Portrait of a Girl Running

by J. B. Chicoine

  He nodded. “Thank you for meeting with me.”

  Her eyes darted away from his and back. She clutched her bag. “Thank you for waiting for hours. And for letting me say my piece.”

  He wanted so badly to reach out and hold her—to at least take her hand or touch her arm, but he didn’t dare.

  Her eyes misted again. “Okay, then … Well … maybe I'll call sometime.”

  Chapter 33

  Leila seemed to hit every light as she headed south. It had been a difficult three weeks between finding out about her mother—about Joe, and then saying goodbye to him. And then there was Mr. Clarence Myles. He too seemed so very out of sorts since he had met with his daughter. In homeroom, he hadn’t wanted to talk about his trip to Philadelphia. When Leila asked about Bonnie, he would only say, “It was difficult.” She wondered if or how Bonnie might alter Leila’s relationship with Clarence. Everything seemed on the crest of change.

  She found herself holding her breath as she tapped her steering wheel. She hoped Ian might be at home on a Saturday morning.

  In three weeks she would graduate, and Ian would no longer be under any prohibitions, but given everything she had been through, she didn’t much care about school-board-imposed sanctions. She simply needed a new plan—or two.

  Pulling up in front of his house, her attention vacillated between the strange car parked beside his Saab and the Sale Pending sign. When Ian answered the door, his surprise matched her apprehension. An attractive, professional-looking young woman walked behind him, toward the kitchen.

  “That’s my realtor,” he said.

  “I see.” She cast her eyes to the placard on the lawn. “This is a new development.”

  “Actually, it’s been in the works for a little while.” He sighed. “Listen, this isn’t a good time for me to break away. I’m sort of in the middle of stuff. When can we talk?”

  “I don’t know. I’m going to the ocean for a run. Maybe you need a run on the beach.”

  He smiled.

  ~

  Sunny and near-seventy-degree weather had drawn a crowd to the ocean. A stiff easterly breeze whipped hair around Ian’s face; he gathered it into a ponytail and rolled up the hem of his jeans. As he dodged children and sand castles on his way to the shoreline, he scanned the beach for Leila. Down at the water, she stood out amidst the crowd. The sun beat upon her back, covered by only her tank top.

  He came up behind her. “Sorry it took me so long. I’m glad you’re still here.”

  “You know I would have waited all day,” she said, without looking at him.

  He pocketed his hands and dug his toes into the sand beside her. Water licked their ankles, as he stood just close enough that his bare arm brushed hers.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t say something sooner about moving. It never seemed like the right time.” In fact, he had decided to move while hiking through mountain snow, but he had wanted a more solid plan before presenting it to her.

  “I guess it’s not really any of my business, and I suppose it doesn’t really matter to me that you’re selling your house. I’m just wondering why you’re selling it and where you’re moving to.”

  “I’m not selling it because of what happened this winter, if that’s what you mean.”

  “That had nothing to do with it?”

  “Well, actually, all of that did give me a little more clarity on what I want. And where I want to be.”

  “So, where are you headed?”

  “I’ve got some leads on several fixer-upper properties in New Hampshire.” The sale of his pretty waterfront house would more than pay for a small cabin and renovations on a new place.

  Leila smiled. “So when are you closing on your house?”

  “Right after finals, I’ll be headed up north. That’ll give me a week before your graduation.”

  “You’ll be back for that?”

  “Yeah. It’s a big day for you. Any idea what you’re doing after graduation?”

  “Well, my plan B was to maybe visit my grandmother in Natchez, but I think I’ll stick with plan A.”

  “What’s plan A?”

  “Return to New Hampshire.”

  “Any particular area?”

  “The Sunapee Lake Region.”

  He hoped she would say that. “No kidding. One of the properties I’ll be looking at is on Pleasant Lake.”

  “I know right where that is.” She smiled. “I don’t suppose you’d want some kid following you up there.”

  “What kid?”

  “Me.”

