new, better self, I woke up at six, already dressed in running shorts and loose t-shirt, and shoved my feet into sneakers. I was out the door and down the stairs before I'd even woken up, which was probably a good thing, because I hadn't spared so much as a single thought for the hallway murderer. Out in the parking lot I worked through some stretches I remembered from high school gym class and finished off with a few jumping jacks for good measure. The fact that I was practically out of breath before I'd even started running probably wasn't a good sign, but I soldiered on.
I kept my pace slow, jogging down streets, past silent houses and dark businesses until I reached McDonalds. By that point I was drenched in sweat and my breathing was laboured, so I decided it was time to stop for a breather. I wiped my face on the hem of the t-shirt and hoped I didn't smell too bad as I entered the fast food restaurant, still gasping for breath and ordered a bottle of water and a strong coffee. The pimple face teenage kid behind the counter had the good sense to hand me the bottle of water straight away, right after he asked if I was having a heart attack and if I wanted him to call the ambulance.
Guzzling my water, I just glared at him and moved to sit – more like collapse – into the nearest booth. I didn't know what I was thinking when I thought I could just go running and everything would be fine. Clearly, running was not for me. Now I had the dilemma of needing to get back to my apartment on legs that felt like jelly and feet that felt like they were on fire. Training was not all it was cracked up to be.
The kid brought over my coffee and a second bottle of water – on the house, because he didn't want me keeling over on his shift – and I thanked him. I sat there longer than I probably should have, because by the time I stood again, I was in a world of pain. If I'd just grabbed the water and made my way home again, I might have been able to avoid this kind of agony on the long walk back, but I hadn't known the results would be this bad.
I ended up hobbling all the way home, every step another stab of pain radiating up my legs, but it wasn't as far as I had thought. That made it worse. I'd only managed six blocks away from home. Talk about depressing.
When I finally arrived back at my apartment, I stripped and sat in the tub under the cold spray from the shower head for ten minutes until I started shivering, then turned the hot tap around and continued to sit, letting the warmth work through my sore muscles. I honestly didn't see how I was going to survive whatever training I eventually decided on – unless it was yoga, that seemed pretty safe. I could barely handle an hour of jogging and walking, let alone weeks or months, or – God forbid – years of training that it would take to get me up to the kind of ability I really needed to be great at my job.
Eventually, I found my legs and worked through washing the sweat from my body, then wrapped myself in a fluffy towel and went in search of food. While I was waiting for my toaster to offer up the Pop Tarts I'd fed it, I noticed the light blinking on the answering machine. Probably, it was my mother reminding me that I was expected at dinner tonight. Since it was Sunday. But I hit the button to listen to it anyway.
"Stephanie?" came a sing song voice. The roundness of her vowels was a dead giveaway that it was Aunt Beth. "Are you there? Did I wake you? Just calling to check up on you. Have you heard from the hunk yet? Call me when you can, dear. No hurry."
I smiled. Sometimes it was hard to believe that Aunt Beth was my mother's sister. She was always warm and careful not to pressure me into anything. The complete opposite of Mom's demanding nature. She was a world class pianist and had moved to England when I was nine to pursue an opportunity that had arisen with the London symphony orchestra. She sent me post cards every month for two years while she toured with them, but eventually we'd lost touch as I'd moved on to middle and then high school.
Recently, through the power of Facebook, she'd found me again and we'd gotten to chatting. She was curious about how my life had turned out, since we hadn't really had any contact since I was a child, and I asked her about travelling the world and playing in all the beautiful grand halls and churches I'd only ever seen on TV and the internet. I was awed by her worldliness, and she was intrigued by the chaos of my life. We now tried to call each other once a week or fortnight, depending on our schedules, and I was really enjoying talking to someone who wasn't so quick to judge me by my mistakes. She didn't seem pleased with the amount of carnage I attracted, but she didn't tell me I needed to change careers or be more aware of my surroundings or anything like that.
Taking the first bite of my Pop Tart, I decided to call her back. By my calculations it was it was mid- afternoon in London, and I didn't think she had any lessons or rehearsals on Sundays, so I she was probably home.
