After sinking into a chair, she looked up at her daughter. “Mr. Brenner lied to us, honey. He works for one of the food processing companies that provides food to Franklin Elementary.”
Melissa lifted her brow, and her eyes widened. Then her features twisted and she fell into Cynthia’s arms, sobbing loudly. “How could he, Mommy? How could he?”
Cynthia didn’t know how he could.
Yes, she did. With that kind of man, in that kind of position of power, it was all about money. And wasn’t that what she had been learning, that Big Food poured those dangerous chemicals into its concoctions in order to make their products as addictive as possible so that people would continue to buy more and more of them?
But she would say none of this to Melissa. Not now. She needed to grieve. All she could manage was a weak apology, because her daughter may have been hurt as much as Cynthia. And it should never have happened. She should have listened to her gut instinct to stay focused on spreading the message about processed food, on figuring out how the food in the St. Peter schools were being poisoned.
As Melissa’s sobs decreased, Cynthia determined that she would not waste any time grieving over what might have been. Not only that, but also she would not allow another man to distract her from her mission.
Chapter Eighteen
Preston needed a distraction, but he couldn’t make himself spend the afternoon as he had been planning to do with Cynthia and Melissa. Besides, a large part of it – the shopping spree – was a girly thing he had thought of just for their pleasure, not because he would enjoy it.
He toyed with the idea of driving to the plant and talking in depth with a few employees, but right now, he wanted to forget he’d ever heard of Delico Foods. He ended up at the local Rec Center that featured an ice skating rink. He hadn’t been on ice skates for years, but he figured that if he had to put all his attention into something he wasn’t sure he could do, he could take his mind off the events of this morning.
He parked his car, paid the admission and skate fees, and walked to the rink where he put on the skates. As usual for a Saturday, it was crowded, mostly with kids. He watched them for a couple of minutes and decided that most were more skilled than he was.
He would be safe. Relatively.
Doing his best to ignore the pop music that blared through the speakers, he slid out onto the rink and took a deep breath. Cautiously, holding his breath, he pushed his right foot out. He wobbled a little, but kept his balance as he pushed his left foot. It was all he could do. Nothing fancy. No twirling or skating backwards, like some of the kids were doing. But he made one whole circle around the rink without bumping into anybody and without falling down.
He decided to increase his speed, and made several more circles without incident. The heaviness from the morning began to lift, and he began to feel a little bit like a kid himself. How he had wanted to grow up and be out on his own by the time he was fourteen! Now, he wished he could go back and tell his fourteen-year-old self what adult life was really like, and to enjoy being a kid while the lack of real responsibility lasted.
Engrossed in his thoughts, he lost focus on what he was doing for a split second – the wrong second. Before he knew what was happening, he had plowed full speed into another body, lost his balance, and fallen onto the ice with a hard thud. The other person, apparently having instinctively gripped his shirt, fell on top of him, covering his chest and chin.
The rasping of skates on ice continued around them. One person shouted at them to get the “blank” out of the way; another, a teenage girl, braked to a stop to ask if they were all right.
Preston couldn’t answer. Whoever had fallen on him was crushing both his lungs and his larynx. But at least he hadn’t landed on the back of his head, he determined by the lack of pain there, and the abundance of pain in his tailbone.
He could only hope he hadn’t broken it.
The other person mumbled in response to the teenager, “I think so,” and began to struggle off of Preston. She was a woman, he saw then, a pretty, thin woman, probably in her mid-twenties, dressed in blue jeans and a pink-striped sweater pulled over a white turtleneck.
As the pressure eased off his chest, he choked out to the teenage girl, “I’m all right.” The girl smiled, nodded, and skated off.
Preston pushed himself up to a sitting position. By then, the woman who had fallen on him was standing up and looking down at him with a wry smile. “Been awhile since you were on skates?”
The implication was that the accident had been all his fault. He wasn’t about to argue with her; she was right.
