Runaway

by Katie Cross

  The latest girl to ghost me on my messages this morning.

  Half my attention kept the conversation going with Maverick, the other half tracked her. Abby and I had messaged for two months on the app before we finally found a time that worked to meet up ten days ago. I'd liked her more than I thought I should for never having met her and she seemed to feel the same way. Our date had been easy. A fun hike, some easy rock climbing, and lunch on top of a massive boulder.

  Then she'd ghosted.

  And now, if her entwined fingers and googly eyes with that guy meant anything, she'd found someone else.

  A sardonic mixture of amusement and annoyance filled me. If she found someone else, good for her. But the timelines were pretty squished. She would likely have known about that guy while messaging me—unless, of course, they moved at light speed. Our date was only a week and a half ago, it's not like it had been an eternity. She'd been very careful with me, too, and seemed that way in general. Was she hesitant because she had this other guy on the line at the same time?

  Had it been a pity date with me?

  She had no obligation to me, of course. Let her date five guys at the same time if she wanted to. But the same frustration arose again regardless. Why was I always the loser in this equation? The one that didn't get the girl?

  I must be missing something.

  When Maverick slipped to the bathroom, his prosthetic legs drawing a few surprised stares, Abby looked up. Her eyes tangled with mine for half a moment. Shock came to her face first, then uncertainty, and finally a forced, tight smile. She turned back to her date, but her eyes flickered to mine a few times. She shifted in her chair, although she tried to hide her discomfort.

  Oh, yeah.

  That was definitely guilt.

  You led me on, I thought, and then you ghosted me. Hope that feels good.

  "R-ready to give me money?" Dagny asked, hand held out. I gave her my credit card between two fingers.

  "I'll get both of ours here." Even though I didn't have the money for it, I gestured toward Abby and her date with a tip of my head. "And put those two on my card too, but don't tell them until they leave. Just tell the woman it's a parting gift from a friend."

  Dagny snatched the card and swiped it. "Got it, boss."

  Maverick returned, we parted with a handshake, and I left the diner without another backward glance. Closure felt good, but an unforgettable exit from a woman's life felt even better.

  5

  Stella Marie

  “Stella Marie?”

  A smile broke my lips, the first true one in weeks. “Hey, grandma.”

  “How are you?”

  Her warm voice, smooth as honey, made my stomach catch. I settled on the edge of my bed with a sigh. Just hearing her eased my prickling stomach, which felt constantly on edge these days.

  “I’m good. How are you?”

  “My stock has dropped,” she muttered. “I'm not happy about it.”

  With a laugh, I sprawled back on the bed. My cabin door was propped open, and one window cracked, admitting a warm autumn breeze that shuffled through the little cabin. It smelled roughly sweet, like decaying leaves and incoming rain. The sun settled lower on the horizon, hidden from the high mountain walls that were a backdrop behind me. I shivered and shut the door gently.

  “I wouldn't be happy either.”

  “What happened to your old phone number? I'm having a devil of a time getting you programmed into my phone under the new one, even after you texted me.”

  “My phone broke. Had to get a new one.” My throat thickened with the lie, but she didn't need to know the truth yet. Grandma had created a lovely, safe life within her retirement community. No need to pop that yet.

  “Oh. I'll ask the nurse to reprogram this number in.”

  “Good idea.” I balanced the phone on my shoulder and reached for a log on top of the pile Mark had put in my room. Sparks flew up the chimney when I jabbed the wood inside. “How's the Bunco group?”

  Our conversation spiraled into her most recent exploits. Ranger, the retired military man that lived next door, followed her to their weekly crafts meeting again. His attempts to flirt weren't very subtle, but grandma had never been one to turn a man away. She lived a far more extroverted life than I did.

  “Don't worry about me,” she said. “I'll keep Ranger on his toes.”

  I laughed. “I never do worry about you, Grandma.”