  “You’re no kid.”

  She looked sideways at him. “Ian, how old are you?”

  “I’m twenty-seven. I’ll be twenty-eight next month. Does that bother you—I mean, our age difference?”

  “No. Not really. I just know you’re a lot more experienced than me.”

  “That’s just a by-product of age.”

  “I don’t mean life experience.”

  He looked at her. His head bobbed. “I know.” Someday, perhaps he would go into more detail, but he wasn’t sure what point there would be in telling her that one of his father’s floozy girlfriends had seduced him on his thirteenth birthday—that that was only the beginning, and that all of his ‘experience’ was not an asset.

  “Have you ever been in love?”

  “No.”

  “Never?”

  He shook his head. He had thought he was in love a couple of times, but he never felt the connection he had with Leila.

  “I’ve never been with anybody.”

  He looked directly at her. “Your virginity is a beautiful thing, Leila.”

  “It just feels awkward to me.”

  “It shouldn’t. You should feel proud of it. I’d do anything to get my virginity back, to offer it to—well … all I’m saying is you shouldn’t be in a hurry to give it up.”

  “What if I want to?”

  He turned to her, taking her hands. “Leila, if we both happen to end up in New Hampshire, we are each going to have our own place. We’ll date, like a regular dating couple, but I’m not in any hurry for sex. That’s not what I want this relationship to be about.”

  Her brow furrowed with bewilderment.

  “Trust me on this.”

  She nodded.

  He tugged her belt loop. “You want to walk?”

  “Sure.”

  As they strolled, they picked up the occasional polished stone and kicked at tumbling shells. For now, Ian wouldn’t elaborate on how important waiting was to him, though if their relationship progressed, his reluctance to sleep with her would probably become an issue. After a half mile or so, he glanced at her faraway eyes. Did she think he wasn’t interested, that she didn’t turn him on? He paused and faced her.

  “What?” she said.

  He pulled her closer, studying her face for a moment before his lips brushed hers, caressing more than kissing, tentative and light, a small token of his affection.

  Chapter 34

  Leila stood before Miss Michaels after class and unfurled the watercolor paper. She smiled at the satisfaction beaming from her teacher’s face.

  “That’s an insightful depiction. So sinister.” She chuckled at the portrait of Mr. Myles.

  In Leila’s estimation, the depth in his eyes revealed unexpected softness, and his lips looked to be on the verge of breaking not his typical scowl but his almost-smile.

  “This will look lovely beside your self-portrait at the Historical Society’s art show,” Michaels said.

  Unbeknownst to Michaels, Leila intended to swap her self-portrait with the one she had painted of Coach Ian Brigham. The one that showed off his masculinity.

  ~

  Ian entered the old bank building, his sneakers squeaking on the polished marble floors. A Millville Historical Society Art Show banner hung overhead. He had been packing all afternoon and this would be a good break, but he didn’t have time to view the entire exhibit, so he followed the arrows to the high school display. As
he turned the corner, he came upon Myles, which meant he had also found Leila’s artwork.

  Myles pinched his chin, staring straight ahead.

  As Ian claimed a place beside him, Myles glanced at him with a spiked brow.

  Ian’s gaze first fell upon Myles’ portrait, and heat came up from his chest when his own physique caught his eye.

  Myles remarked, “Interesting portrayals.”

  “Yes. It’s amazing what she’s able to produce from her imagination.”

  “I certainly hope yours sprung from imagination only.”

  “I think she may have stretched it in my case, but there’s no doubt she did with you. Why, you look downright human.”

  “In the eyes of the beholder.” Staring straight ahead, Myles asked, “So, do you have plans for the summer?”

  “I close on my house this week, and then I’ll be heading north.”

  “Any job prospects?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes. An assistant coaching position at a small college, contingent on a letter of recommendation.”

  “I wouldn’t worry too much about that. The board will be glad to be rid of you, especially as they know you and Leila have a connection they can’t control.”