“About twelve years.” Then he noticed a growing spot of red on her chin. “Oh, God, I made you bleed.” He struggled to get up, but failed until he finally rolled over onto his knees and somehow managed to stand upright – albeit unsteadily.
The woman gave him a perplexed look.
“Your chin. Right there.” He didn’t dare touch it, for fear of aggravating the pain, but pointed his finger within half an inch of what he now realized was a scrape.
“Well, let’s get out of here before we get run over,” the woman suggested as two kids barreled by within a foot of them. “Need help?” She held out her hand.
Preston took it without thinking. He had seen her pass him several times, and knew her ice skating skill level was much higher than his. While he wouldn’t expect her to hold up his weight if he started to fall again, she was probably a good anchor to help him keep his balance. His legs still felt wobbly from the scare of the impact, and his butt was killing him.
They slowly skated to the edge of the rink, then stepped out of it and collapsed on the nearest bench. The woman burst out laughing.
Preston hiked a brow at her.
“I’m sorry,” she said. Then she touched the injured place on her chin. “Just a scrape. I felt it when it happened. No worries.” She had stopped laughing, but grinned at him broadly. “Well, that was funny now that it’s over, don’t you think?”
Preston smiled, not so much because he agreed with her, but because her smile was contagious. He did not find her as attractive as Cynthia, but she had a winning smile.
Then he winced, and shifted his bottom.
Her smile faded. “You’re hurt, too.”
Preston lifted a shoulder. “My tailbone. Hopefully just a bruise.”
“That’s still really painful.” The lady grimaced. “I bruised my tailbone when I was sixteen, and had to stay in bed for a week. During Christmas vacation.”
She stuck out her hand, smiling again. “Erin Halley, health nut and schoolteacher.”
Preston shook her hand, knowing right away that he was going to be perfectly truthful. “Preston Brenner, regional vice president of Delico Foods.”
Erin withdrew her hand as a shadow passed over her face. Preston didn’t miss it.
“Yeah, I seem to have that effect on all health-conscious women.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean – “ Erin cut herself off with a sigh. “Yes, I did. I’m a nutrition snob. I can’t deny it. My diet is better than your diet, and chances are good I’m going to live a lot longer than you, with a much better quality of life because I don’t eat fake food. Such as your company manufactures.” She said all this in a light, teasing tone, but underneath her words he heard a challenge.
He decided to take her up on it. He wanted – no, needed to understand where Cynthia was coming from. Even if he never saw her again. “Listen, I know you came here to skate, not talk to some stranger who will confess complete ignorance when it comes to the health nut world. But can you spare a few minutes to answer a few questions?”
Erin’s eyes twinkled with understanding. “You have your eye on another woman who is a health nut, and she has a problem with your career choice.”
Preston leaned back, his brow furrowing. “It’s scary how you women do that.” He’d had girlfriends with incredible sixth senses that he could never comprehend.
Erin shrugged. ??
?Just putting two and two together. I have to know that much to teach second grade.”
Preston chuckled. At least they understood each other. The last thing he needed today was an awkward conversation to explain that he was not interested in her romantically.
He sobered. “I really am sorry about your chin.”
Another shrug. “You gonna pick my brain, or what?”
Preston paused. A teacher came into contact with a lot of people every day. And she more than likely worked in one of the St. Peter public schools. He had to make sure she wouldn’t go to work Monday – or any day – and blab about having talked with one of the evil men who were trying to poison children. “I – I need to be assured, first, that this conversation stays between the two of us. My position being what it is, and what’s been going on with the school food…”
He let his voice trail off, suddenly aware that Erin may have no idea what he was talking about. Unless she worked at a school where one of the food-related illnesses had occurred and/or kept close tabs on local news, he might have just opened a Pandora’s box.
But Erin responded without hesitation, and with a reassuring smile, “Let’s pretend I’m your health coach, and you’re my client, and so the usual professional confidentiality rules apply.”