  “Any husband prospects yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  Mark riffled through my mind, but I shoved that back out. Nope. Noooope. He was my client and not at all my type. Although, granted, I didn't exactly know my type. Dating hadn't been high on my priority list the last few years, and Joshua certainly hadn't made it easy.

  That whole married-but-possessive-of-other-women thing got in the way.

  “Well, what are you going to do about it?” Grandma asked. “How can I be a great-grandma if you don't have babies?”

  I laughed again. “You can adopt some from one of your friends there. You basically run that retirement home.”

  “It's not the same, Stella Marie, and you know it.” The chiding in her voice softened. “He'll come. He'll probably surprise you, but he'll come.”

  “Love you. Thank you for answering. It's always good to hear your voice.”

  “You too, honey. Love you. Be safe!”

  With a click, she was gone. I set my phone aside as a blast of wind slammed into the cabin wall from the west. Disturbed coals glowed a bright red in the fireplace but didn't seem to catch onto the log I'd shoved inside. This whole Laura Ingalls Wilder setup was new to me. Charming, but I needed a guidebook.

  In a crouch, I blew on the coals. They flared to burnt orange, and a small flame licked up the side of the wood.

  But would it stay?

  For several minutes, I stared at the coals to will them to life, lost in thought. Was Grandma safe? Yes. There was no paper trail to her through financial or public records. Joshua hadn't heard much about her except that she existed, and Grandma could pay for herself for now. Phone records existed, but would he dive into those? I snorted. Okay, that was a step too far. I kept blowing this whole situation up in my head.

  Well . . . maybe not.

  With a sigh, I glanced up and realized darkness had settled outside. Several store bags littered the room, still unpacked. I flicked on the lamp that I'd bought, filling the cabin with a warm glow. A new winter coat hung across the back of the desk chair, and packaged clothes hangers waited for me to unpack my two suitcases. Maybe Mark would let me stow my empty suitcases somewhere else.

  At some point, I needed to eat dinner.

  Just after I started a movie on NetShows to run in the background while I worked, a gentle tap came on the door. By the time I pulled a jacket on and got the door open, no one stood outside.

  A single mug of hot chocolate sat on the ground just outside my door, steaming in the cooling night air.

  Five days of blissful quiet passed.

  Mark and I blithely avoided each other, like we'd created a game to see as little of each other as possible.

  A mug of hot chocolate appeared at my doorstep every night. Instead of catching him on delivery, I paused to give him time to escape. I left an envelope filled with five 100 dollar bills and marked rent on his table after his ancient truck roared away. Because who would lock their door out here?

  Sometimes after I grabbed some coffee in his house and slipped out the back door again, the cabin smelled like a faint hint of pine, as if he'd just slipped upstairs when he heard my knock and didn't want to be seen. When I returned from making lunch in the kitchen, fresh firewood was stacked in my room.

  Strange, like a dance.

  But nice all the same.

  By the sixth day, however, I was silenced out. The utter stillness of the mountains, while soothing, became grating. Although I'd caught up on a lot of the movies that I'd missed while throwing my world into the accounting firm I suddenl
y left without explanation, I didn't feel accomplished.

  Or relaxed.

  The absence of bustle, activity, and people had been rejuvenating. Now, it was too quiet. Suffocating. What was I doing with my life? The four remaining clients I had—Mark included—wouldn't need much until the end of the month. No unusual local or national headlines caught my attention. The quiet should have been a relief.

  Now, I just felt restless.

  And how much longer would this last? Weeks? Months? I really should have bought that RV. At least there was adventure and movement in driving around.

  That evening, I dressed in my warmest running gear. Wild, gray clouds piled on the horizon, whipping in on a cold wind. If I didn't get this excess energy out, I'd never sleep. My cabin wasn't big enough to pace, and I didn't want to intrude on Mark and his mountain man world.

  Whatever that meant.

  No, there was a strange skein of ice between us, and I didn't want to be the first one to break it.

