The very thought propelled her along, albeit at a snail-like pace. In the distance, she could see the rainbow of balloons arched over the finish line and hear the strains of a rock band playing some rousing classic at the already well-attended post-race party. The crowds of onlookers thickened as she approached, cheering her and the other stragglers on. But Mattie was only focused on one thing—the sight of Nick waving her toward him from just beyond the finish line.
Almost there.
Her mouth was parched and her legs felt like Jell-O.
Just a little bit farther.
She sensed another shuffler coming up behind her and heard Nick yell, "Close the gap, Mattie."
Ignoring him, she continued to chug along until the other runner was alongside her.
That's when she heard him yell even louder, sounding more angry than encouraging.
"Come on, Mathilde Jean, where's your kick?"
Her eyes widened. What other bits of private information would he be sharing with the crowd today? Her weight? How about her address?
She couldn't believe he called her that in public. And shouting it like that so everyone in a one-mile radius could hear it. Her mother didn't even call her by her full name, not even when Mattie had her at her wit's end or she did something horrific like polish off a tub of store-bought buttercream icing on the eve of Claudia's eighteenth birthday party.
Chugging along, she tried to remember if she had done it to forget something awful that happened at school that day, or if she did it simply to upset her uber-popular sibling. Just as she was trying to recall which flavor of icing it was, her eyes drifted up from the pavement in front of her to the finish line about an eighth of a mile in front of her.
Nick was standing there, holding his hands out in front of him as if to ask, "Well?"
Focus.
Channeling the indignation she felt to her legs, she somehow tapped into a reserve of energy she didn't know she had. She pumped her arms, lengthened her stride and burst forward in what would pass as a sprint if the rest of the world were going in slow motion.
As she crossed over the finish line and put her first 5k behind her, Nick swept to her side.
"34:11. Not bad. How ya feeling?"
Mattie's head was spinning. Runners were everywhere, laughing, talking, hugging, milling around her, making her dizzy.
"Water. I need water."
He jogged over to a large bin overflowing with water bottles and cracked one open for her. "Here you go. Keep moving."
Mattie took several swigs as they walked through the chute. With all the menace she could muster, she warned, "You call me that again, and I'll take you out."
Laughing, he asked, "What? Mathilde Jean? That's your name, isn't it?"
God, it's hard to be mad at him when he smiles like that.
She scrunched her face and said, "It's a horrible name. Do not use it again. Especially in public. Got it?"
Nick shook his head. "Nope. I'm gonna do whatever it takes to get you to cross that finish line."
Mattie thought for a moment. "Oh, so you're doing me a favor, is that it?"
"That's right."
"And what would you do for me if I called you by your full name? Yelled it, out loud for all the world to hear?" she asked.
Nick stopped and turned to face her, every bit the big bad coach his cross-country runners both feared and revered. "Nothing because I am never telling you my full name."
Mattie, noticing a mischievous gleam in his eyes, glanced at his jacket pocket. "Oh yeah? How about I take a peek at your license?"
When she reached for it, her fingers missed their target.
What they found instead was gold.
After her fingers dug into his side, just above his right hip, she watched, astonished and somewhat alarmed, as he recoiled and broke out into a little-girl giggle. It was then that she knew she had found a chink in his hard-assed coach's armor.
She waited as he composed himself, but even then he was beaming at her. His eyes sparkled like Christmas trees.
Eddie never looked at me like that.
She felt a heated blush cover her entire body, not that anyone would notice because any exposed skin was still red from the run and the cold.
"Come on. You want to get something to eat? They've got all sorts of food over there." He pointed in the direction of the post-race party already in full swing down the block.
Hearing the band and seeing the reveling runners, the enormity of what she had just accomplished settled on her like a nice warm blanket. All of a sudden, she didn't care what anyone, including Nick, would think if she were to hug him.
So she did just that. And she wasn't in a rush to let go either.
"Thank you," she mumbled, the side of her face smushed against him. When she felt his arms wrap around her, she added, "I couldn't have done this without you."
After a long moment, she felt a chuckle erupt in his chest. She pulled away, her defenses at the ready.
"What?"
"I just hope you remember this in a couple of weeks when I have you doing hill work."
Mattie took another swig of her water. "Bring it."
CHAPTER EIGHT
"He that but looketh on a plate of ham and eggs to lust after it hath already committed breakfast in his heart."
– C. S. Lewis
Lester walked the circumference of his desk examining the proof sheets from Mattie's 5k that were laid out on top of it.
He pointed to one of her holding up the race shirt from her packet. "That one."
He paused before another. It was a perfectly framed shot of her jogging mid-way through the course. She was in the foreground smiling, and four "Team Plate Spinner" members were in focus not far behind, all waving at the camera. "This one."
Lastly, he selected a side shot of her just as she stepped over the finish line. "And this one."
"That's it?" Charlie Clark was incredulous. "I took dozens of pictures and you're just picking three? I thought we were doing a slide show?"
Lester scowled down at the rest, his gaze lingering the longest on one in particular. It was a close-up of Nick with his hands cupping Mattie's upturned face. He actually looked like he was about to kiss her. And she looked like she wouldn't mind at all if he did.
