Going for Kona

by Pamela Fagan Hutchins

  Adrian had tried to talk me into a puppy a few weeks before his death. “Maybe we should get a dog.”

  “Precious would never forgive us.”

  I patted the dogs’ silver heads on Adrian’s behalf before I started stretching.

  “Beautiful animals.”

  The newbie fondled the ears of the one nearest him. “Thanks!”

  As I leaned over and stretched the heels of my hands to the ground, my butterfly locket inverted and hit me in the mouth. Like a peck from Adrian. I gave it a kiss and tucked it into my jog bra, then mentally prepared for my run. I had been trained by the best, after all. Hydration and fueling would be critical. I’d planned to run two laps of the trail, plus a detour on the Prairie Branch Loop along Raven Lake. The summer months weren’t the prettiest in the park, but, still, the scenery would be lovely, with the trees crowding up against the banks of the 210-acre lake and swamp birds everywhere—cranes fishing, herons nesting, and pairs of male and female cardinals darting through the air. Continuing my stretching, I inhaled a Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Quest Bar and tucked packets of Gu energy gel in my waistband. I strapped on a fuel belt and slipped my bottles of Nuun in it.

  Four varieties of poisonous snakes live in Huntsville State Park: rattlers, water moccasins, coral snakes, and copperheads. Four too many, and it was the perfect temperature for them. I hoped they were still sleeping. There were lots of stinging, biting things, too. In a crazy way, though, all of that just made it more awesome. Stretching done, Bon Jovi’s “Living on a Prayer” pounding, and an orangesicle glow peeking over the horizon, I bounded out of the parking lot and onto the trail.

  “Mongoose, mongoose.”

  I tingled in anticipation of hearing Adrian’s voice. I sucked in the thick, humid air in the near-dark. The pines smelled amazing. A light rain the previous night added to the fresh, clean scent. Adrian and I usually did our long runs at the gator-filled Brazos Bend State Park because it’s a shorter drive, but Brazos Bend has a ripe, swampy odor. When we had time, I preferred Huntsville for the smell.

  I focused on the ground in front of me as I ran, hopping over mud, running around sand, placing my feet down carefully on slick pine needles and picking my way through tree roots, rocks, and pine cones. The trail markings stink and the paths wind around sharply and shoot up and down without warning. It was getting lighter fast, but it was still hard to see, and when my ankle rolled and threw me off balance, I flailed and fought the fall with gigantic steps, but ended up doing a shoulder roll off one side of the trail. I sat up and looked behind me at my erratic tracks, which started back at a medium-sized rock. I squinted. I could have sworn the damn rock shot me the bird, so I shot one back.

  I surveyed my parts: bloody hands, knees, and elbows, but I’d survive. My bad-knee side took the worst of it. I twisted around and saw more blood. I lifted my shirt to see my lower back. Sure enough, trail burn. I wiped off the dirt and leaves. “Dios mío!” I yelled.

  A dark-haired man stepped into my line of vision. “Wow! Talk about a Grade A tumble.” At least that’s what I thought he said. I pulled my earbuds out.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I said nice fall!” He smiled and offered me a hand up. He looked fit, but not fanatically so. Normal.

  “Thanks. No, I’m fine.” I waved his hand away and stood up, tottering a bit. Enrique Iglesias and Pit Bull still blared from my buds, but in a distorted way that sounded echoey and eerie in the empty forest.

  The man stubbed his toe against the ground, digging up a little dirt. “I have a confession. I saw you leave the parking lot. I thought I would pass you with my blazing speed, and, stunned with admiration, you would wonder who I was. Then, later on the trail, I would stop and pretend to be doing something interesting, and we would meet . . . but it didn’t work. It was all I could do to keep pace behind you. I’ll have to resort to honesty and chivalry instead. Hello, I’m Blake.” His hand came out again.

  Ugh, I thought. No. Leave me alone. I’m out here to meet my husband in the woods, and you’re keeping him away. Besides, why was he hitting on me? He looked younger than me. Thirty-five-ish, maybe older by a little, but if so, he had great genetics or a good colorist.