  “And that’s going to get me a good letter of recommendation?”

  “Their fear of Leila suing sometime down the line will. Right now, a happy Leila is good insurance. And they likely consider a happily employed Ian as a happy Leila.”

  None of that had occurred to Ian. Even better, Myles showed a glimmer of support, albeit faint. Ian ventured, “And what about you? What are your plans for the summer?”

  “All depends upon my daughter.”

  He was genuinely curious—and concerned. Did he dare ask? “Have you been in contact with her?”

  Myles exhaled. “I have. She’s invited me down for a few days. I leave right after graduation.”

  “I hope it goes the way you want.”

  Sooner than Myles had a chance to respond, Leila came up from behind. “Well, this is certainly a frame-worthy picture.”

  “Yes,” Myles said, “we were just enjoying your embellishments.”

  “The only one I embellished is you, Mr. Myles.” She squeezed his arm affectionately. “Coach Brigham stands on his own merits.”

  Myles scowled as they all three noted the award ribbons hanging from her work. Myles had taken first place in the student division, and Ian, the peoples’ choice award, which he attributed to the large percentage of high-school-girl voters. Myles looked from Leila to Ian and dismissed himself, leaving the two standing before the paintings.

  “Walk with me,” Ian said, keeping a discreet distance between them.

  The two made their way out of the building and to the side street where Ian had parked his Saab.

  As they stood on the curb, he said, “I have a lot to pack between now and closing. I should probably get going.”

  “I guess I’ll see you at school, then.”

  “At least till the end of the week,” he glanced from side to side, “but we’d probably better not push it.”

  “So, then, I guess we’ll talk at graduation?”

  “We’ll do better than talk,” he said, matching the longing in her eyes.

  ~

  Leila smoothed the skirt of her little black dress and clasped her hands in her lap. She stared at Myles as the waiter approached with the bottle of Gevrey-Chambertin and began inserting the corkscrew.

  “Please—” Myles took the bottle from the waiter’s grasp. “Like a virgin, only the one intent on imbibing her through to the finish should be allowed to uncork her bottle.”

  “Clarence Myles.” Leila blushed. “How risqué.”

  He eased the cork from the bottle’s slender neck.

  “My apologies—but there is simply no analogy more fitting.”

  “For a man I suppose.”

  He conceded. Myles’ implication was not lost on her. She hoped that whoever ‘uncorked’ her would indeed see her through to the finish. Every small thing Clarence had taught her she treasured, and now their time together was drawing to a close. She could not express all her heart was bursting with.

  “I don’t know what to say, Clarence.”

  He smiled with a squint. “Let’s not make this all sappy and sentimental. Agreed?”

  “Yes, but you’ll be headed to Philadelphia at the same time I’ll be—”

  He finished, “Leaving with Ian—I know.”

  “I want you to be happy for me.”

  “I will be happy for you in a year from now when you let me know that it was not a mistake.”

  He lifted his glass, waiting for her to do likewise. Instead, she averted her eyes, staring at the ruddy liquid in her glass, unable to smile.

  Myles sighed. “This is what you really want? You believe you’ll be happy with him?”

  “I believe I will.”

  “Then I’m happy for you.”

  Leila’s gaze begged his sincerity.

  He sighed. “If my blessing is what you want … you have it.”

  Her eyes welled.

  “Don’t you dare start crying. Have another sip of wine.”

  His sanction was a concession in the moment, but it warmed her heart. As he ate, she glanced at him from time to time. How different he seemed since their first encounter at Sam Goody’s. Had he simply allowed her to see his softer side, or had he changed as a person since they first met?

  He wiped his mouth and pushed his plate to the side. “I have something for you.”

  Leila’s face lit up. “A present?”

  “Yes. It occurs to me that a young lady with expanding tastes should also broaden her horizons.” He pushed a book and a cassette tape toward her.

  She read the blue dust jacket—Mastering the Art of French Cooking, by Simone Beck and Julia Child.

