The Speed of Light

by Elissa Grossell Dickey

  Farther down the hall, Nikki pokes her head out of the photo studio, and her eyes widen, flicking between Connor and me. The floor squeaks behind us, and I whip around—Raj has moved to my office doorway and is peeking out, looking like he wants to melt into the floor.

  I can’t take it.

  “There’s no problem.” I manage to hold my head high, though inside I’m dying. “Connor was just leaving.”

  The crushing look on his face steals my breath, and I can’t watch him walk away. Instead I turn and flee down the hall in the opposite direction, past Stan and Chet, past Nikki and into the bathroom, where at last, behind the safety of the locked door, I let my tears fall.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  September 19, three months before

  As the heat eases and the chill of fall slips into the city, Connor’s calls and texts stop as if carried away on the prairie wind, and I pretend it doesn’t hurt anymore. Besides, I have to focus now: we’re getting closer to race day, and the weight of its importance presses heavily on my shoulders.

  So does my best friend’s disapproval.

  Nikki’s frustration is a tangible thing today, barely contained. “Connor called Claudia again last night.”

  I grimace. Guess he hasn’t given up entirely.

  “And unlike you, we actually answer once in a while.” She looks over at me without breaking stride. “I mean, I still don’t understand how you could just cut him off like that.”

  We round a corner. The falls are in sight, and I push myself faster as if I’m trying to outrun Nikki, as if I’m trying to outrun my pain. My own callousness shocks me, too, makes the pain of missing him cut even deeper. But it’s like a window was opened that day when I saw him with her, like I’d surfaced from a beautiful dream into harsh reality. And I couldn’t let it go on any further. I could no longer pretend it could work out between us—that things could work out for me.

  “It’s easier this way.”

  “For you.” There’s an edge to her voice.

  “For both of us.” My voice has an edge now, too. “We rushed into a relationship during tough times in both of our lives without stopping to think about where we were going. About the future.”

  She pauses, and I know the question is there, the one she’s been wanting to ask for weeks. “Even if that’s true, don’t you think you should’ve talked to him about it?”

  “I planned to before I caught him with his ex-fiancée,” I snap.

  Nikki glances over, and her voice is gentler. “Simone, do you really think he was cheating on you? I mean, honestly?”

  My chest burns and I can’t answer. But even if it wasn’t cheating, it could’ve been precheating—like I caught him with his hand on the lid of the cookie jar, knowing he would eventually take the plunge. “It doesn’t matter. He lied to me.”

  “But you could still talk to him,” she insists.

  “Look, we were heading down separate paths anyway. He needs to focus on going back to school, and I need to focus on being as healthy as I can.”

  There’s a pause but it’s heavy, like she’s gearing up for something. “Simone, I love you, and I know you’re hurting more than you let on, but I have to say: that is complete bullshit.”

  I whip my head over, slowing at last. “Excuse me?” She matches my pace but doesn’t look at me, so I press on. “For your information, you are the one who said I was burying my head in the sand about my illness, and now I’m trying to fix that.”

  “But that doesn’t mean you can’t also try to fix this with Connor.”

  My eyes flash. “Oh yeah? Well, how about you? Have you talked to Claudia about moving?”

  Her eyes narrow. “Don’t turn this shit back on me.”

  “Well, have you?”

  “We’ve been busy with her mom.”

  I nod—I’ve found my opening and I’m taking it. “And now she’s unsure if she wants to move farther away, right? Have you told her how you feel about it? How you’re withering away in this conservative little city that pretends to be so progressive but you really feel like you can never be yourself?”

  She slows to a walk now, and her face shrinks like I’ve slapped her. Shit, I’ve crossed the line. “Nik, I’m sorry.” I stop, too, reach forward and hug her. I don’t want her to move away, but I see how she and Claudia change depending on the situation, depending on the part of town, depending on the crowd, and I hate that it’s the reality of living here. But it’s their choice, not mine. “I’m an asshole.”

  “You are an asshole.” She hugs me back and laughs a little. “But I don’t want to leave you.”