  Blake’s extended hand tested whether the daughter my Southern mother raised could turn her back on that tutelage. She couldn’t. I shook his hand. “I’m Michele, and I’m not very graceful.” I half-smiled in a manner I hoped said “Polite, but all business.” I gestured at the trail. “Would you like to go first?”

  “No, you go ahead. I’ll maintain the rescue position in case you fall again. Think of me as your own personal SAG wagon.”

  I nodded, said, “Happy trails,” and stuck my earbuds back in.

  Knowing Blake was running behind me really knocked me off center. How would Adrian feel about this? Maybe it wasn’t rational to believe my dead husband came back to me whenever I sweat, but I didn’t care. I wanted this stranger to get out of our space. With my peace shattered, I noticed that my knee hurt—a lot. I picked my pace up, but the faster I ran, the worse it got. I couldn’t self-sabotage just to get rid of this guy. I shortened my stride and decided to Gu and hydrate without breaking pace, fearful he would talk to me again if I stopped.

  Bad decision. With my break in concentration, I tumbled again, even harder this time and onto my good knee. I rolled in a heap to the bottom of the hill. I closed my eyes. “Chingame,” I whispered.

  The Blake person reappeared at my side.

  I sighed and removed the earbuds again.

  “You know, I speak Spanish, and you’ve got a set of lungs.” I stared at him. He touched his ears. “Earbuds. You probably didn’t realize how loud you just yelled.”

  “I’m sorry. Not a very ladylike choice of expressions. My apologies.”

  “No apologies necessary. It didn’t bother me.” He crouched beside me. “You’re really favoring that left side.”

  “I’ll be favoring the right one now, too.” I poked on my right knee, and while it smarted, it didn’t seem injured. “I’m seeing an orthopedist tomorrow about the left knee.”

  “Hmm. I’ll have to give you my contact information, and if the orthopedist route isn’t right for you, you should call me. I’m a chiropractor and I specialize in sports medicine. We do therapy and rehab at my clinic. We could probably help you a lot.” Was he soliciting a patient or hitting on me? “Or we could go run together sometime.”

  “Thanks.”

  “It was definitely the right choice to keep running behind you—and not only for the view.”

  Okay, he was hitting on me. “You’re awfully forward.”

  “I operate under the theory that life is too short for subtlety, and I think you’re really cute. If it makes any difference, you look really familiar to me, like maybe we’ve met somewhere before. You didn’t happen to be married to Tony Parker once upon a time, did you? Because I sat next to him and his wife at a banquet a few years ago, and—”

  “I agree. Life is too short for subtlety. My husband died three weeks ago, so this I know. And he wasn’t Tony Parker, who I was never married to, by the way.” Him or any other French basketball player. “I’m not ready for this.” I stopped, then worried whether I’d made myself clear. My hand came up, fingers wide, pressing distance between us. “I don’t want this kind of attention from a man.”

  He didn’t flinch. “I’m sorry about your husband. That must be hard. I’m glad you told me.” He stayed quiet for a long time, but he didn’t move. Just when I thought I could leave, he started up again. “People that can be straight with each other can be friends. Let’s have a do-over.” He stuck his hand out again. “I’m Dr. Cooper. Blake to my friends.”

  Now I did smile, albeit a thin one. “Michele Lopez Hanson, also known as That Bitch, but only sometimes.”

  “I can see that.” We both laughed. “Michele Lopez Hanson, tell me about this left knee.”

  Blake did a thorough exam of my knee there on the forest floor. Afte
r we talked about it, he made me run again so he could observe my gait instead of my behind.

  “You’ve got IT band syndrome. Classic. You’ve over-trained, and you’re unstable.”

  Yes, I was unstable, but how did he know that? Oh, I realized, he meant my knee. “Are you sure?”

  “Pretty darn sure. Your orthopedist can rule out anything structural and give you a definitive answer, though. If it isn’t IT band, then you need him anyway. Keep the appointment, but call me afterwards.”

  “Okay.”

  “I mean it. I’ve only known you an hour, and I know you aren’t going to like what you hear from him,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “Most orthopedists tell their patients with ITBS to quit running.”

