“Tired already?”
“I can hardly see the trail anymore.”
“Wimp,” she says. “You know, Roman is a night runner. If you want to be his new running buddy, you’d better get used to it.”
A night runner—how does she know that?
Then she turns, so quickly that I trip as I try to follow her. I land on my left knee and feel a deep scratch, a twig or tree branch probably. She doesn’t stop or even slow down. By the time I stand up, she’s already around the bend. I guess I’ve struck a nerve.
I lean down to take a look at my bleeding knee—and then I hear it. A whisper. A man’s voice.
That’s enough to get me moving again, despite the painful scratch. I start down the hill, fast. But it’s not fast enough. I hear that voice, whispering in words I don’t understand. It’s like another language, only it’s not one I’ve ever heard before.
I stumble again and land face-first in the dirt. I hear a rustling noise—this time it’s right in front of me—and I bite my lips to keep from screaming. I don’t want to look up but I do.
It’s a deer, standing on the trail right in front of me. Frozen. Frightened, like me.
I exhale, and with that the deer takes two quick steps and disappears back into the woods. I push myself to my feet and look behind me. The trail is empty.
I must have heard the wind. It was only the wind.
A hand grabs my shoulder. This time I do scream, whirling around and pulling myself away at the same time.
“Kat!” It’s Stacey. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Don’t sneak up on me like that,” I say.
“I looked back and you were gone.” Then she looks at my knee. “Did you fall?”
I look down. Blood is dripping onto my new socks and shoes. I reach down and dab at the cut with my hands, but the sweat only mixes with the blood and stings. I’m worried about my new shoes. But then I hear another rustle in the woods, and I straighten up again. I look at Stacey and can tell that she heard it, too.
“Perhaps we should call it a day,” she says, and I agree.
We head back to town at a slower pace, an easy jog, and she never acknowledges that she’d turned and left me behind. I’m starting to wonder if that was all in my imagination, and so I don’t mention it either.
Six
My two-week stint at Lithia Runners is nearing an end. To make it last a bit longer, I’ve asked for a day off to look for work. I spend the morning on a public computer at the Lithia Library. I find positions open at the city’s parks department, a bakery, and a B&B. I’m excited by the prospects, but when I go to borrow a pen and some paper from the reference librarian, she warns me that getting a job in Lithia won’t be easy. “It’s a small town,” she says, “and there are more people than jobs.”
I decide to think positively, and I head for the bakery, which is only a five-minute walk from the library. The great thing about Lithia is that everything is within walking distance, which is lucky for me because I have a feeling I’ll be forty before I own my own car.
At the bakery, I’m told I don’t have enough experience. I offer to work for free until I get the experience, but the owner, an older man who looks as though he’s been up all night, doesn’t bite. So I move on to the B&B, whose owner somehow thinks she can find a short-order cook, computer expert, and desk manager all in one perky little package. Nothing about me fits that description. Again I offer to work for free while I train, but she’s not interested.
My last stop, and last resort, is the parks department, which is located on the ground floor of a two-story newish brick building on the edge of Manzanita Park, off the main square. When I enter the building, there is nobody behind the front desk. No bell to ring. So I stand and wait. Behind me is a large topographical map of Lithia and its surroundings. I study the streets of downtown, then my eyes wander to the hills and to the Lost Mine Trail. I hadn’t realized just how long it is—the trail goes on and on. Stacey and I have covered only the first few miles of it. I’m wondering where the actual lost mine is when I hear someone behind me.
“Can I help you?” A receptionist has returned from somewhere and is standing behind the desk.
“Hi. I was hoping to fill out a job application for the parks assistant.”
“I’m sorry,” the woman says, not looking very sorry. “The position’s been filled.”
“Oh.” I feel as though I’ve been in a different town all day, with none of the usual Lithia magic and good luck.
But then her expression changes, and she gives me a sympathetic look. “In a town full of outdoor nuts, these jobs don’t stay open for long,” she says.
“I guess not. Well, thanks anyway.”
As I turn toward the door to leave, a young man in a dark-green parks department uniform barges through it like he’s in a hurry.
“Cindy, you got those new flyers?”
“Hi, Doug. I got them printed up last night.” She grabs a pile of large yellow paper flyers and hands them over. I can see the words BEAR WARNING in large letters.
“Great, thanks,” Doug says. “I gotta get these up before the mayor returns from her trip.”
When he leaves, I follow him outside and watch him climb into a Jeep. I hurry to catch up, then call out, “Excuse me! Doug?”
He looks at me as if trying to place me. “You don’t know me,” I say. “I’m new here and just have a question for you.”
“What’s that?”
“The Lost Mine Trail—is that one of the places where there have been bear attacks?”
He shakes his head. “I wouldn’t worry about it. I mean, bears are everywhere here, but stay head’s up, make a lot of noise, and you’ll be fine.”
Bewildered, I point to the flyers. “But what about those signs?”
