“Actually, I lost weight. Apparently being shipwrecked is a great diet plan. I don’t want to blow a trend so . . .” She indicated her meal. “But I don’t think I can fit in a couple hours of snorkeling a day, and a long walk.”

“I’ve been thinking about joining a gym.” Heather’s struggles with her weight paralleled Marissa’s own. They probably wore the same size, but Heather was three inches taller.

Before Marissa really thought about it, she heard herself say, “I will if you will.”

“Really? I just can’t make myself do it alone.”

“Sure. I really will do it.”

“There’s a women’s gym on the other side of the freeway,” Heather said eagerly. “I checked it out a few weeks ago and it didn’t seem at all like a meat market. Lots of ordinary women there. No skinny bitches.”

“Hey,” Bianca said.

“You’re not a skinny bitch,” Heather said quickly. “I know how hard you work to stay thin.”

“It’s not thin I’m after.” Bianca chewed another bite of her chopped salad. “Some of us are born cheetahs but I was born a wildebeest. I’m just trying to make sure the cheetahs can’t catch me.”

“Cheetahs? Like who?” One of the sales reps Marissa didn’t know well looked up from her burger.

“Not who—what. My personal cheetahs are heart disease and diabetes. They run in the family.” Bianca shrugged. “I want to see my kids graduate high school. I want to be able to chase my grand-kids some day and not have a wheezing fit.”

Heather nodded at Bianca over her soda. “I want to wear two sizes smaller by the time of my five-year reunion this summer.”

I don’t want to be a helpless fat chick for the rest of my life, Marissa nearly said aloud. Given everything that had happened with Linda, she hadn’t thought much about that moment in the hotel bathroom when she hadn’t recognized herself in the mirror. I don’t want to be helpless. I want to be strong too.

Someday soon Linda would show up and when she did Marissa wanted to be able to keep up with whatever adventures Linda might propose. She finished her sushi and soup lost in thought. Joining a gym couldn’t hurt, that was for sure.

Heather eagerly proposed going to the nearby gym right after work, before they lost their nerve. Marissa thought the club felt comfortable with only women clients.

A perky, size-three trainer named Pinny showed them the basic set up and explained the class schedule for spin and aerobic classes.

Marissa was musing that spin classes sounded more like dance when she realized they were structured stationary cycle workouts. Okay . . . she had some learning to do.

“Let me show you something.” Pinny led them to a small table outside the locker room. “This is what five pounds of fat looks like.”

Marissa examined the painted Styrofoam model that Pinny was holding in both hands. Lumpy and dun brown, it wasn’t pretty to look at and was about the size of a bread box. But she was certain she had five pounds of fat on each thigh alone and Pinny’s model was three times the size of either of her thighs.