Dream Runner

by Gail McFarland

  “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”

  “It’s a great idea. We already know that Libby won’t be here to work with you, and you know that the record from Athens came in under 52 seconds. At your best, you were pulling it at 40:33, and now you’re missing two toes. You really want that gold, it’s going to take some work to get there.”

  “And you think I can’t do it without you?” Marlea’s head came high and she squared her shoulders.

  “No, it’s not that. I just know that you can win it with me. You need a coach.”

  “I’ll get by. I’ll get a dog, like Gail Devers.”

  “Gail doesn’t run the 400, and she’s got all her toes.” AJ grinned, standing. “Tell you what, you said that running into me is what got you here. Well, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll race you for it. You win, I’ll buy the dog and still stand on the sidelines to cheer you on.”

  Marlea’s eyes narrowed. “If I lose?”

  “Then you’ve got a coach and you won’t need the dog. I’ll train you, and I’ll still cheer you every step of the way.”

  “Fine. I’ll race you.“ Needing something to do with her hands, she picked up the open box and held it in front of her protectively. “But I’m not losing.”

  “That’s what you say now.” AJ stepped close enough to feel the heat from her body. “Just remember, I matched your speed when I had bad knees and you had all your toes.”

  “You don’t have to match me, you have to beat me. It’s not the same thing.” Jamming a hand against one hip, Marlea held the box against her other hip and frowned up at him. “And that’s not what concerns me.”

  “What concerns you?”

  “I can get a coach anywhere, but not a man I trust.”

  “And you still want to know if I’m that man?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then that means I still have half a chance, Marlea, and I’m willing to take it. What do I have to do to convince you that I deserve the other half? I don’t know what to do.”

  “I don’t either, AJ.”

  “One step at a time, then.” He took the box from her and set it on the floor. “You’d better get some rest, and I’ll see you for breakfast. Eight o’clock okay for you?”

  “Fine. After that, you can watch my back when I leave you in my dust.”

  “It’s a good lookin’ back, but you’ll have to let me know what you think of mine after I pass you,” AJ said, leaving the room and closing the door behind him.

  * * *

  Marlea could hear his soft steps on the marble flooring as she stood staring at the door, wondering.

  It’s his house. I couldn’t have very well told him not to come in. Eyes on her boxes, she felt the press of tears again. I shouldn’t have let him in. I should have told him not to come in. I should have…Her shoulders heaved. I should have gone straight to my place. At least in Marietta, I wouldn’t have had to talk to him about Bianca—even if he is finally telling me his side of the story.

  But why did he wait so long? It felt so bad, her sitting there and rubbing it in my face. Her knowing something about ‘my’ man, something that I didn’t know. Her knowing something about him that he should have told me.

  Pressing her palms hard together, Marlea exhaled against them. He said he didn’t sleep with her. He said he didn’t love her.

  It wasn’t working. Pushing her last box aside, she walked over to the bed and stood looking down at it, remembering the last time she shared it with AJ. There wasn’t even a hint of Bianca between us then. But what was it Libby used to say? ‘Never say never.’ Ain’t that the truth. I told myself that I would never run the 400 again, and here I am. I honestly believed that I would never doubt AJ—look where that’s got me.

  She looked at the bed again and backed away. Putting her hand out, she found the cushioned chintz armchair and sat. Draping her long legs over the arm of the chair, she pulled a sweatshirt from the chair back and huddled beneath it. Strangely cold, she looked at her reflection in the window across from her. I look awfully lonely without AJ, she thought, pulling at the sweatshirt. Might as well get used to it.

  * * *

  “Uh-huh.” He looked over his shoulder. “Dench? Set us off.”

  Dench ran his tongue over his teeth and stepped back from the path. No use in getting run over. Raising his arms, he brought his cupped hands to his lips. “On your marks…”

  Looking as grimly determined as she did, AJ mirrored Marlea’s movements at their start, then changed his mind. She was using the modified stance preferred by Paralympians. He elected the traditional. Dropping low, knuckles resting in dust, he looked up at her. “You belong to me,” he murmured through gritted teeth.