  “I will not!”

  “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. Just call me after you rule out something structural. I do think that at the point the pain becomes unbearable, you should quit for the day.”

  “Lucky for me, it isn’t.” I took off at a determined pace and increased limp. I didn’t make it a quarter mile before Blake caught up with me.

  “Time for some birdwatching. Doctor’s orders.”

  I stopped, and I tried not to cry. I walked and Blake fell in beside me. “You go on ahead. I don’t want to spoil your run.”

  He ignored me and we walked the rest of the loop together. He did most of the talking. An hour later, we made it back to the parking lot. I was antsy. As nice as Blake had been (once he quit hitting on me), I hated missing my time with Adrian. Hated it in a panicky way that made me want to turn around and run the loop in the opposite direction.

  We were back in the land of cell signal, so I checked my phone. Nothing from Sam. I texted him again. “Why aren’t you answering me?” I hit send.

  Blake walked over to his car to get a business card for me and I recoiled. A white Taurus. My internal spring tightened and all the stress that had left me reentered with the ringing of Klaxon horns. I stared at the car. Maybe this guy hadn’t just seen me for the first time today. Maybe he had seen me months ago. Maybe he had moved Adrian out of the way and bided his time, and now, here, today, I had fallen for his nice-guy act, when he was the one who killed my husband.

  “Michele? Are you okay?” Blake was standing in front of me holding his business card.

  I looked back at his car. It still had dealer tags on it. It probably didn’t have a hundred miles on it yet. It wasn’t the Taurus I’d seen before. It wasn’t someone who hurt Adrian.

  Get over it, Michele, I silently ordered myself. The terror was passing, but a weariness set in. “Oh, I’m fine, sorry, I was lost in thought. I have a teenage son trying to go delinquent on me, and now that I’m about to head home, all my worries are crashing back down on me.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  I pulled out my keys and moved to my passenger door. “No, don’t be sorry. I’m sorry.” I had to let some heat out of the car or I’d never be able to get in. I cringed through the sequence of opening my car, popping the trunk, and silencing the alarm, but the familiarity soothed me in a way. “I swear I’m not breaking in. It has electrical issues. My husband called it El Diablo. I’m just praying it will last me through the fall.” After the Ironman, I’d trade it in for whatever I could get.

  Blake laughed. “Please let me know how it goes tomorrow, either way. I think we should be friends.”

  “Thank you. Have a safe drive back into town.” I climbed into my oven-like car, but the warmth was like an embrace. “Adrian,” I whispered. I didn’t turn on the air conditioner, just backed out quickly, eager to get to my next workout, to my husband.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Monday morning with Sam didn’t go well.

  I flicked on the light switch in his room at seven thirty. “We need to talk.”

  The pillow over his head muffled his voice. “Yeah, I know. You texted me.”

  “And you didn’t answer.”

  “You weren’t home. What did it matter?”

  “Where were you last night?”

  “Hanging out with friends.”

  “You didn’t make it home by curfew, and you didn’t let me know when you got home. Same as last Thursday night.”

  He sat up. “Geez, Mother, I didn’t want to wake you up. I did so make it home by curfew, but you were zonked. You go to bed so freakin’ early.”

  “Don’t talk to me that way, please.” I had to leave or I’d miss my orthopedist appointment. I didn’t have time to confront Sam about lying or the incident at the Chevron station. “Today we are having a mother-son meeting. Meet me here at four fifteen, got it?”

  “Got it.”

  I left him stomping around his room. He was spinning out of control, and it made me really angry that he would take advantage of me when I was so vulnerable. I slammed the side door on my way out to my car.

  ***

  Four hours later, I left the orthopedist’s office in tears and started digging through my wallet for Blake’s card. I wiped my eyes so I could read the numbers and dialed his office. A receptionist with a warm voice put me on hold for a couple minutes, then Blake’s voice came on the line.

  “Michele? Good to hear from you! Sorry for the wait. I was just finishing up with a patient. How did it go with your orthopedist?”

  I tried not to wail. “You were right.”

  “Come see us right now. We’ll work you in.”

  “But I don’t even know if you take my insurance.”