  I squeeze her tighter. And I don’t want you to go. I manage to hold the words in, though, because I’ve been selfish enough already. We pull apart and Nikki gestures toward the falls, and we walk over and sit down on the grass. The water is mesmerizing, the rush almost drowning out the racing thoughts in my head.

  Finally, Nikki sighs. “I just want you to be happy, Simone.”

  “I want the same for you,” I say. “But no matter what, I’m here for you.”

  She takes my hand, eyes still out on the water. “Me too.”

  I stand up and pull her to her feet. We run on together, silent but strong, lifting each other up through the darkness.

  PART TWELVE

  CHAOS

  Monday, December 6, 10:24 a.m.

  I’m holding Nikki down in the darkness of this closet, but the truth is, she is anchoring me, her heartbeat the only tiny sliver of hope keeping me going through this nightmare.

  The closet door is now open just a sliver since Hayley’s departure, light peeking through, and Stan is having a breakdown on full blast. “You can’t . . . you can’t just do that. We never agreed to kill people!”

  “Calm down,” Chet spits. “Shit, she cut me good. You got a first aid kit in that closet?”

  My body stiffens. Please God, no. I force myself up onto my knees, gathering any last shred of strength.

  The door opens a crack farther, and I look fearfully up into Stan’s face. His eyes widen in shock and shame, then a wild sort of resolve. He whips around. “Nope, we don’t have anything like that.”

  The door shuts, but I hear a scuffle, and as it opens again, I do the only thing I can think of—lay motionless over Nikki.

  “Jesus Christ.” Chet’s voice is a growl, like a predator ready for another kill, and I squeeze my eyes shut harder, chest hammering.

  “No!” Stan cries.

  There’s a beat in slow motion; then both guns go off in thundering succession. My eyes fly open in shock; then I squeeze them shut again, bile rising in my throat. Because in that brief moment I saw Stan slumped on the floor—the left side of his face gone, a vision doomed to haunt me for the rest of my life, dark and gaping, a human inside out.

  I hear footsteps now as Chet turns back toward us—and this is it, I think.

  This is when it ends.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  November 26, ten days before

  Race day dawns bright, the blazing sun illuminating the last of the fading orange leaves on the trees, clinging to the branches as if fighting for their lives—as if they don’t know they’ll inevitably fall.

  I’m up earlier than I need to be, dressing methodically in my black running pants and red shirt, lacing up my running shoes. I stare at the woman in the mirror. The quiver of anxiety in my belly is expected—almost a welcome companion after nearly three decades of introversion and social anxiety, present in all my life’s milestones, from piano recitals to college graduation.

  Today, the anxiety is a reminder of the importance of this accomplishment, of how far I’ve come. That no matter how uncertain my future is, no matter how much it hurt to lose Connor, if I can just cross that damn finish line, then maybe I’ll be okay.

  Nikki’s reflection appears behind me in the mirror. We’re matching this morning—black and red. Our smiles match, too, determined. “No matter what happens, I’m proud of you.�
�

  I nod. “Thanks.”

  Then we’re silent as we make our way through the hazy, lightening morning toward the start of the race.

  The parking lot at Veterans Memorial Park is filled to the brim, and as we walk across the crunchy brown grass to join the throngs of fit, agile bodies, nerves consume me. “What if there was a blizzard or something? It’s late November, for Christ’s sake—there could be tons of snow by now.”

  Nikki smiles. “But there’s not. The path’s all clear.”

  “Or there could’ve been ice,” I add pointedly.

  “But there’s not.” She smirks, her eyes darting to me. “It is going to be a beautiful, unseasonably warm day in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, Simone. We will be fine.”

  I roll my eyes. “Guess someone watched the weather this morning.”

  “Damn right I did.” Nikki chuckles and links her arm through mine as we reach the crowd.

  Amid the chatter around us, a voice calls out. “Mone!”

