Once I'd helped her get them into the car, I said, "Okay, I really have to go now," and hopped into my car, pretending I didn't hear her say, "Oh, but I--" I didn't have time for anything else.
I drove as fast as the traffic would allow, hating the mental picture of how I'd scuttled to my car instead of calmly taking control and leaving. Once home, I had just enough time to throw the stuff I'd need into a bag and fling guinea pig food pellets and a leaf of lettuce at poor Curly before racing out again with a banana in my hand. Not what I'd planned.
The banana, which I stuffed into myself in the car, barely took the edge off my hunger, and I felt exhausted and not remotely ready to run. When I asked at the snack bar where I could find Andrew, I was told he and the group had already headed to the track. Lovely. Way to make a great first impression. I changed quickly in the tiny dressing room, barely a third the size of the men's change room my brother had insisted on showing me one day, and rushed out to the track.
About ten people were circling around at various speeds, with a tall blond man in shorts and a t-shirt standing in the middle offering encouragement as they went past. The sword tattoo peeking from his sleeve suggested I'd found my target. I walked to him, worried he'd be angry at my lateness, but when I said, "Um, Andrew?" his smile immediately put me at ease.
"Megan, right? Nice to meet you."
We shook hands. His grip was strong, not a surprise for a fighter, but unlike Brandon's annoying buddies he didn't try to prove how tough he was by crushing my hand. His eyes were gentle, a little sad, and a gorgeous shade of blue, and I felt like I'd known him forever.
"You too," I said, amazed at how fast I'd connected with him. We'd barely even released each other's hand. "I'm really sorry, I meant to be on time. Is it too late for me to join?"
"No need to be sorry. Things happen. And even if you were really late of course you could still run. Just not quite as far."
I smiled, liking his attitude, and he smiled back then said, "Now get out there and walk a couple laps before I make you do pushups."
I laughed. "Good luck with that."
I walked around the track watching him interact with everyone else. Brandon had been right, he wasn't like the other fighters. I couldn't picture him being the animal in a fight that Brandon claimed he was, but I could see him writing software. Cute but a little nerdy too. But in a good way.
When I passed him, he said, "Walk one more then we'll run one. Got it?"
I nodded, and spent the next lap trying fruitlessly to figure out how to ask Brandon if Andrew had a girlfriend without triggering endless choruses of "Megan's got a boyfriend".
As I reached Andrew again, he joined me on the track and said, "Let's go. Find your happy pace."
I laughed. "I'm at it now."
He smiled. "Running pace, I mean."
Not sure a running pace could be considered happy, I nonetheless picked it up until I was at a steady jog. He matched me, no doubt able to run at my speed for days, and said, "Can you hold this pace for a lap?"
"I think so," I said, trying not to sound out of breath.
We cruised around the track, and while my knees and shin bones began to protest almost at once I found that I could indeed keep going.
"Nice," he said when we returned to the starting spot. "Let's walk half a lap then do it again."
"I'm not that tired," I said, eager to impress him. "We could run more now."
He shook his head. "Baby steps, Megan. Tiny bit at a time and before you know it you'll be doing things you never imagined you could."
We walked that half lap without speaking again, then he said, "Off we go," and took me around the track at about the same pace.
On our next rest he said, "What are you hoping to gain from running?"
"Stay in decent shape," I said, more out of breath than I wanted to admit. "I'm thirty now. Things will fall apart."
He laughed. "I'm nearly thirty-eight and so far I haven't fallen to pieces. I think you'll be okay."
No, he hadn't fallen to pieces. He looked great, actually. His shirt and shorts revealed a strong and well-muscled body, and our pace was clearly not stressing him in the slightest.
I took a deep breath so I could talk better. "Are you sure you want to stay with me? What about the others?"
He glanced around. "They're fine. Doing their own thing."
One of the other women in the group, maybe in her mid-forties, passed us like we weren't moving and Andrew called after her, "All right, Jeanine?"
