False Start

by Barbara Valentin

  "Stop clenching your fists."

  When they hit the asphalt path that skirted Lake Michigan, he pointed to their right, and they both swerved south.

  * * *

  With each passing day, Nick pushed her to go a little farther, reminding her that distance, not speed, was the goal. With each passing day, he saw her determination and resolve. But, with the wall she had erected between them, he felt little in the way of accomplishment.

  As he tried explaining to his mother one evening over her homemade ravioli, "She's working hard, making good progress, but she's definitely not enjoying herself. Her whole approach is to get each workout over with as quickly as possible."

  "Well, why don't you talk to her about it?" Lucy prodded.

  Nick dismissed the idea. "It wouldn't do any good."

  "Remember that coach you had in college? The one who was there when you first started? What was his name?"

  Nick remembered the renowned running expert who gave little in the way of anything other than criticism and most of it not constructive.

  "Coyne. Coach Coyne."

  Lucy snapped her fingers. "That's right. Remember you didn't like him because he never told you how you were doing. No matter how hard you worked, it never seemed good enough?"

  Nick knew where his mother was leading their conversation. "I know, Ma, but this is different. She doesn't like me."

  Perplexed, his mother asked, "How could she not like you?"

  Under his breath, he answered, "She never has."

  Lucy paused. "She never has? Am I missing something here? How about you tell me who this girl is, huh?"

  Nick looked long and hard at his mother. Resting his fork on his plate, he said, "All right. You're gonna find out sooner or later. It's Mattie. Mattie Ross."

  He narrowed his eyes and braced himself for her response.

  Lucy slapped her hand on the table, startling Nick. "I knew it."

  "You did not. How could you have?"

  His mother pointed to him and said, "You talk in your sleep."

  Nick fell silent.

  "I've been praying for that poor girl for so long."

  Hearing this, he found his voice. "Poor girl? Have you forgotten that she sent me to the emergency room where I had to get ten stitches? Have you also forgotten that she didn't return any of my calls when I couldn't get a hold of you and pop to vouch for me? Where's your loyalty?"

  Lucy held his chin in her hand and squeezed. "Your cut healed. Your criminal record is no more. But Mattie? She still has a hole in her heart that will never go away. First her father leaves her, then your brother. And, in between, her poor mother passes."

  She picked up her plate and brought it to the sink. Turning around, she smiled and said, "But now, maybe things will start looking up for her. God put you in her life for a reason, Nicky. And you have a chance to make everything right."

  He grimaced. The image of Mattie flipping him off with her ring finger was still very fresh in his mind.

  "I don't think so, Ma."

  "Oh, yeah, Mister Smart Guy? How come?"

  "Well, for starters, she's married." The words hung in the air. He still couldn't believe it.

  Lucy's plate slipped out of her hands and into the sink with a clank. "To who?"

  "I don't know."

  "How is that even possible?" she exclaimed. "It's only been, what, two years?"

  "Just about," Nick sighed.

  "Well then, how do you know she's married?"

  "I saw his picture on her desk. And she's got a ring on her finger."

  "Huh," Lucy replied, frowning as she wiped her hands on a nearby dish towel. "Well, it's her loss then."

  Nick hung his head. "Thanks, Ma. It doesn't matter anyway. Even if she weren't married, it wouldn't work. I'd always be wondering if she was thinking of Eddie when she was with me."

  He stood up and rinsed off his plate. "Right now, my only focus is to get her across the finish line in October so I can get my bonus and move on with my life."

  Strictly business.

  * * *

  Ever since Mattie had surrendered herself to Nick's coaching prowess, her life seemed more unsettled. Everything was different. Some changes were for the better, some not so much. For one, despite having to dip into her alcohol and take-out-food funds to buy healthier fare, her clothes were beginning to feel baggy. While this should have been cause for celebration, she had few funds with which to replace them. Second, while her column's fan base was growing, her familiar snarl had abandoned her.

