With notebook in hand, Mattie marched down the hallway leading to his door and pushed it open. "You wanted to see me?"
Lester looked up from his computer. "Yes. Close the door. Have a seat."
She sat in the chair in front of his ginormous desk and glared at him, holding little regard for what was about to happen next.
Pointing to the morning paper, he said, "That was quite a finish."
Mattie raised her eyebrows expectantly.
Lester leaned forward with his hands clasped on the desk in front of him. "You know, you really had me fooled. Hell, you had everybody fooled. Even Nick."
Here it comes…
"Care to set the record straight?"
"Why? So you can run an exclusive?"
He narrowed his eyes, shook his head, and leaned back in his chair. Using the kindest tone she had ever heard come out of his mouth, he said, "No, Mattie. So you can restore your integrity. Because, for the record, I think it's worth restoring."
She looked at him. For the first time, she didn't see the conniving, manipulative publisher whose sole concern was how many hits her columns got per week. She saw a decent human being who seemed to truly care about her.
Who knew?
"Just a minute." She got up and dashed out to Jessica's cube to retrieve the box of tissues.
Sitting back in her own chair, fully stocked with nose-drying accouterment, she asked, "Where would you like me to start?"
Lester's expression softened, and he smiled. "How about the third grade?"
She told him everything, all the way up to the blowout she had just had with Nick. When she was finished, he frowned and asked, "So all this time, you thought Nick was the bad guy?"
Mattie nodded glumly. "I know. The one man I blamed for ruining my life actually saved it."
If her eyes weren't brimming with tears she would've noticed Lester scribble down what she had just said on a notepad. When he was done, he looked up.
"I think I know a way we can fix this, but first you have to hear the rest of the story."
Mattie shifted in her seat. "I'm listening."
"I don't know if you're aware, but Eduardo DeRosa is number five on the FBI's most wanted list."
Lester proceeded to detail the federal criminal allegations against Eddie, including money laundering and extortion, and the long list of wealthy women he was involved with during their engagement, each of whom filed civil lawsuits against him for fraud and forgery. Facts the Gazette had printed in its coverage of Eddie's dramatic disappearance that Mattie chose to ignore when she cut herself off from reality and became the Plate Spinner.
Lester paused and asked, "Does it bother you to hear this?"
While surprised to hear he was in so deep with the feds, she felt somewhat vindicated to learn that he had indeed cheated on her.
She took a deep breath. "No. Go on."
"Now, as you know, Eddie had invited Nick to stay at his place on the night before the wedding and asked him to house sit while you two were supposed to be on your honeymoon. What Nick didn't know was, by the time Eddie handed him the keys to his Ferrari so he could drive to the church in style, Eddie had already swapped their driver's licenses, passports, credit cards, and birth certificates."
"Why didn't Eddie go to the church with Nick?"
"Nick said he offered to drive him, but Eddie begged off saying he had one more errand to run before the ceremony."
"Like flee the country?"
Lester pointed at her. "Bingo. As soon as Nick left for the church, Eddie took Nick's car and drove to Toronto. No one's heard from him since."
He paused. "Still with me?"
Mattie nodded, and he continued.
"Nick, in the meantime, well—he got screwed. First, you deck him at the church, and then the cops arrest him in the emergency room. They hauled him away, and, 'cause Eddie forged his prints when he started at the investment firm, there was no way for Nick to prove he wasn't Eddie without a credible character witness. When he couldn't get hold of his folks, he called you, but you didn't pick up. Didn't reply at all."
Lester gave her a rather unsavory look.
"Go on," Mattie instructed, frowning.
"It took the defense well over a month to get the judge to drop the charges against Nick, but by then, he had lost everything. His place on the team, his endorsements, his money, his friends. He had to start at the bottom of the barrel. And that's where I found him. Coaching cross-country at my kid's high school. Who would've thought? The great Nick DeRosa, the Comeback Kid, coaching high school cross country."
He leaned forward across his desk and asked her, "Do you have any idea how insane that is? That's like finding Derek Jeter coaching peewee T-ball in a suburban park district league."
Mattie squirmed. She knew Nick was good. She just didn't realize how good.
"Well, he loved that job. He told me so himself."
Lester leaned back in his chair. "I know he did. He was great at it, too."
Then he asked something that made the little hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. "So you never heard from Eddie after the wedding?"
She narrowed her eyes. "Why?"
"Because it would make a hell of a story. For the right reporter, that is."
"Ya don't say." She clasped her trembling hands in her lap.
"One of our guys got a lead on a story. Rumor has it Eddie's run out of cash and is getting pretty desperate. The Feds think he might attempt a re-entry to liquefy some assets."
"Holy crap. Do they think he'd actually come back here? To Chicago?"'
Lester pulled a face. "Could be. He had a lot of friends here. It wouldn't be the first time a criminal returned to their old stomping grounds."
It was the first time Mattie heard Eddie referred to as a "criminal." She rather liked it.