  “Not in this life.” She dropped her head, refusing to look at him.

  “Get set…”

  I let her outrun me and I lose her forever. AJ felt the drops of cold sweat break across his forehead. Never gonna happen.

  “Go!”

  Pushing off, feeling his heart lurch, AJ tasted challenge and swallowed it whole. Ignoring the tiny electrical jolt in his knee, he let his long legs find full stride, muscles in his thighs working with hydraulic precision. At his side, Marlea’s feet pounded a flawless path, and AJ let his breathing drown out the sound. Never let her see you sweat, dude. Good advice, he judged, laying into the speed that was his nature.

  Finding his rhythm, he could hear her steps. The pace had a distinctive rhythm, one foot slightly heavier than the other. Never good at shorter distances, Marlea had no time to worry about it—she was working too hard. He could tell by her breathing.

  Her hot-fired body pushed, fighting for an edge, but it wasn’t enough as he passed her. AJ crossed the electronic sensor planted at the end of the course five long steps ahead of Marlea. The sensor screamed success and AJ thanked God. Seconds. I beat her by seconds.

  “Ahh, you did it, dude. You did it!” Dench whooped, doing a victory dance that only he could explain before running toward the finish line.

  Marlea’s breath pulled tight through her nose and rushed out past her open lips as she slowed. Her mouth felt dry and her lips were parched, but her legs felt like rubber. I don’t think I’ve ever run that hard. Where did he find the speed?

  Finished, she stood panting and blowing in front of AJ. “You won.”

  “Yep,” he agreed, holding his face straight. “Fair and square.”

  “It’ll never happen again.”

  “No, it won’t, ’cause now you’ve got a coach.”

  Chapter 30

  Watching from the corner of her eye, Martha Baldwin nudged Rissa, then motioned with her head. Careful not to stop what she was doing, Rissa kept her head low and dabbed at the spot on the lapel of her suit with a damp cloth. Sneaky but determined, the women kept their eyes on Marlea.

  “Morning.” Dressed for training, she slunk past, not really noticing the women. Dumping herself into a chair, she reached for the paper and idly flipped the pages.

  What? Rissa mouthed, dabbing faster.

  Martha shrugged. Might as well see what’s up with her. Picking up the coffeepot and a cup, Martha ambled over to the table. One eye on Marlea, she poured carefully. “How about some breakfast?” she offered, breaking the silence, but not the tension.

  “Pancakes,” Marlea said, turning the newspaper page.

  Martha’s brows rose and she looked back at Rissa, who stopped dabbing and started rubbing instead. Turning back to Marlea, the housekeeper set the coffeepot on the table. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  “Pancakes.”

  Martha’s mouth opened, then closed. Planting a hand on one solid hip, she looked down at Marlea. “I must not have heard you right. I could have sworn you said ‘pancakes.’ ”

  “I did.” Marlea said, not bothering to look up.

  Forgetting all about the spot on her lapel, Rissa moved close and leaned on the stone counter, her eyes zipping from one woman to the other. When she saw Martha tuck her tongue in
to her cheek and place a hand on her other hip, she wondered if Marlea had any idea how much trouble she was about to step in. When Marlea finally lowered the paper and stared up at the housekeeper, Rissa knew that she didn’t have a clue.

  Running her thumb along the band of her apron, Martha took a long, slow breath. “You’re in training, and you think you’re going to eat pancakes at my table? You haven’t eaten pancakes for as long as you’ve been here, and suddenly, today, you want pancakes?”

  Taking a white linen napkin from the tabletop, Marlea spread it neatly across her lap. “You make them for him, you can make them for me.” She pushed her plate toward the older woman. “Pancakes.”

  Rissa cringed. Rude as that was, Marlea had nerve, if nothing else. But Martha had standards, and she never had been one to be trifled with.

