by Donna Fasano
"There won't be any funeral," she said emphatically. "You'll be fine after a cool down."
He swiped his hand across his forehead and over his jaw before asking, "You'll say something nice at my eulogy, won't you?"
"Ian!" Andrea laughed again. "Okay, okay. I'll be sure and tell everyone that I was very impressed with the deceased."
"You were?" Ian stopped leaning on her and turned a curious eye her way.
"Umm-hmm." She nodded. "I expected you to finish two, maybe three laps. You ran six. Ian, that's a mile and a half. You're darned straight I'm impressed."
Andrea watched as a cocky smile tilted one side of his mouth, and suddenly he had more pep in his step.
"So, you were impressed," he said.
Soon he was downright swaggering, his lips pulled tight with an arrogant grin, and Andrea was sorry she complimented him at all.
"I see you're feeling better already," she commented dryly.
"As a matter of fact, I am." He nodded. "You were impressed."
Andrea rolled her eyes and shook her head. She thought of how he'd feel tomorrow and grinned, slow and wide.
"Well, remember how you're feeling right now," she advised, "because you're going to be sore in the morning."
"Oh, I can handle a little soreness," he said, confidence evident in the lift of his shoulders.
"You're going to have a lot of lactic acid built up in your muscles."
"Lactic what?" he asked, turning to face her.
"Acid. Your muscles convert carbohydrates to energy," she explained, "and one of the by-products that's given off is lactic acid. That's one of the reasons muscles feel sore."
"And, like I said—" Ian sauntered up the hill toward the parking lot "—I can handle a little soreness. Just remember what you said. You were impressed."
Andrea sighed patiently.
"Same time tomorrow?" he asked, pulling his car key from his pocket.
She nodded.
"Tomorrow I'm going to knock your socks off." He gave a cocksure laugh and revved the car engine.
She watched him drive off before turning toward the school's gymnasium entrance. Ian didn't realize how painful his muscles were going to be. He had overworked his body trying to prove himself. She really should feel bad about prodding him to run so far his first time out. But he'd deserved it—kissing her like that.
Boy, she thought, is he going to be hurting tomorrow. She couldn't help laughing out loud.
Chapter Five
Andrea stood on the grass at one end of the asphalt track and, shielding her eyes from the morning sun, looked up at the spectators filling the stands. It was the largest crowd ever to come watch the Highland Striders compete in a track meet. Many of the spectators waved flags or shakers that were blue and yellow, the Highland Academy colors. Andrea also saw blue and yellow caps and T-shirts, balloons and streamers, among other things, that showed school spirit and support for the team. Two teens toted a large sign that read Go Highland!
Swiveling her head, Andrea saw that the bleachers on the opposite side of the track were also filling up. And she could easily see from the opposing team's fans that their school's colors were red and black. This meet was going to be an exciting one with two such competitive schools vying for a place in the state championships.
There couldn't have been a more beautiful Saturday to hold a meet. Andrea let her eyes rove over to where her team's members were stretching together, rallying one another with teasing hoots and cheers, rousing a high level of competitiveness. She didn't mind the kids carrying on and didn't fight the broad smile that came to her lips. There was a time for serious training and there was a time to flaunt your stuff. She knew the Striders had worked hard and now it was time for them to show what they could do.
She loped over to join in the fun, knowing that her participation would motivate the girls and give them the confidence to run harder, throw longer and jump higher.
Weaving through the stretching bodies, Andrea stopped to give quick words of encouragement and last-minute tips. The sight of Denise bending over straight legs brought an intense thought of Ian, and Andrea's gaze immediately lifted once again toward the crowd.
As she looked for him, her heart beat a fierce rhythm and she remembered the times they'd spent together over the past four weeks.
Every day she had expected him to give up or just not show up. But Ian had surprised her, sticking to the schedule she'd made for him. Knowing how difficult his training had been, she'd had to admit that he'd proven his determination.
Andrea had been so sure he would give up after that first workout. Her lips tightened against the smile the images of that next day brought: the way he'd hobbled onto the track, his groans while stretching out his sore muscles and his curses while running. But he had run, that day and every day.
She thought about the kiss he'd forced on her. She'd been furious with him, so furious that as soon as she'd escaped him, she'd flown around the track as though she'd had wings, expecting Ian to do the same and unmindful that to do so might cause him injury.
She'd been more angry with herself than she had been with him. Because she'd reveled in the feel of his lips on hers, savored the taste of him. So much so that she'd forgotten the promise that she'd made to herself not to become involved with him.
Determined that she wouldn't forget again, she'd fortified her resolve to avoid any kind of personal relationship with him, and when he'd blatantly flirted a second time, she'd threatened to cut the thin business thread that bound them by ending their training sessions. After that, he'd kept a respectful distance.
But over the last month that they'd been training together, Andrea couldn't ignore the jarring undercurrent that constantly pulsated between them. It was like being in a summer storm in which no rain fell—only an endless supply of thunder and lightning.
She tried hard to ignore the electricity she felt when she was with Ian. She tried to remember all the things about him she didn't like: his bossy overbearing manner, his arrogance and stubbornness. But as she'd spent more and more time with him, she had come to know him, whether she'd wanted to or not. And as hard as she'd tried not to like him, she'd finally confessed to herself that he did have a few good qualities.
