Chapter Twenty-Three
Even before it began, our first long run in August was a disaster. Andrew did say hello to me when he arrived but he was clearly in a rotten mood. I wasn't much better: I'd been up late, trapped on a whining phone call from Amanda, and I didn't want to be running. Even just walking from the car to the path in the thick humid air had made me sweat, so the idea of running twenty-seven kilometers held exactly zero appeal.
"When's Jeanine getting here?"
I shook my head. "She texted me a few minutes ago. She's too tired from yesterday's rehearsal but she said to tell you she'll do her long run later."
He grunted. "It'll be hotter than hell later. Not that it isn't now."
"Now it's only hotter than heck," I said, trying to make him smile, but he just said, "Well, let's get this over with." Though I knew my joke had been lame, I couldn't help feeling hurt.
We'd agreed to meet at the other end of the Beaches path because it was closer to Jeanine's house, but there turned out to be a race using the path so we were constantly jostled and bumped out of the way by the competitors since we were running against them instead of with them as we would have if Jeanine hadn't screwed us up.
After ten minutes of feeling like a salmon fighting its way up a particularly busy stream, I suggested we go up a few blocks and run on the probably-less-crowded city streets but Andrew shook his head and said, "Too hot."
I sighed but had to admit he was right: even at seven in the morning the day was already so blazing that we needed the faint breeze off Lake Ontario to keep us from bursting into flames. We'd be running for nearly four hours, so every bit of cooling would help.
That made it even worse that five miserable kilometers into the run Andrew dropped his Gatorade bottle at exactly the wrong time so it landed spout-down in a pile of dog poo some jerk had neglected to pick up. He muttered something under his breath and sprinted away from me without a word, heading for a snack stand a little ways away. When I saw him running back to me while stuffing his newly acquired water bottle into his fuel belt, for the first time ever I didn't want him to join me. I'd been in a bad enough mood myself but his was dragging mine down even further.
We usually chatted while we ran, or else enjoyed a companionable silence, but today's silence was as icy as the day was hot. We dodged the race competitors, who must have been told that they owned the path because they did everything but hip-check us into the grass to have it to themselves, and stomped along with only the far-too-frequent beep of my watch complaining about our slower-than-planned speed to break the silence.
"Shut that off," Andrew said eventually.
"Need to know how far we've gone." Only twelve kilometers. Fifteen more of the rotten things to go.
"Not the watch. The sound. That beep's making me insane."
"Don't know how."
He gave a grunt of what sounded like disgust and moved to my other side, away from the watch. "Pick up the pace then. Shut it up that way."
"I'm too hot."
"Too bad. Move it."
Where had the encouraging Andrew gone, and how could I trade in this grumpy one for the earlier and much more pleasant model?
I pushed myself and did manage to make the watch happy by settling into the prescribed pace. Andrew didn't react, not even with a tiny compliment, and just as I resigned myself to another fifteen kilometers of his grouchiness increasing my own I heard laughter behind us and we were passed by a tall man who was chuckling and looking back over his shoulder.
"Wait up!" The woman's voice was full of amusement, and when she drew level with us she said to me, "He always does this. Men, am I right?" Then she giggled, flicked her long red ponytail over her shoulder, and took off after him, calling, "When I catch you I'm drinking your Gatorade!"
The guy called back something I couldn't hear which made her laugh still harder as she ran. I watched, jealous of her easy stride and even more of the fact that she had obviously not already run twelve kilometers.
Andrew made a strange sound, almost like he was clearing his throat and coughing at the same time, and I glanced over then stared. "Are you okay?"
He didn't answer. He couldn't, since his lips were pressed so tightly together they'd gone white. His hands were locked into fists, though he always told me to relax my hands when we ran, and his neck and jaw looked harder with tension than the pavement under our feet.
"Andrew, what's wrong?"
He shook his head and kept running.
I caught his upper arm, feeling the well-trained muscles clenched beneath my hand, and gently pulled back. "Slow down. What's going on?"
He eased to a walk but nothing else about him eased.
He was still staring straight ahead, and I looked in the same direction to see the red-haired woman had caught her man and was laughing as she pretended to strangle him.
Did Andrew know her? Had he dated her? Had she broken his heart?
I couldn't find the words to ask, but I didn't have to. Andrew muttered, the words falling stiff and full of anger, "She should be that happy. Right now."
She?
Rhiannon.
It had to be her. He hadn't told me that much about her, but I did know she'd been obsessed with her weight and unable to relax on that obsession. While he hadn't come out and said it, I'd been able to tell that Rhiannon hadn't been happy with herself or her body.
The red-haired woman was clearly happy. Andrew was right, Rhiannon should have still been alive and able to feel the same way, able to run after him shrieking with laughter. She wasn't, and there was nothing he could do about it.
Feeling awful for him, I stopped my watch so it wouldn't beep at us then wrapped my arm around his waist and drew him into a nearby patch of shade so he could at least recover physically.
He went with me without any protest, without any response at all, and when we stood in the relative coolness of the shade he turned to me, on me nearly, and locked his arms around my neck.