"Never better," she responded over her shoulder.
"See?" He smiled at me. "I am keeping an eye on them but they're okay. I've got all the time in the world to focus on you."
To my surprise, my throat tightened at once. I cleared it, not sure why his words had choked me up, and said, "That's nice of you."
He smiled. "Don't want you to quit after one session."
I couldn't see that happening. Not with such a cute coach.
Andrew and I ran together for about thirty minutes. The first five weren't too bad, maybe because my body was too stunned by the sudden exertion to complain, but the next fifteen were terrible as my under-used lungs and legs revolted. I kept going, though, because I didn't want to wimp out, and was rewarded with a gradual reduction in the awful feelings. By the time Andrew said, "Good enough for your first day," I'd settled into it and felt like I could run forever.
We walked around the track twice to cool down and he said, "You feel okay? You look good."
My cheeks warmed though I knew he meant it in a running way and not an attractiveness way. He looked good both ways. "I feel good. It was rough in the middle but then it got better."
He nodded. "Takes a bit for the body to really warm up. For the first five years I always hated the first thirty minutes. It's only recently that I don't feel like crap then."
I turned to him in surprise. "Really? I thought that was just me." I told him about my high school coach and his criticism of my attitude.
He shook his head. "The guy was wrong. Just means you're an endurance type, like me, not a sprinter. Nothing wrong with that."
Definitely not.
*****
After the run Andrew introduced me to everyone then said, "So, who's having dinner with me?"
I wanted to, but I wasn't sure whether it was right for a first-timer to join in.
The other two women in the group and one guy were busy, but Jeanine was in, and so were the other two guys. Then Andrew turned to me. "Hungry?"
"Starving," I admitted. "You're sure you don't mind if I come?"
He smiled. "Of course not. Why would we?"
"No need to grovel, Megan." Jeanine swiped sweat from her forehead. "Everyone's welcome."
I didn't feel so welcome after that, especially since she sounded like she wished I wasn't.
"Politeness and groveling aren't the same thing," Andrew said to the group at large. "The world could use a little more civility."
She turned away and headed toward the dressing room.
I took a breath to say I wouldn't be going after all but he gave me a calm smile and said, "We leave in twenty minutes. Think you can be ready by then?"
I looked up at him and knew he was hoping I'd come despite Jeanine. Since I wanted to, I said, "Sure."
He gave my shoulder a pat. "Good stuff."
Jeanine was already in one of the tiny dressing room's two showers when I arrived. I washed away the sweat as fast as I could then dressed in the shower stall so I wouldn't get in her way. I'd half-hoped we could be friends but I didn't see that happening now. What could I have done to offend her? We'd barely spoken.
She'd had a bit of a head start getting ready, but I didn't wear nearly as much makeup as she did and I didn't blow-dry my hair either, so when she left the dressing room I was right behind her.
Andrew glanced at his watch. "Nice," he said, smiling first at me then at her. "Eighteen minutes and thirty-two seconds. I think that's a new record."
; The guys with him laughed and one said, "Yeah, any time Jeanine doesn't make us wait is a new record."
She took a mock swing at him and he automatically brought his hand up to block it.
"No point trying to beat up a fighter, I guess," she said.
She wasn't denying his words, though, and I realized she'd probably hurried to get ready so I wouldn't show her up. Interesting.
The five of us walked the three blocks to the café. In no time my still-wet ponytail was frozen solid in the icy March air. When I reached up to touch it, Jeanine said, "Next time you'll bring a warm hat, right?"
The earlier snottiness was gone from her voice, and I felt like the "next time" was meant to be an apology, but I still didn't appreciate being criticized by her. I wished I could find a quick comeback like Amanda always did, but instead I just shrugged.
Once we reached the cafe, we settled at a table and to my secret happiness I ended up right across from Andrew. After we ordered our food one of the guys asked him to critique his latest fight, so I sat feeling mellow and pleasantly tired from the run and listened.