Ian loved his family. Andrea knew that he was spending a great deal of time with Denise lately. And he'd arranged his schedule so that he could train for the half marathon, knowing that this was something that would make his father happy.
During the last month, Andrea's common sense battled unceasingly with her instinct. She didn't know why, but she wanted him to be good and kind, and she was coming to believe he was.
But deep down inside she knew he couldn't help but revert back to the conquering, single-minded businessman he had been when she'd first met him. The kind of man she wouldn't let herself become involved with. His eagerness to improve his family relationships was only a phase. A phase he would soon grow tired of. A phase she must keep to the forefront of her mind at all times.
If she didn't, she might easily fall under his spell...
"He's not here."
Denise's miserable voice snapped Andrea back to the present. Kneeling down on one knee, Andrea rested her arms on her thigh. The look in the teen's sad eyes told her Denise could only be referring to Ian.
"You told him you were back on the team?" Andrea asked softly.
Denise only nodded, and Andrea could see she was fighting tears.
"And he said he would come?"
Denise's silent answer was to gaze once again at the bleachers, searching in earnest for a glimpse of her father.
The girl's expression of disappointment brought a myriad of emotions bubbling up in Andrea's chest so bitter she could taste them. Time and again she had suffered the same disillusionment sparked by her own father.
"Are you angry?" Denise made an effort to swallow around the question.
Andrea's brow knitted. "Why would I be angry?"
"At Dad," Denise said, "for
not showing up this morning to run."
Shaking her head, Andrea said, "We weren't scheduled to run today. I wanted him to take a day off because we're going to increase mileage tomorrow. It'll be our first long run. Four miles."
"Well, don't be surprised if he doesn't show."
Denise's words were biting, and the girl bent over her legs, letting her hair fall across her face. Andrea heard her sniff.
Before Andrea could say anything, Denise explained, "He flew to Connecticut yesterday afternoon. There was some emergency. That's what he told Pops, anyway. I didn't get a chance to see him before he left." Denise wiped the back of her hand across her eyes. "He told Pops to tell me he'd be back in time to see me run today, but he's not coming. I just know it."
Andrea knew from personal experience that phrases like "maybe he'll be late" or "he's on his way" weren't a bit of help to a child who had been let down over and over again. So Andrea did the only other thing available. She tried to change the subject.
"How do you feel?" She touched Denise's sleeve to get her attention and smiled at her. "Are you ready to run the fastest mile of the day? The rest of the team looks raring to go."
Andrea knew she was prattling, but she also knew that the best way to help Denise was to distract her thoughts away from her father.
"Yeah," Denise said sullenly.
Andrea looked up at the crowd.
"And your grandfather's here." She emphasized her statement with a bright tone.
Denise lifted her head to look in her grandfather's direction, a hint of a smile tilting her lips.
"He wouldn't miss my running for the world."
"And neither would I," Andrea expressed. "Listen, promise me you'll introduce me to your grandfather before you leave today."
"Sure." Denise was smiling in earnest now.
Andrea stood and brushed at a piece of grass that clung to her knee. "I need to make sure the sprinters are setting up their starting blocks. The meet's about to begin." She turned to go, and Denise's voice called her back.
"Thanks, Miss O'Connor."
Andrea smiled in answer, but as she made her way over to where the team's fastest runners were setting up blocks on the starting line, she was filled with a deep gloom and her heart began to ache.
She knew it was coming. She knew the real Ian was going to reappear. Hadn't she just finished lecturing herself about this very subject? Why, then, was she so disturbed? Why was she feeling this profound sense of loss?
Swallowing the knot that had formed in her throat, Andrea pushed all thoughts of Ian from her mind. Her kids needed her. She didn't have the time to be distressed over promises that Ian had made and not fulfilled. But she couldn't help the rancor that froze in her chest like a chunk of ice, armoring her against the next time she faced him.
About halfway through the meet, Andrea was studying her clipboard, checking and rechecking the Striders' times and scores. She was pleased by their excellent performance and by the fact that they had a slight lead on the other team.
"Miss O'Connor!"
Andrea turned at the sound of Denise's shout to see her standing by her grandfather, whose wheelchair she'd pushed through the gate and onto the grass.
The older man looked sour, but Andrea smiled at him anyway and said, "Hello."
"Pops," Denise introduced, "this is my coach, Miss O'Connor. Miss O'Connor, my pops, Harry Powers."
"It's nice to meet you, Mr.—"
"It's Harry," he barked. "You're the one who threw my granddaughter off the track team." His tone was crotchety and accusing.
"Excuse him," Denise said to Andrea, ignoring her grandfather's moodiness. "He's not as bad as he makes himself out to be." To her grandfather she pointed out, "She's also the one who put me back on the team and she's training me for the Wilmington Challenge, so be nice."
"Yes, well..." Harry Powers relented reluctantly.
Andrea couldn't help the fond smile that came to her lips, seeing the affectionate relationship these two shared.
"Pops told me just this morning how happy he was that you were helping me and Dad."