Preston relaxed. As much as he could while feeling like his lower back was on fire. He couldn’t wait to get back home and lie down. Too bad it couldn’t be for a whole week.
“What’s wrong with the food that my company – and others – produce in a factory? It’s all sanctioned by the FDA.”
Erin laughed sardonically. “Okay, first lesson. All health nuts believe that the FDA is paid off by both government lobbyists and Big Food – that’s companies like yours – and Big Pharm, while I’m at it, so that food and drug manufacturers can do whatever they want.”
Preston stiffened. He had never paid anyone in the FDA off, never paid an inspector to lie on his or her report, and had never heard of anyone else in the leadership of Delico doing it.
“You’re offended.” Erin spoke in a clipped tone. “But that’s the truth. I don’t give one flip about which practices the FDA sanctions. It means nothing to me. The higher-ups in that organization hold a lot of stock in both food and drug companies. Can you say, ‘conflict of interest’?”
Preston felt his jaw tighten. Not so much because he was angry with her assertion, but because he was afraid she might be right. “Would you mind answering my question?”
Erin looked at him blankly for a moment. “Oh. What’s wrong with your products. Well, think about it this way. The kind of so-called food your company puts out has only been around for about a hundred years. Every year, they come up with new chemical mixtures to flavor and color food. Nobody has ever done any scientific studies to find out how the individual chemicals affect the human body over time, not to mention how all the different chemicals thrown in together can impact the body.” She paused to take a breath, glanced over at the rink, then looked back at him.
Straight into his eyes. He liked that, her not being intimidated by his professional title.
She continued, “People who live on processed foods, plus go around using toxins to clean their house and bodies, their livers can’t take care of all that crap. Some of it – a lot of it, maybe – builds up in the body over time. And that causes health problems.”
Preston frowned. “Prove it.” Then he regretted his fighting words. He was trying to understand Cynthia better, not antagonize his new acquaintance.
To his surprise, she smiled brightly. “Okay. I’ve read probably fifty stories of individuals who had cancer, or M.S., or lupus, or chronic fatigue, and they got all the unnatural stuff out of their diet and cured themselves when doctors said their only help was symptom-relieving drugs. I’ve read books where medical doctors – medical doctors, Preston – tell about helping hundreds of patients with various health problems the same way. Some of these people went all raw, some of them went Paleo, some of them just stopped eating all packaged foods.” Her eyes flashed and her smile stiffened. “Dare you to tell me the stories were all made up.”
Preston began to shift away from her, but a searing pain on his rear told him to stay put. “I – I take it you’ve had…trouble telling others this kind of information.”
Erin sighed, her features softening, and nodded. “And here’s another thing. There was hardly any obesity before high fructose corn syrup and before the stupid government started telling people to eat eight frickin’ slices of bread a day.” This teacher definitely had a strong opinion or two on the subject. “There was hardly any autism or ADD or manic depression several decades ago. And hardly anybody ever had a heart attack back in 1900, when people were eating real fat like butter and lard. Heart attack incidences skyrocketed when people started eating hydrogenated oils.”
Interesting. Preston’s doctor had told him to lay off saturated fat in order to help lower his LDL cholesterol. But could his problem have been with the oils in Delico’s pre-packaged meals?
He swallowed, then watched the ice skaters on the rink for a long moment. Whether or not Delico products were at fault in Melissa’s or the other kids’ illnesses, they certainly didn’t seem to be the answer for health that he’d always believed they were.
Not that he’d ever thought about food much in terms of health. Growing up, he’d been taught that food was for fuel. And although he’d read newspaper and online articles that talked about studies that connected higher vegetable and fruit consumption with lower cancer rates, he had come to believe that as long as he ate a variety of foods – including the kinds Delico produced, as he’d been told that they were “specially formulated” nutrition-wise – he would get everything his body needed. And if he got diagnosed with some horrible disease, genetics were to blame.
Now a schoolteacher who probably made less than a quarter of the income that he did was shaking his beliefs to his very core.
