“Yeah, tell me about it.”
“Well, then, the shakes are the way to go, trust me.” The lad rolled up his shirtsleeves and lifted the shirt’s front. His impressive biceps bulged, but it was his stomach Billy couldn’t pull his eyes from, the taut six-pack covered in colorful tattoos: a yellow moon; a woman’s plump, bright red lips; an orange tabby curled in sleep; and written in an arc across the top of his rib cage, Free Yourself—each ice-blue letter inked inside a black circle, as if inlaid on the keys of an old-fashioned typewriter. The lad’s large hand moved over the two words, his smile sheepish. “Yeah, everyone likes this one.”
Billy looked down at the shop’s linoleum floor, its mess of faded footprints like ghosts of themselves. Was that what Michael had imagined he was doing? Freeing himself?
Billy left the shop armed with two tubs of the performance powder. He spotted Patrick Keogh getting into his car. He called out to the older man and hurried toward him. Patrick and his wife, Rita, had lost their son a couple of years back, in the same way as Michael. Fergus had been twenty-one, and he’d made his end in Galway Bay. Patrick and Rita had attended Michael’s funeral, and days later they sent holy medals and a book of prayers. Their card reassured Billy and Tricia that, as unthinkable as it might seem, they would get through even this. Life would never be the same, Rita wrote, but they would get through.
Patrick leaned against his car, his arms folded in front of him, and listened as Billy told him about his sponsored diet and planned march. Billy’s voice trailed away. It was clear from the dangerous red of Patrick’s puffed cheeks and the fiery look in his bog-brown eyes that he didn’t like what he was hearing.
“To each his own,” Patrick said. “But it wouldn’t be for me.”
“I don’t understand,” Billy said, confused, panicked. “I thought you, of all people, would get behind this?”
Patrick dropped into his car and slammed the driver’s door closed. He spoke through the half-open window. “I won’t thank you or anyone else to be reminded of any of it.”
He sped away, leaving Billy standing on the street, his heart beating in his throat like slaps.
At his car, Billy fumbled with his keys, and they dropped to the ground. After a struggle, he picked them up. He closed his eyes, taking a second. He couldn’t face going back to work. He was late now, anyway. He phoned the factory and took a half day. Tricia need never know.
*
At the cove, Billy sat on a large rock and changed his shoes, then set off down the strand in a brisk, arm-pumping stride. From here on out, he would drink two of the performance shakes every day, one in the morning and one in the evening, and in between he’d enjoy a healthy lunch. Hey presto. Full of renewed determination, he pushed away thoughts of Patrick. He would succeed on all counts and lose his weight, save lives, and keep Michael’s memory alive.
His phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket and checked the screen. His sister. He’d known this call was coming and marveled she’d taken so long.
“Where are you?” Lisa asked.
“I’m exercising.”
She laughed. “You’re exercising? Where?”
“At the cove.” Too late, he realized he should have lied.
“You didn’t have to work today?”
“I’m on a half day.”
“The cove. Jesus. You could collapse down there and no one would ever find you,” Lisa said.
“Yeah, I’m not planning on doing that, thanks, and I’d prefer if you didn’t say anything about this to Tricia.”
“Yeah, okay.” She sounded confused. “Listen…”
Here we go.
“I heard about your diet and the march.” Her voice sounded a rare state of nervous. “You do realize what that’s doing to Mam and Dad?”
He gripped his phone hard. “Yeah, I don’t want to talk about this, Lisa. It’s a done deal.”
“We need to talk about it, Billy. Mam and Dad aside, I’m worried this diet and march are going to be too much for you, and not just physically, either.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“All that public pressure, William, you’re taking on way too much.” She knew he hated her to call him William. “Have you checked with a doctor?” she went on. “Made sure it’s safe to even attempt something like this?”
“Your concern is touching, really, but I need to go. I was about to burst into a sprint there when you called.”
“Lookit, I’ll be down at the weekend, let’s talk then, yeah? Meanwhile, why don’t you hold off on all this?”
“Like I said, it’s a done deal.”
“So you’ve already contacted the Samaritans? Cleared it with them?”
“Why would I clear it with them? Aren’t I going to give them money? Nobody says no to money.”
Her breath huffed through the phone. “You’ve already put it out there that you’re doing this for charity without first talking to someone? There are procedures to these things.” She sighed again. “Do you want me to phone them for you?”