  A chill raced through me when I stepped outside. Gravel ground underneath my shoes as I headed for the road, doubting the intelligence of this decision. It was a few miles to the bridge and back, which would be just right in terms of length. Dark would just be falling in earnest by the time I returned if I hustled.

  As I headed around Mark's cabin, buttery light in the windows, a voice startled me.

  “It's a bit late for a run.”

  Mark stood on his porch, one leg tucked behind him in a stretch. He straightened the bent leg, shaking it out. Like me, he wore long pants, sleeves, and ear coverings. Only his face was flushed red, as if he'd just gotten back from a run.

  “Hi.” I stopped. “Yeah, I just . . . need to get out. I won't be gone long.”

  He frowned. “Where are you running?”

  “To the bridge and back.”

  A beat followed, then he started toward me. “Mind if I come?”

  “Um . . . why?”

  “Because there's a mountain lion that's prowling around here at night. It's not safe for you to run by yourself when it's dark here. It'll be dark before you get back and rain is supposed to be blowing in, anyway.”

  Several responses flooded me, but none of them made it to my lips. Dadgummit, but I definitely hadn't considered the furry type of predator. At least, not near the camp and a road. But then, why wouldn't they be here?

  “Oh.” I swallowed, realizing how ridiculous that sounded. “But it looks like you just came back.”

  He shrugged. “I did.”

  “You want to go again?”

  “It's only five miles round trip.”

  Only. Spoken with the casual arrogance of someone that ran often. How far had he just run? Did he race or something? At first, I was tempted to reschedule the run for later, but the idea of returning to that tiny cabin made my stomach churn. No, I needed to tire myself out first.

  “Sure.” I managed a smile. “Thanks.”

  “You set the pace. I'll follow.”

  Running with another person felt oddly intimate. I forced myself to focus on my body and my pace, the way I always did, instead of whether he thought I was fast or slow. Even with darkness creeping in every minute, and the bare tree branches rattling in the wind that brought it, there was a stark beauty to an autumn forest. Even if it was ready to kill me at any moment.

  Suddenly, mountain lion eyes seemed to be everywhere.

  We didn't speak at first. Mark followed at my side, but slightly behind. Eventually, my body warmed into the movement. The cool air ached when it spread through my lungs as I breathed faster. Foggy breath trailed behind me as we moved. By the time we arrived at the bridge, the storm covered the sky with slate. Somewhere behind the mat of impending moisture, the sun set. The mountains had already fallen into darkness.

  “Thank you,” I said. My breath puffed in front of me as I stopped at the bridge. Headlights from the highway on the other side slid by, round, yellow orbs glowing. For some reason, knowing that civilization was close enough to touch made me feel better. I wasn't so gone, so lost in the folds of the mountains, that I couldn't find my way back out.

  “Thank me for?” he asked, hands set on his hips. He breathed heavily, but not hard.

  “Coming.”

  I turned around and picked my pace back up. Standing around would only chill me, making it harder to start again. Besides, I was sort of terrified to plunge back through the dark tunnel of trees that now faced us and really did feel grateful to not be alone. “I wouldn't have been comfortable out here by myself. I didn't realize it would get so dark.”

  “No problem.”

  He said it casually, so easily that it broke some of the reservations I felt over even talking to him. Would it change our silent dance if we spoke to each other?

  Actually, why didn't we talk more?

  “You were gone for a long time today,” I said, grabbing the easiest conversation string I could think of. To my surprise, when I tugged it, he didn't unravel.

  “Yeah.” He matched my stride now. We were perfectly even, our legs thudding the ground in simple synchronization that I enjoyed. “A date.”

  My brow lifted when I turned to him. “Oh?”

  He shrugged again. “Didn't go well.”

  “No?”

  “Her name was Stephanie. She wanted to go on a hike together, so we did.”

  “Sounds like a great date.”

  “I thought so too.”

