Saving Ruth A Novel by Zoe Fishman

Author:Zoe Fishman
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: General, Fiction
ISBN: 9780062059840
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2012-01-01T06:00:00+00:00

16

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling in the early morning light. I had another Khaki lesson today. My second foray into the world of an exercise and diet coach, and my stomach was empty save for a handful of Skittles and maybe some leftover globs of hot dog bun. I slowly sat up. Tiny white stars danced in front of my eyes.

I pushed my sheet off and placed my feet on the floor. Immediately, they were licked by Maddie’s sandpapery tongue.

“Maddie.” I reached down, scooped her up, and kissed her on her wet nose. “Mornin’.” I put her on the bed and lay down beside her. “I haven’t been paying enough attention to you.”

She panted, patiently waiting for a more profuse apology. “I’m sorry, Maddie Mae.” She flipped onto her back and offered up a pink belly for scratching.

I ran my fingers back and forth in her fur and listened to my stomach growl. “Okay, that’s a wrap.” She looked at me accusingly. “Sorry, Mads, I have to eat some breakfast before I keel over and die.”

I stood up, closing my eyes for a moment in an attempt to clear my head. I made my way to the kitchen with Maddie following behind me—her nails tickling the tile floor.

“Morning, Dad.” I made a beeline for the refrigerator. I grabbed the milk, cereal, and a bowl. I wistfully measured my one cup of flakes, then carried the bowl to the table.

“I love cereal,” I announced breathlessly three minutes later when every last flake was gone.

“I can see that.” He pushed his own empty bowl away and grabbed his basket of pills. He pulled a bottle of multivitamins out and unscrewed the cap.

“There are a whole lot of bottles in there, huh?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He patiently unscrewed each bottle, extracted a pill, and placed the pills in a precise line.

“How come you don’t get one of those weekly pill containers? You know, the ones with a pod for each day of the week?”

“Too depressing. Besides, I like the ritual.” He eyed my bowl. “You gonna drink your milk?”

I looked down at my bowl and then back up at him. “Of course.” I dutifully poured its contents into my mouth.

“Are you working today?” he asked.

“Later. But you’re never gonna guess what my new side gig is.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Please tell me it’s legal.”

“Very funny.” I took a sip of his water. “You know Laney Moorehouse? From the pool?”

“Does she live up the block? Over on Maple?”

“Yeah. With the frosted hair?”

“What does frosted hair mean?”

“Never mind. She drives that convertible Beemer?”

“Oh yes. The one with the Saban/Palin sticker plastered across its bumper?”

“Dad! You’re joking.”

“Wish I was, Ruthie. Wish I was.”

“Shit.” I sighed. “She’s asked me to walk her daughter a couple times a week.”

“Walk her daughter?”

“Yeah, take her for walks, maybe a bike ride or two. She wants me to get her excited about exercise and stuff.”

“Her daughter is overweight?”

“Yeah. Strange, right?”

“It doesn’t sound strange so much as sad. That poor little girl is probably tortured by her mother night and day about her weight.

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