"That's right," Lester replied. Sounding rather preoccupied, he continued, "I'll hang on to the rest of these. We can use 'em for the big year-end retrospective."
Throwing his hands up in the air, Charlie sighed, "You're the boss."
After he left, Lester picked up another photo and stared at it. Mattie was hugging Nick. Her eyes were closed tight and her arms were locked behind his back. He couldn't see Nick's face, but he was bent over her, returning the embrace.
"Natural," Lester supposed, "given what she's been through and all the excitement."
But there was something about their body language that didn't sit quite right with him. He slid both pictures back in his desk drawer and picked up the phone to call Dianne.
* * *
Since crossing the finish line two days before, Mattie had yet to step down off cloud nine. It wasn't a great time, but as Nick said, "Nothing to sneeze at."
She couldn't wait to see the pictures. Feeling like a bona fide runner, she wanted proof that she actually looked like one and not just a vertical red-faced lump wrapped in dark gray spandex.
Nick had given her the day after the race off. Then he begged off running with her that morning. No reason. He just told her to get a couple of miles in. It was the first workout with her that he had ever missed. While concerned, Mattie was more than a little relieved. In the post-race euphoria, she felt like she was one careless slip away from shedding her marital armor, exposing her to all manner of potential heartache.
That morning, she took to the streets alone, shuffling along a different route through her neighborhood, doing her best to blend in with students from a nearby university. Now that she had a 5k under her spandex waistline, she was able t
o shed her self-consciousness. That she was wearing big black Audrey Hepburn sunglasses also helped.
By the time she made it to work, she was looking forward to diving into emails and responding to posts on her designated social media pages. Twenty minutes later, Dianne burst into her cube and hugged her tight. "Congratulations, Sweetie. I'm so proud of you."
"Thanks," Mattie replied as she sank into her chair. "It was incredible. I can't wait for the next one."
Leaning against her desk, Dianne asked, "When is it?"
"Either late April or early May. I don't remember. I'm not even sure he's registered me for it yet."
Dianne lowered her voice. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but you seemed to have lost every single misgiving you had about him being your coach."
Mattie's eyes widened. "Oh, I don't know. I wouldn't go that far."
"Well, I just thought, given the amount of praise you've been giving him in your column… "
There was something in her tone that gave Mattie pause. "Too much?"
"No, no. I'm sure it's well deserved. However, as your editor and chief back-protector, I feel it's my duty to remind you of your marital status."
She pointed to her own ring finger like she was revealing a secret handshake to an exclusive club.
Frowning, Mattie asked, "Why? What's going on?" Goosebumps started to race up her arms. She noticed Dianne had something in her hand. Papers and something else. A photo?
"Let me see."
Dianne handed two printed emails to Mattie. Each was a letter of complaint from readers asking, in so many words, why they changed the format of the Plate Spinner columns from a working parent advice column to a fitness column.
"What? How can they say that? I've responded to questions from working parents recently."
When Dianne didn't respond, she looked up at her and implored, "Remember? The road warrior dad who didn't feel like his family appreciated him?"
Dianne looked at her over her reading glasses. "You mean the one who you advised to take advantage of hotel fitness centers while traveling so he could try and bolster his self-esteem?"
"Yes," Mattie responded, her voice laced with defiance.
Dianne scooted further back onto Mattie's desk, then checked behind her to see if she had knocked down any of the prized family photos. Not seeing any, she turned and demanded with no small amount of alarm, "Where are your pictures?"
"Don't worry. I'm getting some new ones. What's with you?"
"That guy? The road warrior? The old Mattie would have reamed him up one side and down the other for feeling sorry for himself. What's with you?"
"Did you read his letter? I actually did feel sorry for the guy."
Dianne's expression softened. "Yes, but sweetie, there's no profit to be had in pity."
Frowning, Mattie handed the letters back to her editor. Nodding at what she was still holding in her hand, she asked, "What's that?"
Dianne handed her an 8x10 glossy from the race.
It was a shot of the crowd, but only Mattie and Nick appeared to be in focus.
Nice job, Charlie.
She remembered the moment exactly. Still, her heart did a tumble in her chest when, at first glance, it looked like he was going to kiss her. She finally began to understand what was upsetting Dianne.
Feeling the color rise in her own cheeks, she asked, "What's the problem?"
"I'll tell you what the problem is. Lester wants me to stop by this afternoon and explain to him why it looks like you two are about to lock lips. What do you suggest I tell him?"
Mattie's mind flashed back to her rehearsal dinner, then to the comment Nick made outside of the YMCA's weight room.
She rather liked being perceived as a bad girl for a change. It made her feel pretty, sexy, and popular—a trifecta of feelings she never had before.
A smile started at one corner of Mattie's mouth and worked its way to the other as she pointed at the picture and asked, "Does this make me a slut? I've always wondered what that would feel like."
"That's not funny."
Mattie laughed. "Yes, it is."
