An Excerpt from An Invincible Summer— by Betta Ferrendelli

 

Chapter Eight

 

“I thought you said you were tired.”

Jaime looked up to find herself staring into the eyes of Barry Winters, an employee at the athletic club. He had worked at the club for nearly ten years managing the front desk.

He was leaning his tall frame against the weight machine Jaime was using. Barry stood 6-foot-3-inches. His body looked fit and trim despite being ten pounds overweight. He had a full head of curly sandy hair attractively threaded with gray. At forty-five, his long face had few lines, and there was a kindness to his facial features.

Jaime finished her reps and pushed the hair from her eyes. “I was,” she said. “’Til I got here. Now I feel great.”

Jaime was in a light and airy mood when she came to the club this early February evening. She seemed to sparkle. He hadn’t talked to her since the Cox trial.

“Things went well during the trial?” Barry asked. His manner was easy going and his voice soft spoken.

“Things went wonderful,” Jaime replied, grinning as she began another set on the weight machine.

Barry waited for her to finish.

“I take it you’re glad it’s over,” he said.

Jaime nodded.

Barry handed her a towel. “I saw your trainer just before I left the desk to come find you. You have a workout planned tonight.” His jaw was firm and a mustache framed white teeth and a smile that was friendly and warm. His pool-blue eyes were calm, but tempered with a sense of sadness, much like his disposition.

“I was just loosening up a little.”

Barry watched Jaime grab the bag with her equipment and walk toward the stairs. He continued to stare in her direction long after she was gone.

Jaime greeted Scott McIntyre, her personal trainer, with a quick hug on the steps to the third floor. He took her bag and carried it the rest of the way into the boxing gym. Jaime guessed Scott to be in his late thirties. He could have been an attractive man, but his blunted nose had been broken more times than he could remember, giving his face an uneven, peculiar appearance. He was a small, but powerfully built man who wore his dark brown hair pulled back in a thin braid. Scott was easily three inches shorter than Jaime. But he had not earned the title “Zen Boxer” because he was a pushover.

A friendship formed instantly with Scott. She had visited several clubs before selecting the Athletic Club at Denver Downtown. She found what she was looking for — a speedbag, heavy bag and double-end bag. When she stepped foot in the gym in Denver, the overpowering smell of leather and sweat took her back to Boston, where boxing had become her outlet.

When she wasn’t studying or in class, she spent her free time working out. She motivated herself to exercise. And since she had already stopped playing tennis, there was no need to find a partner. She did not even bring her racquets to Boston. It was often hard for her to imagine that a game she once so deeply loved had become a sport she could hardly bring herself to watch, much less play. Whenever she walked by tennis courts now and heard the familiar sound of a ball leaving a racquet, she quickened her steps to leave the area.

Scott had helped Jaime develop an inner discipline and with that came empowerment. The workout tonight was what she needed. Three ten-minute segments of jump rope made her lungs feel as though they were about to combust. It felt as though she was doing abs and sit-ups for the first time, grimacing and feeling her muscles burn each time she sat up. Stretching was the only thing that had not left her in pain.

Jaime was unaware she was being watched as she warmed up, hitting the heavy bag. Scott and Frank winced each time she hit the bag hard and fast.

Scott shook his head. “I’d hate that to be me,” he said, keeping his eyes fixed on her.

Frank had his arms crossed over his chest. “She’s too damn skinny to hit the bag that hard.”

Frank Powers made a good sparring and training partner for her. He was almost as good as Scott. What Scott lacked in height and weight, Frank, at 6-feet-3-inches and two hundred and sixty pounds, more than made up for. Everything about Frank, his arms, chest, neck and legs, was thick and solid. Whenever Jaime saw Frank’s body, trees in the Redwood Forest came to mind.

In the beginning, Frank was hesitant to spar and train with Jaime. His reluctance came because he refused to hit women. He saw it too many times growing up from the men living with his mother. He had promised himself on the many nights he sat waiting in emergency rooms, while doctors tended to his mother’s latest injuries, he would not hit a woman. Scott wanted Jaime to spar with Frank, a well-seasoned boxer, who knew how to avoid throwing overly zealous punches. Frank was a moving target for Jaime. They finally began to spar regularly together and both improved. While Frank did more covering up than throwing uppercuts, his facial expression during their sessions proved Jaime’s punches were no wisps of air. “Feel that, Frank?” Scott would yell when Jaime connected against his body.

When Jaime finished hitting the bag, she walked toward Scott and Frank, pulling off her gloves.

“Hey, big guy, how’s it going?” Jaime asked.

“It’s going,” Frank replied, and tousled her hair.

“That was a good round,” Scott said, handing her a water bottle.

“Thanks. I’m dying of thirst,” Jaime said and took a long swallow. She looked at Frank. “Are you ready?”

He nodded. They waved to Scott and walked toward the sparring area. As Frank put on his gloves, she noticed he seemed distracted and preoccupied.

“Is everything okay?” There was softness in her voice, a hint of concern.

His eyes held hers for only an instant before he looked away. But it was long enough for Jaime to see a distant, worried look within them. His disposition was stormy, but he managed a weak attempt at a smile.

They began their workout in silence. Frank blocked a few of Jaime’s punches, but he was listless. After a few minutes Jaime stopped abruptly and began to remove her gloves.

Frank looked at her, puzzled. “What?” he asked.

“I’m taking off my gloves.”