  “It’s a first edition,” he said. “You’ll particularly enjoy the Quiche Lorraine.”

  She smiled at her first quiche memory.

  She lifted the cassette. “Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.”

  “I think you’ll especially like Symphony no. 25. It’s the first track.”

  “Thank you. I can’t wait to dive into both.” She had never really considered or listened to the classical genre. “I didn’t know you like this sort of music.”

  “Yes, well, you’ve always seen to my blues. However, for any true music—or food—lover, no one genre can satisfy the appetite. If you like these, I’ll introduce you to my friends, Sergei Rachmaninoff and Giuliano Bugialli.”

  ~

  Leila ran the warm iron over her graduation gown, her last chore before leaving for the high school. She had already schlepped most of her belongings down the stairway and into her Volkswagen, now packed with little more than what it had transported nearly a year ago—a couple new clothing items and an expanded portfolio of watercolors and sketches. Her disassembled drawing table fit snugly in the back seat. She would leave Artie’s apartment vacant but for the furnishings, in preparation for the change of ownership.

  Pulling into the schoolyard at three-thirty, she scanned the parking lot for Ian’s Saab. As far as she could tell, he hadn’t arrived yet. Locating Kyle, she headed toward him, all the while surveying those nearby or approaching. Her skin felt clammy and hypersensitive. As she came up next to Kyle, she detected the aroma of pot.

  “Big day, huh?” he said.

  “Yeah,” she glanced over his shoulder.

  “I haven’t seen him anywhere.”

  “Who?”

  He winked. “You know who.”

  She said nothing and continued scanning the passing faces. He’ll be here—he promised he would be here.

  Principal Boyd herded the group of seniors with his clipboard. “Please find your places and straighten out the line.”

  Myles came up beside Leila and patted her arm. “I’ll see you in a little while.” He turned his attention to Kyle. “You’re looking, or shall I say, smelling very re
laxed today.”

  Kyle grinned. As Myles walked away, Leila shifted her cap and then smoothed her gown.

  “You look tense,” Kyle said, his eyelids heavy. “I could hook you up, Micah’s treat.”

  She frowned and shook her head.

  “So, where is he?”

  She snapped back, “Shut up, Kyle.”

  “Make me.”

  “Jerk.”

  “You’re a jerk.”

  Even his teasing couldn’t erase her tension or coax her smile.

  As the procession began, Leila stared ahead, trying to look around without Kyle noticing. Now focusing her attention on the bleachers, they marched two by two down the track that she and Kyle had so many times run together. Even though they hadn’t spent much time together lately, she felt it all slipping away. She missed Kyle already.

  “Remember, Leila?” he said, with his crooked smile.

  “How could I forget?” she whispered back. His fingers slipped between hers and she gripped him tightly. Her heart raced as she forced tears back and they took their seats, side by side, as always. He never let go of her hand while they waited their turn to receive diplomas.

  Ian was nowhere on the bleachers, nor anywhere within her peripheral vision. The noon heat baked their bodies, trapped inside draped crimson-and-gray polyester ovens. As she stood in line with Kyle behind her, she hoped her lightheadedness would not give way to nausea or worse. Not a moment too soon, Principal Boyd called her name.

  Finally, with diploma in hand, and the Principal congratulating the class of 1978, her fellow graduates flung their caps in the air as hers dropped from her grip. She grabbed Kyle’s hand. “I don’t feel so good.”

  “Just sit back down.” He stood beside her, fanning her face. The group of students began to collect and re-form into a disorganized procession, heading back off the athletic field. “Are you going to be okay?”

  “Yeah—” she nodded, slowly coming to her feet and pulling at her robe’s zipper.

  Converging into one muddled mass, the graduates and attendees trickled off the bleachers and from the field, leaving a few stragglers.

  “I gotta go say goodbye to my parents,” Kyle said. “I’ll catch up with you.”

  Myles appeared at Leila’s side. “You look a little pale. You okay?”