I squeezed him tight, and he held me even tighter, so tight it hurt. I couldn't make myself pull away, though. I felt certain he hadn't shown this much of his feelings for a long time and I wouldn't make him stop unless he suffocated me, and maybe not even then. He needed someone to lean on.
I held on to him, rubbing his sweaty back and sending him all the sympathetic vibes I could, until he gave a cough, then another. "Water," he said, his voice raspy. "Do I have any?"
I found the bottle easily in the fuel-belt holster at his lower back, but a quick shake told me the bad news. "It's empty. Sorry."
"Empty. Damn it."
He sounded empty too, like the emotions he'd been fighting had drained the life from him just as he'd drained the bottle, and I couldn't bear it. "Stay here. I'll get more."
He took a breath but before he could speak I'd pulled away from him and was racing to the closest water fountain. I filled his bottle, and mine too in case he needed more, then pelted back to him, ignoring my body complaining that I was going too fast. No such thing at this point.
When I returned, he had settled onto the grass and sat with his legs out in front of him. I sank down beside him, trying to catch my breath, and handed over his bottle.
"Thank you," he said softly. "You didn't have to do that."
"I wanted to. And you're welcome."
He took a long deep drink, with his eyes closed, and I took the opportunity to study him. He looked red and hot, of course, not a surprise given the heat we'd been running through, but also exhausted in a way that went far past the physical. He'd been struggling with what he was feeling for a long time.
I didn't want him to struggle alone any more.
After drinking about a third of the bottle, he lowered it from his mouth and closed it before setting it on the grass next to him. Then he said, "I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"Ruining our run."
I waved a hand at the crowded paths then up at the blazing sun. "I think the situation beat you to it."
<
br /> He gave a small chuckle, and my success at breaking through his sadness warmed me in a way far nicer than what the sun had managed so far. "I suppose. But still..."
"But still nothing. Besides, I did a sprint. Two of them, really." I held up my bottle to tell him what I meant.
"You sure did. I saw you flying. I'm impressed."
"You better be."
We fell into silence then. We'd only been talking to keep him from thinking, I knew, and now it seemed he wanted to. After a minute he gave a deep sigh. "I don't know what to do."
"If you think I can help, I'd love to."
He looked toward me. The awful clenched tension had fortunately begun to fade, although he still didn't exactly look relaxed and cheerful. "I know you would. And you already have helped." He put his hand over mine on the grass and closed his fingers around it. "Thank you."
"You are so welcome," I said, and I'd never meant those words more.
After another few seconds of silence he said, "It's the foundation. Last night was a big gala for it, and of course I was there since I'm on the board. AdultAlert does so much good. It's already helped tons of people to find their missing loved ones and it's only getting better. I should be honored to be involved. I am honored. We worked really hard and it's made a huge difference. And yet..."
He dropped onto his back on the grass, still holding my hand, and laid his other hand over his eyes. I stayed sitting up, feeling like I was guarding him against anything bad that might come after him, and waited for him to finish.
After nearly a minute, he did. "And yet I don't want to do it any more."
He uncovered his eyes and looked up at me, the pain and confusion in his face tearing at my heart. "God, I hate saying that. But it's true. Rhiannon was great, and I love that the foundation exists now. But it all seems so focused on that she died, you know? I'd rather honor that she lived. But I don't know how, and what if I start something for that and then decide not to do it the way I've-- how I might with the foundation, I mean."
I didn't challenge him on his correction, on the fact some part of him had already decided to quit even if he wouldn't admit it to himself or to me. He didn't need that. Instead I turned my hand over beneath his and wrapped my fingers around his hand, squeezing it instead of answering since I didn't know what to say.
He sat up, his MMA-acquired ab muscles meaning he could do it without needing to push up with his hands. "The foundation work now is all about planning for its future, and I much prefer to live now instead of worrying too much about the future. You have to think about it a little, of course, but I think life's better lived in the present."
"Brandon always says, 'Flow with the go'. Kind of the same thing."
A shadow crossed Andrew's face but he said, "Exactly the same. Pay attention, look for opportunities in life, but still take the gifts life gives you."
I tightened my grip on his hand. "I think that's the best plan. I'm trying hard not to worry before things happen."
He raised his eyebrows. "Didn't we spend half an hour yesterday talking about how annoying Amanda's pool party will be?"
"I said I was trying not to worry, not that I'd managed it."
He gave me a smile, small and sad but still the first smile I'd seen from him all day. "True. Well, what now? Back to the run?"
Please, no. "Are you okay?"
He shrugged. "I'm kind of messed up, if you want to know the truth."
"Which I do," I put in.
He released my hand and gave my shoulder a squeeze. "Thank you. Okay. Here's the truth. I'm messed up. I think I should be part of the foundation but I'm not sure I want to any more. And the absolute last thing on the planet I want to do right now is finish this run."
"Bless you," I said fervently and we laughed.
Then we got up and walked back to our cars, showered at the gym, and had a lovely leisurely brunch together in the gloriously air-conditioned café.
Sometimes the happiest pace of all is sitting still.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The next Saturday, I was sitting on my living room floor enjoying the beginning of an unexpected but delightful afternoon of freedom when Andrew sent me a text message.