“These?” He shakes his head. “Don’t get me started.” But he climbs back out of the Jeep and stands close to me, lowering his voice. “This is all one big enormous joke.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m sick and tired of everyone blaming these attacks on bears or mountain lions, or even Big Foot. You know, he’s been spotted up there as well.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yes.” He shakes his head again. “And if there was a lake up there, you’d be hearing about the Loch Ness monster.”
“So these attacks haven’t been by bears?”
“I’m not saying animals don’t attack people on occasion, but it’s the exception—not the rule.”
“Then how are these people getting attacked?”
“I have my theories.” He lowers his voice even more, down to a whisper. “Bears don’t attack people,” he says. “People attack people.”
I look at him. “Are you talking about a serial killer? In Lithia?” It doesn’t seem possible in a place like this.
Doug gets an odd look on his face, like he’s said too much. “I gotta get back to work,” he says, and he climbs into the Jeep.
I watch him drive away. As I walk back to the studio, I find myself staring into the faces of the people walking through Lithia, thinking that maybe I don’t know this pretty little town as well as I think I do.
~
David brings lunch for us at the store today. For the two of us, he brings mock-tuna sandwiches, made with tempeh and Veganaise. For Stacey, he brings a ham and Swiss, apparently by her request, which doesn’t make him very happy.
They’ve both been on edge lately, and I think that’s why her not-quite-veganism is annoying him. I know they’ve been arguing. I heard them last night, when the weather was surprisingly warm, my studio stuffy, and I’d opened my window, which faces the kitchen window of the main house. They were in there making dinner, and had cracked their own window. They were arguing over the food, which seemed to become an argument over something else. I heard her tell him that she’s still her own person, that he can’t change her. When their voices rose, it felt too much like being back in Texas, and so I closed my window and de
alt with the stuffiness inside.
Around me, they act normal, though Stacey’s been more distracted, forgetting things and forgetting all about customers she’s in the middle of helping. I’ve been covering for her, bringing out shoes she was supposed to be helping a customer try on, or ringing someone up when she disappears. Yesterday, she said she needed to go pick up something at the drugstore and was gone for three hours. When David asked where she was, I didn’t let on that she’d been gone that long. And when I told her that he seemed concerned about where she’d been, she didn’t seem to care.
Now, Stacey is in the back room, claiming to be doing inventory, while David and I eat our sandwiches at the front checkout counter.
“What do I owe you for this?” I ask him.
“Forget it,” he says. “I’ll just take it out of your pay.”
“Very funny.”
“Don’t worry, it’s on me. To be honest, I’m just happy to have someone to share a sandwich with.”
“Does it really bother you that she’s not a vegetarian anymore?”
“They say a family that eats together…” His voice trails off. “It’s only partly the food. It just makes you think, you know, when your values are so different. Especially when they used to be lined up just perfectly.”
“Why did she give it up?” I ask.
“Who knows?” David’s voice sounds weary, like this isn’t the first time she’s switched back. “She’s someone who changes her mind a lot, even when it’s something you don’t expect. I guess I still haven’t gotten used to it.”
The door opens with a jingle of the little bell on it, and Alex walks in. “Hi, David,” he says, then looks at me and smiles. “And Katherine.”
“Kat,” I say.
“Right.” He stands in front of the shoe wall. “Kat, I am in the market for a new pair of runners. What do you recommend?”
David nods me back to work and begins to clean up our lunch wrappers as I approach Alex. He is staring intently at the array of shoes.
I pull down a shoe and hand it to him. “These just came in,” I say. “I like Brooks a lot. Recycled materials. No leather. Very breathable.”
“That’s good. Especially because I don’t wear leather.”
“Neither do I,” I say, pleased to have something in common with him. “What size are you?”
“Ten.”
I go to the back room, where I look around but don’t see Stacey anywhere. I find the box of Brooks in his size and return to the front. Alex is already seated, his shoes off. I hand him the box and watch him put on the shoes. I find myself admiring his legs, the light, blond hair covering the fading tan underneath. My eyes travel up to his face, watching the way he presses his lips together as he pulls on the shoes, the way his ponytail swings forward as he bends down. He’s so completely different from Roman, but still, I can’t help but enjoy the view. Maybe I’m a lot more lonely than I realize.
“Comfortable,” he says, standing up, bouncing a couple times on the balls of his feet. “But what’s up with the color? Why do men’s shoes always use such garish colors? I mean, neon blue and red? And these lines of silver make me look like I’ve stepped off a space ship.”
“I don’t know why,” I say. “Because men have no taste?”
“Why can’t they just make these in purple? Or a nice, plain, old-fashioned green. Like the ones over there.”
I follow his eyes over to the women’s section of the wall. “I can get you a pair of those to try on, if you prefer,” I say. “I’m not sure if they make them in your size—”
“That’s okay.” He smiles. “I shouldn’t look down when I’m running anyway. Besides, these are going to get so filthy during my training that they’ll be mud-brown within the week.”
“You’re training?” I ask. “Does this mean you’re running Cloudline?”
“You bet. Are you?”
“I don’t know. I’m still getting back in shape, building up my endurance.”