  “Don’t worry about it. First visit’s on me. We’ll figure it out from there.”

  I hung up and pointed the car in the direction of his clinic in Bellaire. I called Brian at Juniper and gave him the rundown. My training condition, like it or not, affected my work, since to Brian, Kona was about book and magazine promotion, even if to me it was a tribute to Adrian and a chance to be with him for fourteen-plus hours on the course.

  “Focus on your doctors’ visits. Take all the time you need.”

  “I will. I’ll probably need rehab visits a few times a week. I’ll make sure to schedule around the stuff Scarlett has lined up for me.”

  “Sounds good.” He stopped talking, but in a way that sounded like thinking, even over the phone. I waited. “I know you’ve got it in your head that this is all about me and Juniper and money, but it’s not. I care about you, Michele. So does Scarlett. She brought in the most fantastic pictures of you and Adrian this morning from your book launch, and she couldn’t stop talking about how much she respects you and wants the best for you.”

  My eyes itched and my head hurt. Something Brian said was jostling my last remaining brain cell, but I didn’t have enough juice to follow it through. And although I still wasn’t sure whether to trust Scarlett, I didn’t doubt Brian’s sincerity. How could I explain that admitting people care about me weakens me, makes me too soft? I couldn’t. So I didn’t try, just channeled my doppelganger’s skills and acted my aching heart out. “I know. Thank you, Brian.”

  His voice brightened, and I knew I had hit the mark. “Hey, while I have you on the phone, your ex wants you to call him back. Marsha said he sounded a little upset.”

  We said our goodbyes and I ended the connection. Robert. Never a good sign to hear from him. I scrolled through my missed calls at a red light. Whoops. Several from Robert and one voice mail. No, two voice mails, and the missed calls dated back to Friday night. Worse than whoops. I pulled into a parking space at the clinic and decided to listen to the messages the next chance I got.

  I rode the mirrored elevator up to Blake’s fourth-floor clinic. The waiting room had a spa Zen to it, with tan-cushioned bamboo furniture and Berber carpet. Signed photos of Rockets and Texans graced the who’s who gallery, along with a few professional triathletes, including one Adrian stayed friendly with after writing an article about him years ago. An athletic-looking woman checked me in and a toned man in scrubs escorted me to a treatment room.

  “Dr. Cooper will be with you in about five
minutes,” he said. “Can I get you anything while you wait? We have green tea and ice water.” Not only did everyone look fit, but they smiled.

  “No, I’m fine. Thanks.”

  The small exam room had the same vibe as the lobby. Neutral walls, a shade darker than almond. Bamboo. Natural fibers. A chocolate leather chaise lounge. A miniature rock fountain on a side table and piped-in flute instrumental, an earthy-sounding piece. A potpourri of smells. I caught lavender and sandalwood oil, but I couldn’t place the others. Chichi, but Adrian would love it. Except for the flirty doctor part. Not that Adrian was ever the jealous type. I think he secretly enjoyed it when other men admired his woman, but I never even noticed anyone else. Adrian filled my heart. Maybe his absence from my physical realm would make him more prone to jealousy now . . .

  I rolled my eyes. It was ridiculous to think my dead husband could be jealous. Wasn’t it? Maybe my next doctor’s visit should be to a shrink. I pulled my voice mail display up on my phone. Time to get this over with. I played Robert’s first one from Saturday afternoon.

  His voice had an edge. “I thought you promised to make sure Sam didn’t back out on me? Next time would someone have the courtesy to call me and let me know he’s not coming?” The second call came in that morning, to talk about next time and being able to count on us.

  Sam hadn’t showed up at his father’s? He defied us both and went AWOL Saturday night, even knowing we would catch him? He wasn’t home when I returned on Sunday afternoon. He was taciturn at breakfast and didn’t mention his father, even though he surely had a phone full of messages, too. Oh, yeah, and he was a “person of interest” in the death of his stepfather, and had told the police and me some big fat lies. Ay chingada. I grabbed my purse from the exam table and jerked the door open to leave—and ran pell-mell into the smiling Dr. Blake Cooper.