  And there was something else. Something far more disturbing. Like her clothes, her identity no longer seemed to fit. Because of her two-carat crutch and the faux family gallery on her desk, she could hardly play the wronged woman card with Nick. Staying angry with him while pretending to be a happily married career woman was already proving to be more than Mattie could manage.

  Perplexed by this unsettling shift in her universe, she confided in her sister. That she chose to have this conversation while they waited in line to see Santa with Claudia's kids at a crowded State Street department store was her first mistake.

  That she was expecting assurance and comfort was her second.

  "Maybe," Claudia began over the shrill of screaming children and blaring holiday music, "you're finally realizing that the fabulous life you thought you missed out on with Eddie isn't anywhere near as great as your life is about to get."

  CHAPTER SIX

  "Seize the moment. Remember all those women on the 'Titanic' who waved off the dessert cart."

  – Erma Bombeck

  "You're launching the new feature on the first Sunday after Christmas, and you still don't have a title for it?" Lester's face was pinched in disbelief as he gripped the back of his office chair.

  He didn't mind being called a lot of things—opportunist, cheapskate, Republican, but the one thing he did not want to be called was "liar." If this promotion didn't fly, it would be the first time he didn't come through on a promise to help someone bolster their career. He did it for a number of writers on the staff who went on to become esteemed editors and even a couple of Pulitzer Prize winners. And he so badly wanted to help Nick, a man who had made such a tremendous difference in his troubled son's life.

  Dianne sat on the opposite side of Lester's desk, staring him down with the steely determination of a bargain hunter on Black Friday.

  "Mattie wants 'Running Down a Dream,'" she announced. "And I like it."

  Lester grimaced. "Overused and clichéd. You need a gimmick. Something catchy. Something our readers can relate to. Something that will sell."

  His face grew red as he gripped the back of his chair and looked toward the ceiling. "Let's see. We got the Comeback Kid coming in to train the Plate Spinner to run a marathon."

  "That's not a story. People train for marathons all the time," Dianne interjected.

  Lester pointed a finger at her. "Exactly. What makes them so special?"

  When Dianne didn't respond, he folded his arms and kept talking.

  "Let's see. Nick is trying to launch a new career. Fresh start. Mattie wants" He looked at Dianne. "What does she want?"

  "Well, to begin with, a raise. Beyond that, she wants to move over to something more challenging, like investigative work."

  Lester thought for a minute. "No, nothing there."

  Dianne rolled her eyes, and Lester checked his watch. "Listen, I've gotta run to a meeting. You need to nail this down by today. Meet me back here at two. No one goes home until it's final."

  * * *

  Dear Plate Spinner—

  My fourteen-year-old daughter has a weight problem. I don't know what to do to get her to stop eating, but I know she has to. She gets teased a lot. She just started high school and has given up on finding any friends. I try not to have junk food around the house, but I'm a single mom. I work two jobs, and I don't have a lot of time to cook or shop, so we eat a lot of take out and pizza. But when I tell her not to eat so much, she gets upse
t. I'm at the end of my rope. I love my daughter and just want her to be happy. Can you help?

  Signed,

  Desperate

  Mattie read the letter again, covering her mouth with her hand and swallowing hard on the lump in her throat. Before she knew it, her hands started racing over the keyboard.

  Dear Desperate—

  First, know that you're not alone, and neither is your daughter. High school is hard enough with a healthy self-esteem, but when a child's is low, it can feel like hell. I speak from experience. When I was her age, the kids used to tease me about my weight, too. Well, bully really. They'd shout a cruel name at me when I walked by, then laugh and laugh. I usually ducked into a bathroom stall until the bell was about to ring, then rush to my class before anyone else could hurl more insults my way. I'll be honest. To this day, I'm still self-conscious about my weight, but I'm learning to respect myself, both physically and mentally, remember that I'm awesome, and do my best to stay positive. If you can help your daughter do these things, she'll learn to never ever settle for anything less than she deserves.