“Where do you run?”
“The Lost Mine Trail. With Stacey.”
His face darkens slightly.
“What is it?” I ask.
But he’s already kneeling down to take off the shoes.
“Alex?” I ask, but he doesn’t answer. So I add, hoping I haven’t just lost a sale, “You can wear them out of here if you want.”
“No.” He straightens. “You can box them up.”
“Roman!” Stacey’s voice, from across the room, causes me to look up. I hadn’t noticed the jingle of the door, or that Roman is now standing at the entrance, watching me and Alex.
Stacey goes right up to him and hugs him. “Where’d you hide yourself at the party the other night?” she asks.
“It’s good to see you, Stacey,” he says, ignoring her question. “It has been too long.”
I don’t like the way he is looking at her. Like they are old friends. Almost as if they are old lovers. Was she telling me the truth about the two of them?
“It’s been way too long,” she agrees. “We should hit some trails one of these days.”
“Perhaps.”
“So what are you looking for today?”
I find it interesting that, after days of leaving most of the work to me and David, Stacey is suddenly so interested in customer service.
“Just browsing,” Roman says.
I’m now standing behind the counter with Alex’s shoes, and even from here I can sense the tension between Roman and Alex, just like that night at the party.
“Hello, Alex,” Roman says.
“Roman.” Alex nods in his direction but doesn’t look up as he pulls out his credit card.
“New shoes, I see.”
“That’s right.” Alex hands me his card. Our fingers touch when I take it, and I hope he can’t tell that my hands are shaking a bit. Something about being around the two of them is both intoxicating and nerve-wracking. It’s as if there’s a sudden, dangerous electricity in the air.
“Maybe they’ll help this time.”
“They’re great shoes,” I say lamely, as I swipe Alex’s card and hand it back to him.
“That’s not what Roman’s getting at,” Alex says. “He thinks he’s faster than I am.”
“I know I’m faster than you. As does all of Lithia.”
“What Roman fails to mention,” Alex says as he signs his receipt, “is that, unlike some shallow, self-important individuals, I am not obsessed with winning.”
“Says the man who always finishes second.”
Alex turns and takes a step toward Roman. “You want to go right now?”
“You already know what I want.”
Stacey gets in between them. “Guys! Let’s cool things down a bit here.”
I have to admit, I’m glad she stepped in. And cool things down is right—it feels as if the temperature has risen ten degrees in the store. I feel my shirt sticking to my back.
“I’m leaving,” Alex says, and he turns for the door. Stacey picks up his shoes and follows him outside. Roman approaches the counter, and I busy myself with filing the receipt.
“I apologize for the scene,” he says.
“That’s okay.” I look up at him. “You’re an actor. You’re supposed to make scenes.”
“On stage, preferably.”
“Details.”
He smiles, the first smile I’ve seen. He’s even more striking when he smiles. His whole face lights up, and I nearly forget where I am.
“Katherine, can I take you out to dinner tomorrow evening?”
I feel like jumping up and down, but instead I pretend to straighten up the counter. I’m a little self-conscious with David over on the other side of the store, folding running shirts, and I know Stacey will be back any minute. “I suppose that might be possible.”
“Suppose? Might be possible?”
“Yes,” I say.
“I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“You don’t know where I live.”
“Yes, I do. It’s a small town.”
I watch Roman as he turns to leave the store. In the doorway, he passes Stacey, nodding slightly, and then she looks across the room at me. I can’t tell what she’s seen or heard, but it looks as if she knows something is going on, or about to happen, with me and Roman. And she isn’t very happy about it.
Seven
The next day, not wanting to think about David and Stacey and what might be going on between them, I go out for lunch by myself. I sit in the cramped dining area at the Lithia Food Co-Op. The place is crowded, and I enjoy listening to all the voices, how different they are. People of all ages gather here, and in addition to English, I also hear people speaking in Spanish and French.
“Kat.”
I look up to see Alex, wearing his co-op T-shirt and name badge.
“Hi,” I say.
“Do you have a second?”
I nod, and he pulls up a chair and leans in. His eyes are a dark green, so dark that I’d mistakenly thought they were brown. They look at me with an intensity that I find very pleasing, though it also makes me a little nervous.
“I’m sorry for yesterday, at the running store,” he says. “I acted like a jerk.”
“You weren’t the only one. Roman was pushing your buttons. Don’t worry about it.”
“That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about—Roman. I heard you have a date with him tonight.”
“Who told you that?”
“It’s a small town.”
“Yeah, I’m starting to realize that.” Had Stacey said something to him? Or maybe David? “I’m going to have to be more careful about what I say in public.”
“I don’t want you to go out with him.”
“What?” I’m surprised he would say such a thing. “Why?”
“He’s bad news, that’s all. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“I know you think you can, but—” He stops, as if unsure whether to say more.
Alex has no idea how much I can handle, or how well. “Look, he’s gainfully employed and seems very well respected in the community. Given where I come from, that’s more than I can ask for, trust me.”
Out of Breath Page 4