Andrew knew fighting, clearly, and he told the guy the truth about where he'd messed up without putting him down. There was still something sad about him, I thought, although he'd seemed happy enough as we ran. His smiles as he talked didn't entirely reach his eyes. I felt, frankly, like he needed a hug. Not that I could offer to give him one, of course.
"So," he said once he'd finished the fight discussion, "Megan, tell us about yourself."
"Not much to say," I said, feeling my cheeks warm as they all looked at me. "I'm a teacher, and Brandon Sharp's my brother."
The guys exchanged glances and one said, "We'll be nice to you, then. Brandon hits pretty hard."
We all laughed, and I remembered my earlier decision not to get involved with a friend of Brandon's again and made a mental exception for Andrew since I didn't think they were friends.
"And you ran in high school."
I nodded at Andrew. "Badly, but I did."
He shook his head. "Badly? I doubt it. Not from what I saw. Were you monitoring your speed today?"
I didn't have a running watch and I'd been too busy trying not to gasp for breath too loudly to think to check the wall clock, so I just shook my head.
"Didn't change from start to finish."
"Even when I felt bad in the middle?"
He nodded. "You're a steady runner."
"Slow, though."
He looked me in the eye. "Steady."
I gave him a deliberate nod. "Yes, sir."
Everyone laughed and he said, "See, Jeanine, not everyone argues with me."
She rolled her eyes. "She will, she's only just met you."
I wouldn't but I didn't want to say so in case I somehow gave her a way to zing me again. "So what does it mean to be steady?"
"Means you're a distance runner. Ever thought of running a marathon?"
I burst out laughing. "Me? I'd die."
A ripple of something passed over the table. I didn't know what it was but it felt cold and creepy, and it made Jeanine look uncomfortable and the guys fidget. I looked around, confused and worried about what I'd done to cause it, but Andrew said calmly, "You wouldn't, if you did your training. You might not think you have the strength now, but with training you'd be physically in shape to do it, plus you'd learn to dig deep and find guts you never knew you had. Give it some thought. I think you'd be amazing."
The waitress arrived then with our meals so I just smiled at him, but I thought about his words the rest of the evening as we all chatted and ate. I hadn't been on a sports team since high school. I had no hobbies but reading, no particular interests besides teaching and playing with Curly and occasionally watching a movie with Amanda when James was busy with his friends or they'd broken up yet again. I had nothing that was really mine, nothing to challenge and drive me forward, and I often envied people who did.
Worse, I constantly felt weak and lost and unsure of myself. Chad had taken advantage of me and I'd not only let him but had half-justified his cheating because I'd been spending so much time with Kim even though I knew a decent person would never have used that as a reason to cheat. I'd been agonized all day over whether to help Tosca or Amanda and hadn't felt right no matter what I did. Even Jeanine's nasty little comments had stung far more than she had probably imagined. I hated how all of that made me feel. Would running a marathon help me somehow, teach me to find strength I didn't know I had, as Andrew said? I didn't think I had any at all, and I never had.
Could running change that?
Chapter Six
Saturday night I was idly petting Curly and flipping through the running magazines I'd bought after leaving Andrew and the group the night before when my phone shattered the peaceful silence. I glanced at it and sighed but picked it up anyhow. "Hey, Amanda."
"I hate him."
I set aside the magazine. "James?"
"Of course James," she said, nearly snapped. "He's such an ass."
No argument there, but it wasn't exactly news. "Why?"
"I paid for everything in Niagara Falls, and not only did he not propose but on the way home he started talking about going to law school in the fall."
"Really?" I'd never cared to ask the details but I knew James had a good job in banking, so I wouldn't have expected him to bother with any more education. "Why?"
"He says he'd make way more money and be able to argue all day."
Kim was a lawyer, still employed by a local firm that specialized in health-care directives and living wills although she hadn't worked in nearly a year because of her heart problems. "That's not how my sister describes the job."
