TITLE: Exercise is A Killer
‘Who died?’ I croak, collapsing after the tenth push-up.
‘Kat’s father. Isn’t it awful?’
‘Joe, oh no,’ I gasp. Death is like love; when it hits you everything changes. I feel dizzy.
‘You okay?’ Chelsey, my personal trainer, helps me up.
‘Joe Morrissey––dead.’ I shake my head. Life’s DVD switches to reverse. ‘After my father died, Joe went out of his way to make time for a teenage misery––me.’ My eyes fill. I dig out the tissue tucked in my wristband.
‘Joe remarried,’ Chelsey says. ‘Did you know that?’
‘Really? What’s the second Mrs. Morrissey like?’
‘Rumour says: a real babe, about half Joe’s age. Kat says: a fitness freak with a taste for tantrums.’
‘Kat and I have been friends forever. I’ve got to call her. Could we do this tomorrow?’
‘Workouts help trauma,’ Chelsey says. ‘Let’s try––’
I can’t help it, I blub.
‘All right.’ She sighs.
My thirty two-year old biceps cheer; seems like every cloud has a silver one. Before I can sneak off, Chelsey points to the computerized weight check machine.
‘We will weigh in before you go.’
Jeez, not the scales and tape measure torture. I clunk onto the machine. Feared by all but a handful of skinny minnies, its bottom line never lies. Chelsey keys in my f-code and waits for a read-out.
Buzzz. My cell phone. I grab it and say, ‘Fee Wes––’
‘Fee, it’s Kat. Joe’s been murdered––,’ her voice is splintered by sobs. ‘And I don’t know what to do.’