  "Who are you, and what have you done with my favorite columnist? Are you starting some kind of support group?" Dianne asked as she read over Mattie's shoulder.

  Putting Desperate's letter back into view, Mattie pointed to it and whispered, "Dianne, that's me. This could've been from my mother."

  After a quiet moment spent remembering the look of helplessness in her mother's eyes every time she'd offer to try the latest fad diet with her daughter, Mattie knew she had to do something to help not just this girl, but all kids who were shackled with low self-esteem.

  She looked at her editor. "I hate to say it, but Nick got this one right."

  "What one? What are you talking about?" Dianne asked as she peered at the email.

  Standing up, Mattie asked, "Has Les finalized the campaign?"

  "No, but he gave me until two to come up with something, bless his greedy little heart."

  Mattie was texting faster than her thumbs could keep up. When her ring tone signaled a reply, she hissed, "Yes."

  She squeezed Dianne's arm and said, "I'll have it for you after lunch."

  And with that she was gone.

  * * *

  Nick had just finished changing the oil in his mother's sedan in the alley behind his apartment building when his phone signaled that he had received a text. Wiping his hands on a rag, he picked it up. It was from Mattie.

  "Nick! Can you meet me for lunch? It's urgent. My treat."

  Without hesitating, he responded.

  "When and where?"

  He didn't have to wait long for the reply.

  "Whatever's easiest for you."

  After he checked to make sure the text messages were indeed coming from Mattie, his curiosity got the better of him. For the past two weeks, she had barely said a word, and now she wanted to take him out to lunch?

  Maybe somebody stole her phone.

  He texted back that he could meet her at a sandwich shop not far from her office in half an hour. After seeing himself in the mirror, he added fifteen minutes to his estimate.

  Forty-five minutes later, he stepped inside the bustling sandwich shop. It was one of those noisy chain places with exposed-brick walls and blond wooden tables and booths. The afternoon sun streamed through a large picture window facing the street.

  Given that he had to park four blocks away, he stood under the vent just inside the entrance, relishing the blast of warm air blowing on him with the force of a hand dryer in a public washroom. From this vantage point, he scanned the crowd, looking for Mattie. When he didn't see her, he checked his watch to confirm that he was on time.

  "Nick."

  Hearing his name, he looked up, searching again for a familiar face. Not finding one, he turned around. Mattie had just walked in.

  He barely recognized her. In high heels, her face was in much closer proximity to his than it was on their morning runs. She slipped off her overcoat and flung it over her arm, revealing a cranberry-colored sweater set and black dress pants. Her hair, usually pulled back during their workouts, bounced over her shoulders in soft curls.

  Wow.

  "Thanks for coming."

  "Sure." He paused before asking, "Everything okay?"

  "Never better."

  Nick caught a sparkle in her eyes he hadn't seen before. Not when she was talking to him anyway. He struggled to pull his gaze away.

  Get a grip.

  Nodding at the menu hung on the wall, she asked over the din of voices, "Do you know what you want?"

  Just then, a crush of customers pushed into her. When she lost her footing, Nick's hands flew to her elbows to steady her.

  With his eyes still on her, he replied, "Yeah, I do."

  Mattie caught her breath, and he took note of the pink hue fanning over her cheeks when she looked up at him.

  "To eat," she clarified.

  You can let her go now.

  As the blush spread over the bridge of her nose and up her forehead, she clarified, "For lunch. Here, at the restaurant."

  Release. Your. Grip.

  He let his hands drop to his sides. Regaining his composure, he replied, "You'd better ditch the high heels. We can't afford for you to twist your ankle."

  Addressing the girl behind the counter, he announced, "I'll have the turkey club. No chips."

  "And I'll have the chicken Caesar, dressing on the side."

  After she paid for their food, the girl gave Mattie a number card to place on their table.

  Nick found a booth for two near a window overlooking the holiday shoppers traversing the sidewalk and asked, "So. What's the occasion?"