  I turn, and my mom waves frantically from behind the taped-off viewing area. Behind her, Dad stands stoically—even a tired-looking Emmett rubs his eyes with one hand, the other gripping a cup of coffee. A surge of love for them—for all the chaos, for their semi-dysfunctional but fiercely supportive nature—propels me over, and I attempt to wrap all three in a hug.

  “Good luck, honey.” Mom rubs my arm, smiling. “We’re so proud of you.”

  “I can’t believe you guys made it.”

  Emmett shrugs. “They made me come.” I smack his arm but laugh, and he grins.

  “Now, if you pass out from exhaustion, I am CPR certified,” my dad says. I blink at him, terrified for a split second he’s seriously concerned I can’t do it, and doubt seeps in. But then his lip quivers, and he busts out laughing. “I’m kidding, Mone. Give ’em hell.”

  “I will, Dad,” I say, turning to head back.

  “Just don’t go too fast!” Emmett calls. I turn, and he grins. “I’ve got money on you coming in last place.”

  “Jerk!” I yell over my shoulder, but I’m laughing when I get back to Nikki, who’s frowning at her phone. I peer down and catch a glimpse of her text.

  Guess we’ll see what happens at the finish line.

  She looks up at me and stuffs her phone in her pocket. I raise my eyebrows. “Claudia stationed at the finish line?” She nods, but her face is red, and she won’t meet my eyes. “Don’t tell me you are actually nervous about this.”

  She looks up then and winks. “Yeah, nervous I’ve trained you so well I won’t be able to keep up with you.”

  “Yeah right,” I scoff. “We both know that is not gonna happen.”

  Nikki drops her smile and fixes me with a determined gaze. “We got this, Mone.” Then she smirks. “Just think about those beers Claudia has waiting for us at the finish line.”

  I laugh, but she cocks an eyebrow. “I’m serious. They have Oktoberfest on tap, and I intend to chug one of those bad boys immediately after the race.”

  “Well, then. We’d better run fast.”

  “Damn right.”

  We’re relaxed then as we stretch among the throngs of runners, the scent of sweat in the air. Still, my stomach flutters when the runners are called to the ready. I’m sure I’ve made a terrible mistake, but in one surreal moment, the race begins and we are moving forward, lost in the sea of black spandex and bright cotton, leggings and tank tops, headbands and armbands and Fitbits and earbuds.

  One foot in front of the other, my legs hit the pavement, and maybe I can really do this. But soon, too soon—have we even gone the first tenth of a mile?—my muscles start to tire. My lungs gulp for air. Dammit, what about all my training? Have I improved at all?

  I can’t do this—I can’t.

  A nudge at my right elbow. I glance over at Nikki, who nods. “Give it another quarter of a mile.”

  I nod back. Yes. Relax. Give it time. My pulse slows, and I look around at the way the morning sunshine filters through the trees, their branches waving in the breeze as if encouraging us. You can do this, they seem to say.

  And soon my legs have found their rhythm. My muscles quiet; my lungs ease. My thoughts clear.

  I can do this.

  We slow enough at the first checkpoint to let tiny cups of water quench our dry throats and to let the encouraging words of the volunteers propel us forward.

  At two miles, my knee twinges, but I’m feeling good. Nikki recounts stories about the old days in college—holding each other’s hair back when we partied too much, drinking coffee until dawn when we did actually study—and I laugh through my puffs of breath.

  At two and a half miles, it hits me that I am going to finish. We’re nowhere near the front, but we’re also not last. The pain in my knee is stronger but bearable.

  I am going to finish this race.

  The thought leaves me giddy enough that when Nikki leans over, raises her eyebrows, and asks, “Should we kick it in when we see the three-mile marker? Finish strong?” my nod is enthusiastic.

  Euphoria takes over. I push myself forward, faster, harder. I am going to finish this. I am strong. I can handle this disease.

  I am in control.

  But as if that thought has summoned the cruel gods of neurological diseases, my knee lets out a vicious throb. My leg buckles and I stumble—I catch myself, but the pain slows me to a limp-jog.

  “What’s wrong?” Nikki slows, too. “Shit, I shouldn’t have pushed you. I’m sorry.”