  “Wait a minute, Miss Missy, let me tell you something. You don’t talk to me no any kind of way—that’s number one. Number two, you’re in training, and you’re going to eat like you’re in training, like it or not.” Taking a step toward Marlea, Martha seemed to be struggling for control. Her face was stony, her posture unyielding. She took a deep breath, and Rissa knew she was counting to ten. She had seen her do it with AJ over dinner the night before. “Steppin’ up in here, acting like you’ve got a right to say anything that crosses your little mind, and talking about you want to eat pancakes for breakfast, two weeks before final trials—it’s not gonna happen. You know AJ won’t like it…”

  “AJ can kiss my round brown butt.” Marlea held out her plate. “Pancakes.”

  “Oh, you are still trying to work a nerve up in here this morning? He might like that, kissing your butt, but I’m not trying to hear it, and I’m not the one for you to be playing with. Did you hit your head in the night? The way you’ve been acting lately…and now you’re in here trying to throw away everything you ever wanted with both hands. It don’t make no damned sense…”

  Oooh, Rissa held her breath. Marlea made her say ‘damn’…

  Marlea’s eyes flashed misery, then defiance. “It’s not your business.” She stood and collected her plate. Determined, she marched past Martha and a wide-eyed Rissa, heading for the warm pancakes waiting on the side of the griddle.

  “Look at you.” Martha shook her head and her finger. “The hell it’s not my business. You and AJ have had everybody around here walking on eggshells since you got back from New York.”

  Marlea flipped three pancakes and a pair of link sausages onto her plate. She took a fourth pancake when she saw Martha’s face. “I can go home.”

  Martha’s laugh was a dismissive bark. “No, you can’t. If you could, you would already be gone. As it is, you can’t leave him, and he can’t let you try. Y’all are pitiful.”

  “I am not pitiful.” Marlea slathered butter on the pancakes and then hacked at them with her knife and fork. “I’m not pitiful,” she insisted.

  “Must be a new word for it, then. Last I heard, this,” she said, tracking Marlea with a disdainful finger, “was called pitiful. You know you can’t eat pancakes and run. Whatever happened in New York shoulda stayed in New York.”

  Marlea’s hands tightened on her knife and fork; her eyes were trained on her plate. “It’s not your business…” She seemed to want to say more, but her voice trailed off when she heard approaching steps.

  Dressed in navy running shorts and a creamy white shirt, AJ walked into the kitchen and leaned against the granite-topped counter. Getting out of the line of fire, Rissa grabbed her briefcase and headed for the door.

  Obviously preoccupied, AJ’s eyes were steady as he poured juice, downing it in a single swallow. “You ready?”

  Marlea stuffed a chunk of syrup-drenched pancakes into her mouth. “I’m eating.”

  “Outside. Ten minutes.” He left the kitchen.

  Marlea stopped chewing. She couldn’t swallow.

  “You sure do know how to complicate things,” Martha observed.

  Trying not to choke, Marlea forced herself to swallow what was already in her mouth. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Yes, you do,” Martha said. “Play stupid if you want to, but you know what you want and you know what you need, and you don’t have a clue what to do about it, now do you? Well, you didn’t ask, but I’m gonna tell you. You need to get over your little snit and go after that man. He’s a big part of the solution, and you’d better figure out a way to let him know it before you let your pride cheat both of you. That’s all I have to say on the subject.”

  “Oh, don’t stop now.”

  “Aanh!” Clearly at the end of her patience, Martha dismissed Marlea with a wave of her hand.

  Rissa scooted through the door just ahead of Marlea. She had her cellphone out by the time she slipped behind the wheel of her car, and Dench answered before she made it through the gates. “Baby, you are not going to believe it. Let me tell you what just happened…”

  * * *

  Marlea stood, snatching her napkin as it slid from her lap. There wasn’t a whole lot more to say, and she stalked from the kitchen.

  Arguing with Martha Baldwin left a bad taste in her mouth. I don’t know why she chose today to step all up in my business. It was bad enough to come across that damned wedding announcement. Marlea ignored the urge to stomp her feet and fall out like a two-year-old. Why did I have to go flipping through the paper today and find a wedding announcement for Dr. Parker Reynolds and what’s-her-name? Was it, Desireé?