"Elizabeth Mazur speaking," she announced by way of greeting as she picked up on the fifth ring. "How may I help you?"
"Hey, Aunt Beth," I said, swallowing my latest bite. "It's Steph, how are you?"
"Stephanie!" she enthused, using my full name. She always used my full name, but unlike when Mom did, it didn't make me feel like I was in trouble. It was just the way she'd always addressed me. It was almost affectionate in a way that no one else had ever achieved with the three syllable name. "I'm so glad you called! It's always good to hear your voice."
See what I mean? Warm. Inviting. My mother would have been berating me for not picking up when she first called by now. "Yours too," I replied, genuinely meaning it. "How's London?"
"Wet, and drizzly, just like always," she informed me, but I could still hear the smile in her voice. "Perfect weather for staying indoors. What about good ol' Jersey?"
"Smog," I said. "Lots of smog."
She murmured agreement. "So, when last we spoke you were bemoaning over the fact that your dear boyfriend had been avoiding you. Is that still a thing? Has he come around?"
I shook my head, not particularly wanting to talk about the situation with Ranger, but I could never quite deny Aunt Beth. She had a way of making me talk. "I'm pretty sure he's not my boyfriend anymore," I explained slowly. "We had a bit of a clash."
"Relationships are full of clashes," she reminded me. "The key is to work through them. Unless you found him cheating. You didn't find this one with another woman as well, did you?" she asked.
"No," I sighed, setting my Pop Tart down. Suddenly, I wasn't hungry anymore. "He's just married to his work and…" I hesitated, wondering if she would understand if I explained the whole situation. She didn't know Ranger, other than from what I had told her about him, but she was always good for a new point of view. Maybe she'd have some advice that I could actually use. So I told her about Ranger's investors and the resulting decision and how he hadn't informed me of the drastic change and that was the reason he was avoiding me for the last three weeks.
When I finished, there was silence on the other end of the phone, and I worried for a moment that the connection had died while I was talking and I'd been relating my sordid tale to thin are for the last ten minutes. But the she let out a low murmur. "So you're not seeing him anymore?" she finally asked.
"Of course not," I said, a little louder than I'd intended. "He just pulled a major breach of trust. How am I supposed to continue on like nothing's happened when he pulled the rug out from under me three weeks ago and I had to find out from one of his men two days ago?"
"Did you give him a chance to explain?" she asked gently.
A frustrated growl forced its way out of my mouth. "I can't stand to look at him at the moment," I told her. "I need some time to come to terms with what he's done so that I don't feel like strangling him while he's talking."
"That's awfully violent."
"I can't help how I feel," I sighed. "But if it helps any, I probably wouldn't even get close enough to lay a finger on him. He's like smoke."
"So what are you doing in the meantime," she asked, sounding way more reasonable than I'd expected. For some reason, I thought she would launch into a lecture, but then again, this was mellow Aunt Beth, not uptight Mom. "While you come to terms?"
"I thought I might get some training," I sighed, glancing at the laptop that was still where I'd left it the night before after finding Bobby inspecting my internet browser. "But there's nothing in my price range around here that's going to do me any good."
"What kind of training?" she asked, her tone thoughtful.
"I don't know," I admitted. "Something that would make me better at catching skips. Probably some physical training, defence lessons, gun training, that sort of thing."
Aunt Beth let out a quiet little "hmmm" while I was listing the things I needed. "I might have an idea," she informed me. "I need to check a couple of things first though. I don't want to get your hopes up only to find it's not possible."
"That would be awesome," I said, honestly grateful that she might be able to help. The more I looked at everything on the internet the more overwhelmed I felt, and I was damn sure I would not be asking the guys for help. This endeavour was about standing on my own two feet and showing Ranger I could do it without him. That couldn't be achieved by allowing Tank, Bobby and Lester to call in favours for me. Aunt Beth's help, on the other hand, was familial support. The kind of thing that was expected.
"No problem, Stephanie," she assured me. "I should go chase this up. I'll let you know what I find."
"Thanks so much, Aunt Beth," I enthused. "I'll talk to you later."
More tomorrow. Same bat time (or maybe half an hour later, since I start slightly later tomorrow) same bat channel.