Opening his desk drawer, Lester pulled out a business card and handed it to her. "Detective Rohmer was the chief investigator on the case. If you've got any ideas or information, I'm sure he'd be happy to hear it."
Tucking the card in her wallet, Mattie asked, "So you're not going to fire me?"
He shook his head. "To be honest, I could tell something was sizzling between you and Nick from the very first day. I was actually a little relieved to hear you weren't married. That would've been much stickier to deal with. But your readers…"
Mattie sat on the edge of her seat. "What about them?"
Lester grimaced. "Let's just say, some aren't taking it so well."
"So, what now?"
Pulling one side of his mouth into a smile, he shrugged and said, "I'm a firm believer in second chances.
Mattie let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you."
Pointing his finger at her, he added, "Don't get me wrong. You'll still need to make a public apology, and you should expect some backlash. But, it's been my experience, if you're honest with people, you'll win them back. Besides, you still have a marathon to run, young lady."
Mattie started. "But Nick quit."
Lester nodded. "Yes, he did. Damnedest thing, though. He paid back the advances on his bonus."
"What?"
"All he asked was to be reimbursed for the running shoes he got you," he explained with a smile spreading from one end of his mouth to the other.
"I don't understand."
Lester put the picture from the sports section on his desk and turned it in her direction. "They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but I think this one says just three, don't you?"
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"Most people run a race to see who is fastest. I run a race to see who
has the most guts."
– Steve Prefontaine
Nick had just finished running five fast miles on the field house track at Knollwood High School to try and clear his head. It had been a month since he had walked out on Mattie, but she was still under his skin, deep and inextricably. Who he thought she was, and who she turned out to be, why she did what she did, and what he was suppos
ed to do about it were just some of the thoughts that kept turning his heart and mind into knots.
He stopped running and walked to his gym bag, catching his breath. Pulling out a towel, he covered his sweaty face and let out a groan.
Gotta get a grip.
Just then, a voice boomed across the cavernous high school field house.
"Mister D."
He turned to see several members of his former cross-country team approaching.
"Hey guys." He blotted his face and neck with the towel. "What are you doing here?"
After shaking hands with some and exchanging several high fives with others, Drew Bates, the team captain, asked, "Practice started a couple of weeks ago. What are you doing here, man? We thought you left us for good."
"Oh, hey, I told you—that wasn't my decision."
At least a dozen skeptical faces stared back.
"You don't believe me?"
"Whatever. Thing is, you gotta come back. Ginsburg's coaching cross-country and he sucks."
This was followed by a chorus of groans.
Nick laughed. "Aw, come on. He's not so bad."
"He's ancient, Coach," Drew pleaded as the other boys fanned out behind him. "We need somebody young. Somebody we can respect. Somebody who cares about us. We want you back."
He handed Nick a stack of papers. "And so do over two thousand other people."
Nick's eyes widened. "What's this?"
"A petition. We're presenting it at the school board meeting tonight. You should be there. Unless you got something better to do."
Scanning the signatures, he recognized several faculty names as well as parents of his former team members.
Who knew?
Wondering what would cause the tide of acceptance to wade in his favor, he asked, "Whose idea was this?"
When no one responded, Nick looked up from the petitions. Scanning the group, he didn't see Bobby Crenshaw, Lester's son.
"Where's Bobby?"
"Orthodontist."
"Was this his idea?"
The boys cast quick glances at each other before responding with a wall of defiant silence.
Smiling, Nick nodded his head. "Once a team, always a team, huh? I get it."
At that, the boys relaxed their stance.
Doubtful that the same school board that ousted him would reinstate him, he told them, "Guys, I'm touched, really, but I'm kinda into something else right now."
He looked into their faces, some hopeful, some already showing their disappointment. At the sound of the Coach Ginsburg's whistle, all but Drew scattered. Taking back the petitions from Nick, he pointed his finger at him and said, "We're still gonna present these tonight. See you at seven. All right?"
"Yoohoo, Coach. Over here." A skinny middle-aged bottle blonde who had spent too much time in a tanning booth waved at Nick from across the park.
As he approached, he clenched his jaw and checked his watch to confirm that he had enough time to meet with the guys at the shelter later.
This was his third session with Paige Sumner, his latest in a string of over-privileged clients and hopefully his last. With her girlfriends continually, and somewhat suspiciously, interrupting their first two workouts, it became clear to him that Paige wasn't as interested in becoming a better runner as she was in being seen running with him.
When a broken nail emergency cut their session mercifully short, he informed her that his services were no longer available.
That night, he pulled into the school parking lot promptly at seven. Well over five hundred parents, faculty, students, and other tax-paying citizens were packed into one of the district's middle school auditoriums. By the time Nick arrived, it was standing room only.
Not wanting to draw attention to himself, he leaned against the back wall not sure what to expect. While most everyone in attendance had their backs to him, one head kept turning around, looking toward the doors.
Bobby Crenshaw.
When Nick caught his eye, he saw him smile and mouth, "Yes."
