Since she was right about the small-town thing, and since we were there, I shrugged and went inside. A twenty-something receptionist with polo shirtsleeves tight around his biceps took our passes and waved us in the direction of the women’s locker room.

“Weight room is over there,” he said, pointing. “Treadmills, ellipticals, stationary bikes, and the rowing machines are on the other side. There’s an exercise classroom in the back. Yoga, aerobics, stretching, that kind of thing. There’s a schedule on the door. On our website, too.” He handed us flyers. “If you have any questions, just let me know.”

I gave him a slightly overwhelmed and intimidated thank-you nod and Tabitha said, “Well, aren’t you the most helpful young man ever. My grandson could take lessons from you.” She beamed and the guy colored prettily.

“You weren’t at the table when the shyness cards were dealt, were you?” I asked as we walked away. “Wish I could be more like that.”

“Oh, you will be,” Tabitha said. “I can tell. I was far quieter, not so long ago. Exquisitely capable, but not a hundred percent confident. All you need is a few more years and some white hair, and the knowledge that none of this matters will come your way. When you understand that down to your bones . . . well . . .” She grinned. “Anything is possible.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I muttered.

“Sorry?”

“That sounds like a plan.” I looked left and right through the glass doors that led into the other rooms. “Let’s look at that posted schedule first. If people are waiting for a class to start, they’ll be easy for us to talk to.”

But when we looked at the list, classes were done for the day. We moved on to the treadmill room and quickly learned that casual chatter was not a part of that environment.

“They all looked so serious,” Tabitha observed as we wandered back out. “Why do you think that is?”

“Because it takes focus to run on a treadmill and not fall off.”

Tabitha laughed. “Is that the voice of experience talking?”

I changed the subject. “I think we’ll have better luck in the weight room.”

“Mmm.” Tabitha gave me an appraising glance. “Which one of us will get more attention? You, being young and cute? Or me, being elderly and cute?”

“Depends on who’s in there,” I said, and pushed the door open.

Inside, men—and one woman—labored at machines whose purpose I didn’t understand. Weights clanked, pulleys whirled, and metal cables sang tunes that I didn’t recognize. This was a world I’d never ventured into, and I hesitated in the doorway.

Tabitha, of course, had no such compunctions.