"I'm delighted that I can help," Andrea said. "You're an enthusiastic runner. And your dad isn't so bad, either." She chuckled, but instantly regretted her last statement when she saw the shadow that crossed Denise's face.
"I'm proud of them," Harry said, clasping Denise's hand. "And I'm glad they have someone who knows running to help them along."
Andrea could tell that praise was not something that Harry Powers doled out indiscriminately, so she was honored by the veiled compliment.
"Denise told me how you won the first Wilmington Challenge," Andrea said to Harry. "You must have been very good."
Harry visibly drew into himself, as though for protection, but commented, "Better than some, not as good as others."
"Then you could have trained Denise and Ian yourself," Andrea said.
Denise's breath sucked in, and Harry lifted his chin to eye Andrea severely.
"I can't do anything with these crippled legs."
"You don't need to use your legs to coach," Andrea stressed. "Just your knowledge of the sport, your wit and your voice. You certainly have all of those."
His eyes narrowed, and his mouth turned down in a frown. He looked at her a moment before speaking. "I know enough about running to know that your sprinters could have taken first place if they'd kept their bodies low out of the blocks rather than snapping themselves erect at the sound of the gun."
So he was going to retaliate and show his disapproval at her suggestion by attacking her coaching abilities. That was okay with her, she thought, smiling easily. She was confident in her competence as a teacher and coach.
"You know, I've worked with these kids over and over on that very point and I just can't get them to understand that the starting blocks are pointless if they're not going to be used properly." Focusing all her attention on his face, she asked, "What do you suggest?"
"You don't want an old man's opinion."
"You're not so old, and I certainly do," she said. "I'd like some advice."
"Well, remember that advice is free and you can take it or not," Harry stated dourly. "But I think you should line your sprinters up in the starting blocks and have two people string a line across the track about waist high and four yards in front of them. Have them practice starting with the idea of staying low enough to clear the line. Their momentum alone will take at least a full second off their best times."
Andrea noticed that as Harry let himself get caught up in talking about running, his face transformed. His narrowed eyes and glowering expression brightened considerably. And even though the look couldn't be called smiling, it was definitely more affable.
"You know, you should come to track practice after school and give the kids some pointers." Andrea could see that Harry loved the sport of running, but still she fought the impulse to step back in anticipation of the response her suggestion would bring.
An excited uproar from the crowd made Andrea turn her head toward the track just in time to see one of her hurdlers catch her knee on a metal hurdle and skid to the ground, grazing knees, palms and chin in the process.
Calling a hurried "Excuse me" to Denise and her grandfather, Andrea sprinted toward the injured runner. After discovering that, other than a few scratches, the girl's pride was what had been injured most, Andrea asked if she wanted to finish the race.
"But I'll take last place." The disheartened teen swiped at her eyes and sniffed loudly.
"Yes, but last place is better than no place," Andrea encouraged her. "And it's the best way to show them that you're not licked."
The girl smiled with trembling lips and trotted off down the lane, jumping the hurdles slowly, but perfectly. She finished amidst a flurry of applause from the stand of spectators.
Andrea didn't have a chance to think about Harry Powers again until she called Denise to get ready for the eight-eighty relay race. Denise was running the first leg, and An
drea wanted all four runners to take a quick practice at handing off the baton. They had performed the skill flawlessly at track practice yesterday, but Andrea knew more practice could only make them better.
"You really got to Pops when you told him he should come to practice," Denise said while they waited for the others to spread out across an open piece of ground.
Andrea pressed her lips together with remorse and nodded. "I know and I'm sorry. I shouldn't have opened my mouth like that."
"Don't be sorry." Denise grinned. "I've wanted to say those very things to him a hundred times, but I didn't have the guts."
"Well, it didn't help any if all it did was make him angry."
Denise shrugged. "He'll get over it. And maybe it'll make him think. I know he'd be happier if he were involved with running in some way."
"You're pretty smart, you know that?" Andrea asked, tugging on Denise's pony tail. "Now, let's see you hand off that baton as beautifully as you did yesterday."
The four runners' perfect timing in the delivery of the baton to one another during the relay race helped in their victory. The team took first place and pushed the Striders that much more ahead of the other team. The four girls were panting but exuberant with their win.
Andrea spent the next hour supervising field events: the long jumps, high jump and discus throw. Even though she was kept fully occupied, thoughts of Ian chiseled into her mind and she found herself glancing repeatedly toward the bleachers.
She hoped he would come. For Denise's sake, of course. Anxiety began to build inside her. An anxiety she hadn't felt since she was a teenager, hoping for, craving her father's presence at some function or other.
What are you doing? she asked herself. How could she be so gullible? Ian wasn't going to show up. Just like her father had never shown up. Ian was who he was, a business man with a one-track mind, and she couldn't change that.
It made her furious to think that Ian could stir those painful memories that she'd buried deep. She couldn't believe she was looking for him. But still she kept glancing toward the gate.
The mile run, the last event of the day, was getting closer. Andrea could see Denise becoming more agitated by the minute. She once again walked up to the parking lot looking for her father. Andrea was becoming more and more angry with Ian. How could a parent do this to his child?