“You either don’t believe me or you’re totally overwhelmed.”
Preston tore his eyes from the rink and gave Erin a small smile. “Overwhelmed.” Again.
She nodded. “It’s a lot to take in one fell swoop. Here’s the rule that makes it simple.” She crossed one leg over the other. “Eat foods in the most natural form possible. If you can eat it raw, eat it raw. If you can’t, cook it as little as possible to make it palatable. I personally stay away from grains because you can’t eat them anywhere near their natural state.
“If you want to add flavor, add fresh herbs or a little salt. Maybe apple cider vinegar. Raw honey to sweeten. But all this means you eat a lot of fruits and vegetables, nuts and seeds, and supplement that with a little fresh meat or eggs. For extra fat, butter and virgin coconut oil don’t go through too much processing. But, vegetable oils? My gosh, would you ever think about eating plain corn on the cob in order to get fat?”
Preston shook his head, which was swimming.
“Anyway, you get my point.” She looked at him, her head tilted to one side. “Don’t you?”
Preston let out a breath. This woman had a passion for healthy eating, that was for sure. Much more so than Cynthia, as Cynthia’s passion seemed to be more along the lines of protecting her child. Then again, Cynthia had only just changed her diet. “I do. I get it.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “How long have you been into this…nutrition thing?”
Erin smiled again, and Preston contemplated telling her she would make a great salesperson and make a lot more money with that smile than she did teaching. “Nine years. And believe me, it takes a lot of reading the right books to wade through all the bias and come up with the truth about food.”
Preston leaned back and to the left to put his hand in his pocket and pull out his iPhone. The effort made him groan in pain. “Give me some titles,” he said, turning on the device’s recorder.
Erin hiked her brow. “Really?”
“Really.”
Her smile went from one ear to another. “Okay. N
utrition And Physical Degeneration by Weston A. Price. You can read it for free online at Australia’s Project Gutenberg site. Eat To Live by Dr. Joel Fuhrman. One of those M.D.’s I mentioned earlier. The Raw Food Detox Diet by Natalia Rose. Except, she doesn’t have the revelation about grain. Wheat Belly. I forget who wrote it, but that’s by another M.D. He does have the anti-grain revelation.”
Preston arched his brow. “My – uh, the lady I’m interested in wanted me to read that one.”
Erin smiled her approval. “Good. Look, I could go on, but those give you a pretty good foundation for a healthy diet. And there’s one more – but you – well, it really hits processed foods in the head.” She spoke more slowly now. “If you read it, don’t hold me responsible.”
He looked up again. “For what?”
“Anything.”
“Title, please.”
“Excitotoxins by Russell Blaylock.”
Preston nodded, wondering if it was as complicated as the title made it sound. Not that he would avoid a challenging book. He was already convinced that manufactured foods weren’t doing anybody’s health any favors. Reading that book just might knock him over to Erin and Cynthia’s side of the fence.
Preston stopped and saved the recording, turned off the phone, and met Erin’s gaze. Her face was flushed, and her eyes sparkled. Then she laughed. “I’m sorry for staring. It’s just that – nobody has ever asked me for a book reading list before.” She paused. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”
“I am.” Serious because if he had any chance at all, he wanted to win Cynthia back. Serious because he didn’t want to continue in a career that wasn’t really helping the world to be a better place. Serious because he was not happy about the recent doctor’s report.
“Thank you very much, Erin.” He extended his hand toward her. “Really. I only wish we could have met under less painful circumstances.”
Erin laughed as she shook his hand. “I’ll be fine. Maybe I should thank you for giving me a fun story to tell my kids on Monday.” She stood up, and was back on the rink a few seconds later.
Preston eased up off the bench, muttering a curse word under his breath. His tailbone hurt. Hopefully, he could spend the next day and a half in bed, recovering, and trying to figure out how he could convince Cynthia that he wasn’t the epitome of evil she thought he was.