Paul Quincy, the school board president called the meeting to order. After taking roll and addressing open items from last month's meeting, he asked if there was any new business.
On cue, all of the boys from the cross-country team stood up. Drew raised his hand.
"Mr. Quincy," he started, his voice sounding nervous, but determined, "I have here over two thousand signatures on a petition mandating the reinstatement of Mr. Nicoli DeRosa as coach of the boys' cross-country and track teams at Knollwood High School.
Nick beamed with pride for Drew, a boy who had overcome a severe stutter just a few months into practicing with the team last summer. As the crowd burst into applause, he backed deeper into a shadowed alcove at the back of the room. He wasn't even sure if he should be there. He only came because the boys asked him to.
Paul Quincy, a man nearing sixty with little more covering his head than the beam of the spotlight above him stood and approached the edge of the stage. "May I see the petitions, son?"
As Drew approached the stage, the other boys joined him until they had formed a cluster at the base of the stairs leading up to where the board was seated.
After flipping through the pages, the president turned and handed the pages over to the others. He then leaned over with his none-too-attractive backside facing the audience while they all whispered like crazed conspirators plotting the hostile takeover of a well-stocked ice cream truck.
Unable to see their faces, Nick looked on, amused, yet anxious about the outcome. To steady his nerves, he tried anticipating potential outcomes.
If they reinstate me, I won't have to coach adults and can move on with my life.
If they don't reinstate me, I can always move back in with my folks and figure out what to do next.
But this little exercise didn't seem to work its usual calming magic.
The only thing he knew for sure was that coaching high school boys was a breeze, and he loved it, but it wasn't nearly as great as coaching Mattie had been. Witnessing her transform into someone who felt good in her own skin took what he did for the boys to a whole new level. Especially since it was his own brother who had inflicted her with so much hurt and disappointment.
I just want Mattie.
He took a deep breath to try and push back the ache he felt when he heard, "…the Comeback Kid."
He missed what Mr. Quincy had said before that.
"But according to our bylaws," he continued, "we still need to put it to a vote."
Standing behind the podium, he adjusted the microphone and spoke into it. "All those in favor of re-instating Nick DeRosa to the position of boys' cross-country and track coach at Knollwood High School say 'aye.'"
The walls of the auditorium rumbled as the crowd shouted, "Aye."
Hunched over the microphone, the president stated the obligatory, "All those against reinstating Nick DeRosa, say 'nay.'"
A moment of silence ensued.
"The motion is carried. Let the record show that Nicoli DeRosa has henceforth been reinstated to his former position by a unanimous vote."
Before he had a chance to let it sink in, he heard a voice yell, "There he is."
He had no idea who that voice belonged to.
As people began turning to shake his hand and offer their congratulations, he heard the thumping sound of fingertips tapping against a microphone.
"Hey, Nick, why don't you come on up here and say a few words?"
That voice he knew.
It belonged to Lester Crenshaw.
* * *
The Gazette ran Mattie's letter of apology to her readers as a full page ad the week after the race.
Dear Readers:
For almost three years, I have been posing as someone I'm not—a married mom. Please accept my humblest apology.
As the Plate Spinner, I gave advice and tried to build a community in which you could commiserate with other working parents. While I stand behind every single word I wrote, I know I led you
to believe that I was someone I'm not.
Your trust is a sacred thing, and I trifled with it. For that, I am deeply sorry.
Aside from your forgiveness, I ask only two things. First, please know that I acted alone. It is my hope that you will still consider the Gazette the premier news publication that it truly is. Second, know that I remain fully committed to running the Chicago Marathon. My own effort in this and my pride in Team Plate Spinner were and are completely authentic.
If my actions have in any way prompted you to reconsider your participation in this endeavor, please don't stop on my account. While you would be fully justified in returning or tossing any Team Plate Spinner gear, please do not let what I've done cheat you out of achieving this auspicious goal.
I hope to see each and every one of you at the start line in October.
Sincerely,
Mattie Ross
The only thing more daunting than continuing her marathon training was having to face it alone. The first day after Nick left was the hardest. She arrived at their usual corner at the usual time, half expecting, half hoping, to see him waiting for her; but of course, he wasn't. She waited for fifteen minutes.
When he was a no-show, she took to the path, trying to find her rhythm. Week after week, she kept at it, using a plan she had pulled off the Internet and counting the days until the big event.
"It's like I'm running with one leg," she tried explaining to Claudia while attending her nephew's soccer game over Labor Day weekend.
"You haven't heard from him at all?" Claudia ventured.
"No," Mattie sighed, her eyes welling up behind her sunglasses. "I'd give anything to see him again, Claud. I keep hoping I'll run into him, but I don't. It's like he disappeared."
"Just give him some time, hon. He'll come around," she soothed before yelling at the referee, "Off-sides. That kid was offside. How could you not see that? What are you, blind?"
In late September, Mattie set out for an early morning run. The sunrise over Lake Michigan was hidden behind a thick layer of clouds, and the wind was blowing in from the east.
False Start Page 18