  As Mattie slid into her seat, she whispered, "I need your permission."

  Although her expression didn't reveal any hint of excitement, her eyes were still ten different kinds of sparkly.

  "For what?"

  "To use your rules."

  Nick made a reeling motion with his hand, signaling her to keep talking. "For…?"

  Mattie gave her head a quick shake. "Let me back up. Dianne, my editor, has been stumped on what to call this new feature about"

  Unable to find the perfect words to describe their unlikely collaboration, she finally blurted out, "Us. The whole marketing campaign has stalled because of it. We're really behind the eight ball. Then, this morning, I got a letter from a reader."

  "Here you go." A lanky man wearing jeans and a polo shirt with the restaurant's logo on the front set their orders in front of them.

  "Can I get you anything else?"

  "No," they replied in unison.

  When he was gone, Mattie asked, "Where was I?"

  Nick, still wondering if Mattie herself had an evil twin or perhaps a family history of multiple personality disorder, prodded, "You got a letter from somebody."

  "Oh. Right. So, it's from a mom who needs advice on how to help her fourteen-year-old daughter who is overweight and miserable."

  Nick leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. "Wait. Back up. You're an advice columnist?"

  Taking a deep breath, Mattie exhaled, "I am."

  "Do you always get this excited about getting a letter?" He took a large bite of his sandwich, waiting for her to reply.

  "No, I don't. But you're missing the point. I started writing a reply to this mother about how to help her daughter, and that's when it hit me."

  Nick, still chewing, raised both eyebrows and mumbled, "What?"

  Given the wall she had erected between them after their run-in at the YMCA, he expected her to issue a scathing condemnation or blistering insult. He set his sandwich down, leaned back in his seat, and held out his hand, inviting her to continue.

  Almost dunking her sweater into the little cup of Caesar dressing that came with her salad, Mattie leaned forward and said, "Your rules."

  Nick snarled, "Yeah? What about 'em?"

  "I cribbed my whole reply from them."

  The way she bit down on her lip,
raised both eyebrows, and clenched her fists after she said it, he could tell she was pulling out all the stops to avoid getting gushy in front of him.

  Still not sure why she wanted to meet with him, he kept his mouth shut and waited.

  She pushed her salad and overflowing dressing cup aside, leaned even further forward, and clasped her hands on the table in front of her.

  "As much as I hate to admit it, they're pretty powerful."

  Nick, uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was going, muttered, "Geez. I never got this kind of reaction from my guys. I'm not even sure they read them."

  Mattie rolled her eyes and flashed him a smile that made his heart skip a beat. "How many times do I have to remind you I'm not a sixteen-year-old boy?"

  Never.

  Suddenly wishing they had taken a table out on the frigid sidewalk, Nick cleared his throat and asked, "So what does this have to do with me?"

  "Tell me the truth. Are you sure you came up with these rules all on your own? I don't think it would be in either of our best interests to be slapped with a plagiarism lawsuit."

  "Yes, I came up with them all on my own." He ran a hand through his hair and sat back in his seat, adding, "Well, mostly. They're my favorite quotes from my favorite coaches. Every time I heard something I liked, I'd write it down in my notebook. Over the years, I had quite a few to pull from. They saw me through some pretty rough times."

  Mattie shot back, "Do I have your permission to use them?"

  Nick shrugged. "Sure."

  Satisfied, Mattie leaned back in her seat. After picking at her salad for a minute, she looked him in the eye. "Can I ask you something?"

  He tried to assess from her expression if he was about to be sucker punched. Hoping for the best, he repeated, "Sure."

  "I know you don't think I have a chance in hell of ever completing this marathon, but"

  "I never said that." His eyes grew wide as he continued, "The thought never even crossed my mind."

  She lowered her chin and looked across the table at him. "Look, running may be your thing, but self-deprecation is mine. I'm really good at it. I've been doing it since I was ten."