  There she was in the engagement picture, smiling for all she was worth, announcing a wedding timed with his release from jail, and anticipating happily ever after. And what am I doing? Arguing with somebody about pancakes!

  Passing the laundry room, exiting through the side door, Marlea pushed Parker Reynolds’s upcoming nuptials from her mind, and tried not to remember the first time she had come through the same door with AJ, or the times since that first time. Maybe this ought to be the last time…

  AJ would be good and mad at me if I walked through this door, down the drive, and just kept on walking. She thought about it for a moment and felt the hurt place in her soul swell again. No use picking at the hurt, trying to work around it. If Bianca’s little stunt didn’t kill what we had, I guess I’ve let it die of attrition by now.

  Days of virtual silence, passing each other without so much as the brush of hands, avoiding each other, even for meals, had taken its toll.

  I miss him, and for all the good it’s done, I still love him. I just don’t know what to say, or how to bridge this gap between us. Besides, he’s already mad at me, anyway. Now I’m supposed to meet him to train, even though the last few sessions have been really bad.

  She would have given almost anything not to have to admit to herself how bad they had been, filled with falls and false starts—little mistakes that showed she wasn’t paying attention. And it was wearing on AJ, too. Yesterday, he yelled at me for not concentrating. How does he expect me to concentrate when he’s yelling at me? Besides, I’ve been running most of my life, it’s not like he created me.

  He’s just taking his frustrations out on me, and I haven’t made things easy for him. He’s not the only one missing sex and the closeness we once shared, but at least I don’t spend hours and hours in the gym trying to pump iron and then tell myself it takes the place of what I really want.

  No, instead, I’ve been holed up with a stack of Rissa’s romance novels, reading and wishing I was one of those rescued heroines. If it hadn’t been for Bianca…what? What would have been different if not for her? When it’s not right, there has to be more wrong than ‘the other woman,’ right?

  So what else is wrong with AJ? With what we had? Why can’t I find a way to tell him, to show him, that I forgive him? He says he didn’t sleep with her, and I‘ve thought about it. Father, forgive me, but I’ve thought of almost nothing else. She almost heard Martha Baldwin’s voice in the gentle rustle of foliage as she passed. I believe him. I don’t honestly believe he could have come bac
k here the way he did, that he could hold me the way he did, that he could call me…

  Silk.

  For a second, she could hear his voice, feel his touch, and she hungered for more.

  Sense memory, that’s all that is. Me missing him. And she felt the tender ache in her soul echo like a repeating dream. She surprised herself by clinging to it.

  Jealousy and pride, she admitted, Mrs. Baldwin was right. I’ve pretty much let them dig me into my own private hell, and then I took AJ along for the ride. She’s right. I am pitiful. Turning, walking backward, Marlea looked back at the house. I’m gonna owe her an apology—a big one.

  Turning again, Marlea swiped at a holly bush with the napkin she still held. What was I thinking, dragging this thing with me? I’m tempted to toss it, but it would be just my luck that Mrs. Baldwin counts the napkins and would miss this one. She stuffed it in her pocket.

  But what about AJ? What do I say to him to fix this? Reaching down to the bush, she pulled several of its crisp, prickly leaves free. Crushing them between her fingers, she kept walking. What can I say to let him know that I believe him, that I haven’t given up on…us?

  What do I say to him so that he doesn’t give up on me? It’s not like I’ve given him much of anything to hope for lately. I really haven’t been cooperating during our last few training sessions. With little effort, she could hear herself complaining: Why do we have to do gym and two runs a day? It’s only 400 meters. It’s not like I’m a long-distance runner. I could understand it if I was going to run a marathon; twenty-six miles takes a lot more preparation…

  Marlea let her feet drag her along the hillside path leading to the 400-meter run AJ had laid for her training. Sitting on a massive gray boulder, he was waiting when she got there.

  “About time.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m here now.”

  “You still need to warm up.”

  She looked at him and prayed for words. None came. He stood in a shaft of golden sunlight and her hungry eyes moved over him—broad shoulders, tight-muscled hips, and the long arms and legs she had missed in the night. “I’m warm enough.” What an understatement. “Let’s just do this.”