  “No, it’s just—my stupid knee.” I wince. “Oh God, I can’t run anymore.”

  “Is it like before?” She’s alarmed now. “Are you able to walk?”

  I shake my head. “No—it’s not numb and seizing up. It hurts, but I can walk. But I can’t run.”

  Relief washes over Nikki’s face. “Thank God.”

  I glare at her. “I can’t run, Nik.”

  “We can walk the rest of the way—we’re almost there.”

  “But I want to run this race.” Her calm voice makes me even more shrill, panicked, as runners fly past us. I stubbornly try to speed up, wincing with each step. “I promised myself.”

  Nikki matches my pace. “Simone, you promised yourself you’d finish this race, and you will—whether it’s walking or crawling or even if I have to carry you across that goddamned finish line. It’s still finishing.”

  My shoulders slump. “But . . . I was going to beat this.”

  Nikki pulls me to a stop. More runners pass us, but she doesn’t seem to notice. “Simone, this is one day. One day. All you can do is the best you can. All you can do is keep fighting every day. And I’ll be right there with you. Okay?”

  A shiver ripples through me, releasing my fear, my expectation. Making room for resolve. Determination. “Okay.”

  “Let’s finish this race, eh?”

  I nod, and hand in hand, we walk forward together. The finish line is in sight now. No more runners pass us—only those walking haven’t finished yet. But even if we were the last ones in the race, it wouldn’t matter.

  I’m going to drag myself across that white line and finish. I’m going to conquer this challenge, and then tomorrow I’m going to get up and face the next one. And the next, and the next—I will keep going every day, no matter what.

  I will not give up.

  We’re close to the end now, and I hear a clap. Then another. Then the whole crowd is clapping.

  A voice shouts: “Come on, sis, you got this!”

  I smile—I can’t see Emmett, but he’s there in the crowd, cheering me on, and I pick up the pace slightly. A high-pitched whistle—that has to be Claudia; no one can whistle like her. Everyone is cheering now, and their encouragement is enough that I can limp-jog across the finish line, hand in hand with my best friend.

  Nikki wraps me in a fierce hug. “You did it.”

  “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  We pull apart when Mom, Dad, Emmett, and Claudia descend on us. Claudia hug-tackles N
ikki while Emmett places his hands on both of my arms, looking down at me solemnly. “Sis, I just have to say . . . I totally called the last-place thing.”

  I slug him, and he wraps me in a hug. “Proud of you.”

  Mom steps forward to hug me, but there’s worry in her eyes. “You did great, honey.”

  “Thanks. My knee was giving me a little trouble, but no worries—it wasn’t even bothering me at the end, thanks to our wonderful cheering section.”

  “Yeah, we have a few cheerleaders here today.” There’s something about Nikki’s voice, the way her brow furrows and her eyes dart over Claudia’s shoulder. Then Claudia gives an almost imperceptible shake of her head.

  I gasp, pop up on my tiptoes, scan the crowd, but there are no familiar faces—only happy strangers, exhausted and exhilarated. Then, on the edge of the parking lot, I see him. I want to call to him, but he’s already so far away, so I hesitate, turning to Claudia and Nikki, unsure, desperate. “Was that text about Connor?”

  Nikki sighs. “I’m sorry, Mone. We didn’t know he was going to be here.”

  “But why is he leaving?”

  Claudia clears her throat. “He said he didn’t want to take away from your big day.”

  My shoulders sag, and Nikki reaches for my hand with a sad smile. “Come on, let’s go get those beers.”

  Pain settles in, but I follow them, my knee and my broken heart now an excruciating match. With each step away from Connor, I remind myself I was the one who let him go—I was the one who told him to go, who ignored his calls and texts, who shut him out, over and over again.

  I remind myself it is too late.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Beer is great for quickly replenishing the lactic acid in your muscles after a race—Nikki says something to that effect, at least, but all I care about right now is that it’s cooling my throat and dulling the pain. So after my family heads back to Aberdeen to pick up Grandma from the neighbors’ house, I buy another round for Nikki, Claudia, and me.