"I brought that up but he said she--" Amanda cut herself off. "Well, never mind what he said. He thinks it'll be different for him, that's all."
No doubt James had presented one of his 'women are weaker than men in every possible way' theories starring my sister as the pathetic one. Charming. "So he's going to law school then?" Hopefully somewhere across the country. Or the planet.
"He can't afford it. Blew all his savings on that new truck last month, so he wants me to pay for it."
I said, "On a teacher's salary?" as I was supposed to and commiserated with her, although it was tough to agree when she said that even if she could find the money she wouldn't want him to go to school because it would just postpone their wedding further. No postponement would be long enough in my opinion, and maybe in James's opinion too. He frequently made comments about marriage being "just a piece of paper" and not worth the effort, but I suspected he simply didn't want to be legally bound to Amanda in case someone better came along.
"So will you?"
"Will I what?" I said, startled.
"You haven't been listening? Damn it, Megan--"
"No, I have," I lied. "Sorry, Curly nearly fell off the couch and distracted me for a second." I stroked the guinea pig in apology for blaming him. He didn't seem too concerned.
"James says that thing is a rodent and--"
"--should be outside fending for itself," I finished, annoyance flooding me. "I know, he's said that to me before. Several times." Not that I'd ever asked for his thoughts about my pet. "What did you want me to do again?"
"We had such a fight on the way home, and then he stormed off and he's not returning my calls or texts. We have to move his stuff out right now."
I shut my eyes and whimpered to myself. We'd moved James's crap out the week before Christmas, in a blinding snowstorm, and when she'd decided on Christmas Eve to bring it back I'd hated every moment of the job and vowed I'd never do it again. But if she truly wanted to get rid of James this time I didn't want to miss the opportunity.
"Is..." I cleared my throat, trying to figure out how to say it without infuriating her. "It's definitely over this time?"
"Absolutely," she said without hesitation. "I'm over him."
I glanced at the kitchen clock. Nearly eight. I'd be running with Andrew and the
group again tomorrow morning, so I was already in my pajamas in preparation for an early night.
"Megan, you're coming, right? I really do need your help. And in case I forgot last time, thank you."
She had thanked me last time before James came back but hadn't seemed to realize I might have been bothered by his return. But her repeated thanks touched me and I knew I couldn't leave her to handle everything alone. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes."
*****
If Amanda was as over James as she claimed, why did we have to talk only about him? We spent nearly two hours hauling garbage bags of his clothes and sports equipment and boxes of books and CDs and DVDs down the narrow stairs from their second-floor apartment, and she talked non-stop about what he'd done on the trip and how he'd briefly been sweet to her but had then started in with the law school stuff and had seemed genuinely hurt that she wouldn't pay for him and she'd felt bad and...
I wanted to tell her about Andrew and the running but she was just spinning. There was no way to get a word in edgewise, or any-other-wise, until we were finally driving the last load over to James's storage locker, for which Amanda fortunately had a key.
She did spend half the trip talking about him but then sighed and said, "I'm sorry, I'll shut up now. What's new with you?"
I'd been annoyed by her obsession but her eventual interest in me made me feel guilty for my feelings. She had a lot on her plate and it wasn't her fault if she wasn't thinking about me much. "Well, I joined a running group and had my first run last night. It was tough at first but I started to get more comfortable near the end and Andrew, my coach, says I could run a marathon."
She flashed me a shocked glance before returning her eyes to the road ahead. "You're not going to do it, are you? I don't care how cute this guy is-- is he cute, by the way?"
I couldn't hold back a smile as I pictured him. "Yup. Very."
She sighed. "I miss the days when I thought James was cute. Now he's just obnoxious."
I didn't know what to say other than, "I've never thought he was anything but obnoxious," which didn't seem appropriate, so we drove along in silence for a few moments until she said, "Sorry, no more James. I'm like an addict."
Toronto Collection Volume 2 (Toronto Series #6-9) Page 48