Good luck. I hope the party isn't too bad.
How sweet of him. But he didn't have to worry.
It's cancelled. Amanda hates James again. Today, anyhow.
I hadn't invited Andrew, though Amanda had told me to, because I didn't want him to have to meet James. Just as well, since Amanda had phoned me first thing that morning in tears, raving about how rude James had been to Veronica when they ran into her at the mall the night before. "He told her he'd have expected her to have horns with everything he's heard about her. Can you believe that?"
Could I believe that James didn't think before blurting out something that made it clear Amanda had been bitching about Veronica? Yup. Easily.
"I told him he was obnoxious and he started to talk back but I hit him and he shut up. He was probably going to tell Veronica what I've said about her. It wasn't even that bad, just about how she expects everything to be about her and all that."
The phrase I heard so often from my students, "Takes one to know one," rang through my head but I kept it to myself.
"Veronica acted like she didn't understand and walked away, but if I ever have to work with her again I know she'll use it against me. I hate how she does that."
Something I'd never noticed before hit me. Amanda sounded like James. He was always talking about people using things against him and whining about his lot in life. She'd had tendencies in that direction when we met but now it was constant. James was rubbing off on her, like a filthy subway seat messing up a pretty summer dress.
I'd rather spend my time with people who'd improve me when they rubbed off on me. People like Andrew and Jeanine.
Amanda didn't seem to notice I wasn't responding. "Anyhow, the party's off. I wouldn't go to his parents' place if you paid me. I hate them. Look, can you call a few people for me? I've called a bunch and it's just killing me to do it. I hate talking about it all, the mess of my relationship."
She brought it up a lot for someone who hated it, but since I wouldn't want to make those calls if I were her I felt compelled to say, "Sure. Email me the numbers."
"You're the best. I'll call a couple more myself too. Can't make you do it all."
When I got the email, though, she must have done just that. Twenty numbers? She couldn't have been inviting many more people than that. Had she actually called anyone?
I considered emailing her back to refuse, but I'd already said yes so I had to follow through. In the end it wasn't that bad, since I got a lot of answering machines so could leave quick messages. Then I took a long bath and read the teaching-related book Tosca and I would be discussing next week, and after lunch I'd just settled down for a relaxing time playing with Curly when Andrew texted me.
A minute or two after I told him the party wasn't happening, he texted me back.
Congrats. So what are you doing instead?
I looked down at Curly. "Is he just asking, or is he suggesting we get together?"
The guinea pig sniffed the air then scampered across the floor.
"What does that mean?" I called after him, but he didn't clarify.
I didn't know either. After Andrew's breakdown on our run last Sunday we had a new level of connection during our brunch, deep and open, but when I saw him Tuesday morning he seemed to have pulled away. I knew now that I liked him as more than a running coach, and the way he withdrew suggested he might be feeling the same way for probably the first time since Rhiannon passed away. He was friendly at our other runs that week, but he'd closed himself off and I didn't want to push.
Playing with the guinea pig and reading. No big plans. You?
There. Good. If he wanted to hang out he'd say so, and if not he'd say what he was doing and there'd be no awkwardness between us.
Remembering the pain he'd shown me on that run, I
felt tenderness and sympathy sweep through me along with admiration. He'd been hurt so badly by losing Rhiannon in such a sudden and horrible way, and yet he kept himself together most of the time and did everything he could to live his life calmly and without drama. Amanda, who hadn't suffered even the tiniest fraction of what he'd been through, was constantly throwing fits and reminding everyone how awful her life was.
I much preferred Andrew's style.
Playing with the cat. She's never met a guinea pig. Does yours like cats?
Interesting.
He does, actually. At least the two he's met. Would Ruby chase him?
I hoped I hadn't been too forward, but in seconds his reply reassured me.
I doubt it. She's a lazy old girl. He might trip over her but that's probably it. She wonders if he would let her come over and try.
I looked at the guinea pig but didn't bother asking him.
He says yes.
*****
After twenty minutes of frenzied house tidying and promises to myself to keep it clean from now on, I'd just sunk onto the couch to relax when my phone buzzed and Andrew told me he was in the lobby. I let him into the building and hovered around my apartment door, feeling unexpectedly nervous. We'd seen each other hot and sweaty, exhausted and beet-red after a long hard run, and we knew each other's deepest sadnesses and confusions, but we'd never been to each other's place. Having him about to see my apartment felt strange. Good, but strange.
When I opened the door to him, I knew instantly that it felt strange to him too. He gave me an awkward smile, not quite meeting my eyes, and held up the cat carrier. "Delivery."
"I don't remember ordering a cat. But since she's here..."
He stepped inside, set the black leather bag he'd had over his shoulder on the floor, and crouched down to busy himself with the carrier while I closed and locked the apartment door. He pulled out a travel-size litter box, which fortunately appeared to be empty, then straightened up, holding a red leash in his hand. At the other end of the leash, wearing a red harness and a 'this is beneath my dignity' expression, was the prettiest cat I'd ever seen.
Toronto Collection Volume 2 (Toronto Series #6-9) Page 58