When Dianne didn't join in, she sighed and explained, "All right. Here's what happened. It was really noisy at the start line, and I couldn't hear a word he said, so he grabbed my face and said, 'You. Can. Do. This.' Honest. That's all there was to it."
Dianne narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. After a moment, she nodded. "OK. That works."
"Good, because, trust me, if he did kiss me, I wouldn't be sitting her smiling." She pretended to shudder.
"Oh yeah?" Dianne stood up, and yanked the photo from Mattie's grasp. "Pull this one, and it plays 'Jingle Bells.'"
* * *
That morning, Nick had two reasons for stopping by the Knollwood High School field house. The second was to pick up items from the "long-lost-and-found box"—a repository of unclaimed clothing that was left behind in the locker rooms during the previous semester.
The first was to run a fast five miles to try and clear his head. Alone.
While the "business only" rule he and Mattie had in place prevented them from discussing their personal lives, it did little to keep him from wondering about hers. He couldn't put his finger on it, but she just didn't seem married. Not happily anyway. While he could explain away the pictures on her desk, he couldn't do the same with her wedding ring. But then again, lately, she rarely wore it.
He tried pushing Mattie out of his mind by convincing himself that she didn't have any feelings for him, but his thoughts kept drifting back to the way she almost kissed him outside of Lester's office. And then there was that hug after the race on Saturday.
Despite the many times during their workouts that he had come close to asking her, straight out, something always held him back.
Maybe it's better to believe she's married than find out she's still not interested in me.
An hour later, he arrived at the Lincoln Park Community Center to meet up with the members of an informal, albeit steadily growing, group of homeless runners, a large contingent of them had already gathered. While the group had started out as just a handful of wannabe runners, their number had swelled to almost two dozen.
"Hey, guys."
As he approached, he asked, "Anybody need shoes? Or sweats? Or socks?"
Digging through the box, he added, "Or shirts?"
As the men milled around him, he handed out all of the items until the box was empty. John, the young man whom he had met on Thanksgiving, approached him wearing a long-sleeved shirt from a cross-country meet that took place three years before.
He ran his hands over the sleeves like he was wearing a mink coat and said, "All the meets I ran in school, I never got a shirt. My parents could never afford it. "
Looking up at Nick, he said, "You have no idea what this means to me. Thanks."
Nick couldn't help but marvel at the affect one small act of kindness had on someone. While his own parents were by no means well off, they always made sure they had enough to get him a race shirt from every single meet he ever ran in.
He patted John's shoulder and smiled. "It's nothing. How's the job hunt going?"
John slipped a sweatshirt over his head, nodded, and said, "Good. It's going good. I've only been hitting running shoe stores, though. They don't seem to care what I look like. They just care that I know about running."
That was music to Nick's ears. He hated seeing kids down and out with no direction, no plan, and no future.
Nick fist-bumped him. He seemed like a new man, holding his head high. "Awesome. I'd be happy to put in a good word for you. Just let me know."
"Thanks, man, but I gotta do this on my own. No offense."
With a wink, Nick responded, "None taken."
"So how far are we going today?"
"You're the captain. What do you think?"
John addressed his team with a clear, confident voice Nick hadn't heard him use before. "I think six miles. Who's with me?"
A few of the men
held up their hands. A few more shook their heads and groaned.
Laughing, Nick told him, "Looks like you've got yourself an 'A' team and a 'B' team. Take 'em out, Cap'n."
John smiled and gave Nick a mock salute, "Ay-ay."
Turning toward the men, he instructed, "Team A, follow me. Team B, follow Fitz. We'll meet back here for a cool down."
Nick watched as they took off down the street. With a surprising tug in his gut, he realized he missed Mattie and was sorry he wouldn't be seeing her until the next day.
Ducking inside, he dropped by to see Scott about obtaining a grant that would enable him to develop a formal running program at the shelter.
"I've got most of the paperwork already filled out. I just need your signature in a couple of spots," Scott told him as they sat in his cracker box-sized office. "If we can get it submitted by the deadline, I think you've got a pretty good shot at getting it approved."
Nick tried stretching his legs out before him but gave up when they kept hitting the edge of Scott's desk. "I really appreciate your help with this."
Looking up from his paperwork, Scott laughed. "Are you kidding? If it wasn't for cross-country, there's no doubt in my mind, I would've ended up in juvie. Running saved my life. I can only imagine what it might do for these guys."
Scott's recollection of what running did for him was not that far off the mark. Always in trouble with the high school administration, Nick remembered when the coach had misgivings about accepting him on the team. A known troublemaker, Scott smoked, swore, had gotten caught shoplifting and joy riding, and was as selfish as the day is long. But, man oh man, when he got on that course, there was no stopping him. It was as if Scott was chasing away his demons. Or running from them. Nick could never tell. All he did know was that Scott grew to become a strong, fast varsity runner and top student. During their senior year, the two sat side-by-side on signing day—Nick for Oregon and Scott for Illinois. And they never lost touch. More importantly, besides his parents, Scott was the only friend who ever came to visit him in jail.
Checking his watch, Nick asked, "So, until it gets approved, any ideas on how we can scratch up some cash for registration fees and maybe some new shoes?"
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