  Silence fell while I waited for him to elaborate. The dark trees seemed to reach for us, the world obscured in the shadows. My pace increased ever-so-slightly. Even with Mark at my side, maybe that tiny cabin was a better place to be right now.

  “What is it with women saying one thing and meaning another?” The words burst out of him all at once. If we hadn't been running, I would have been shocked. The movement kept me from reacting strongly, however. I took it in stride, like I usually did with Mark.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Stephanie said she loved to hike. We messaged for a few days, she picked the place, and we met there. Then we started hiking and she complained the whole time. Her shoes hurt. She got bored on the trail. She was tired by the end. The leaves smelled funny.”

  “How far did you go?”

  “Less than two miles.”

  “Oh.”

  He shook his head, clearly agitated now. But he seemed to warm up to his words and they flowed as if they'd been pent up for too long.

  “She messaged me about her love of hiking. In fact, it was the first thing she said, but she clearly hated it when we started. By the time we finished, and I even cut it short by a mile, she was miserable. Apparently, she doesn't like being sweaty.”

  “So when she said she loved to hike, she really meant she loved the idea of hiking?”

  “Exactly!”

  A little chuckle peeped out of me. What a hilarious side of him that I'd never imagined before. This frustrated, trying-to-date-but-hates-it side. He'd inadvertently started to run faster as he told his story, so I pushed my pace to keep up with him. The burn in my chest felt oddly good, even if I wanted to collapse. Pride kept me going.

  “Why couldn't she just be honest?” Agitated breath puffed in front of him. “If she doesn't like to hike, that's fine. I don't need her to like everything that I do. But can't she just be honest about that?”

  “How long have you been talking to her?”

  “A few days. Since you arrived.”

  “Maybe she's insecure.”

  “About what?”

  I shrugged this time. “I don't know. Lots of people are afraid of not being liked, so they mimic the other person.” My breath was more strained, but he didn't seem to notice. “Eventually, it falls apart. She did you a favor. Now you know it's not a good fit because she doesn't even know herself.”

  His shoulders settled a little bit then, even though his brow had wrinkled. He seemed to think that over for a few minutes before he mumbled, “Probably.”

 
“Not probably. Definitely. What if she had pretended to love hiking and you thought it was real?” My breath huffed in earnest now. He dialed back his pace a little and I went with it in silent exultation. “You'd keep dating her, thinking it was a good fit, and then it would crumble beneath you later. Now it can crumble before it began. Reality sucks, Mark. But sometimes you have to be grateful for it.”

  Advice I should take myself.

  This time as he considered my words, his annoyance calmed. We'd inadvertently fallen into the same back-and-forth we often had as client and accountant. It seemed so easy. In person, his long silences weren't so weird. I left him to think about it as we rounded a bend. Wind blew gentle rain in our direction and sprinkled my hair with a chilly staccato.

  “You're right,” he finally said. “We weren't a good fit, but I wouldn't have seen that right away.”

  “It sucks.”

  “It's frustrating.”

  “Very.”

  That seemed to calm him further and we settled back into the run. When the lights of Adventura were visible through the dark underbrush, I glanced at my watch, startled to see minutes shaved off my time. Maybe I should run with him more. He certainly pushed me.

  We slowed at the parking lot entrance, not far from where both our cars were parked and walked in silence to cool down. Before I could veer to my path with a vague thanks, have a good night, he nudged me toward his cabin with an elbow.

  “Come inside,” he said. “There's more room to stretch at my place.”

  6

  Mark

  A low bank of coals greeted us when we returned to my place.

  While Stella stood on my towel-rug and rubbed raindrops out of her hair, I brushed water off my shoulders and headed for the pile of firewood near the fire. Cold had already started to seep in between the chinks in the wooden log walls and through the windowpanes. Keeping this place warm was a part-time job.

  “Have you eaten yet?” I asked over my shoulder.

  “No.”

  “Great. I'll make grilled cheese.”