Forget You Know Me

by Jessica Strawser

  Because what she actually thought next was that maybe she could run this thing after all. Maybe, the sheer fear could fuel her.

  Either that, or it would lay her flat right here.

  “Looking good, you two!”

  The voice came from behind, familiar and strong, and she turned to see Daniel, clad in a matching Bengals T-shirt, black shorts, and even, to her surprise, copper knee sleeves. Pinned to his chest was a white square with the number 176 on it. Identical to hers and Grant’s.

  “Dad!” Grant cried. “What are you doing here?”

  When Daniel grinned this broadly, he and Grant looked an awful lot alike. The shock of it reminded her how seldom Daniel smiled anymore with such abandon. “Turns out my budget meeting wasn’t unskippable after all.”

  Grant let out a whoop and hopped over to a set of twins from his class, who were bookending their hulk of a father. “My dad is here, too!” Grant boasted. “My dad is here, too!”

  “It wasn’t?” Molly asked, still whirling in adrenaline, but not so fast as to mask her incredulity. “Really?”

  “No, it totally was,” Daniel admitted, his smile unwavering. “But all of a sudden it seemed like this was, too. So I made a choice.”

  He stepped closer to Molly and leaned into her ear. She skimmed the crowd over his shoulder once more, but there was no sign of the hat. Daniel had come at the perfect time—not too soon and not too late.

  She breathed him in, steadying herself. Not too late.

  “Listen,” he said. “I’m not trying to step on your toes. I just didn’t want you to feel alone. I know how much you don’t want to disappoint Grant.” She nodded, still looking out at the crowd. It’s okay. He’s really gone. She took another deep breath, another. “We can do this one of three ways,” Daniel murmured, inching closer still. “I got someone on the phone earlier, explained we might have a health issue. They said they’ll call us finished, for Grant’s sake, if only two of us cross.” She pulled back to look at him, surprised. “They just want to encourage the kids to do good for charity,” he said. “It’s not American Ninja Warrior.” She managed a laugh, and he splayed a reassuring hand across the small of her back. “So, option one, the two of you can run it, as planned, and I’ll follow on the sidelines as an alternate, just in case you reach a point where you can’t go on. Option two, all three of us run and if you decide to drop back or stop at some point, no worries. Option three, we plan it right now as a relay; Grant never knows anything more than the fact that we decided to take turns. Not because of you, but because of me. Because I joined the team at the last minute.”

  Tears filled her eyes as she nodded, her heart still pounding. “You knew. That I wouldn’t be able to do it,” she whispered.

  “That’s not why I’m here.” He looked at her seriously. “I know you can do pretty much anything you want to do. But I also know that everything you’ve been dealing with is real. It’s not necessarily something you can push through just because you want to. If you could, you would have by now. I’m sorry for acting like you just needed to suck it up. You have been. I want to help, whether that means taking your place or running at your side.”

  The tears spilled over, and she began, bizarrely, to laugh. She clutched at his elbows and touched her forehead to his as relief of all kinds washed over her.

  He wiped at her cheeks with his thumbs and kissed her lightly on the mouth. “Which do you prefer?” he asked.

  “I still want to try,” she said. He peered at her as if searching for some sign that she was referring to something bigger than the race. She felt lighter just knowing he was there, even as the weight of her encounter and its implications hung over her.

  Tomorrow. She’d confront that tomorrow, and not a day beyond.

  But this, this one day, would not become about her or her mistakes or even, if she by some miracle managed to pull this off, her triumph. It would be about Grant. It would be about her family becoming a team again, even if for the last time.

  “Notice you not trying wasn’t one of the three options,” Daniel pointed out, smiling. “Do you want me at your side, or do you want me to wait you out?”

  Their eyes locked, and she knew—this was bigger than the race. After this, she’d have to tell him everything. She might lose him again, might lose it all. But in this moment …

  “At my side,” she said.

  He slid his steady hand into hers, and she was finally ready.

  30

  Liza was encased in Luke and Steph’s guest room, where she’d spent the better part of the last week hiding from her hosts, pleading one excuse or another—a headache, a long day, a can’t-put-it-down book. In truth she’d spent as much time staring aimlessly out the window as she had resisting the urge to analyze grim headlines—on that topic, at least, she was fairly certain Luke had been correct—and she lunged for the phone when it rang, grateful for company.

  “Got a second?” Max asked.

  “I have a lot of them,” she replied. She was itching to tell him about the bizarre outing with Molly and her neighbor, the mysterious chalk trail, the call she’d placed to Daniel—though the guilt of that one was still nagging at her, in spite of her certainty that she’d done the right thing. Stronger was the worry that Molly’s fears were founded, but Liza reasoned that she’d done all she could. Daniel would get involved, make things okay. Whatever happened from here was between Molly and Daniel. Liza had spent too much time in the middle as it was. “What’s new?”

  “Well, I think you might have inspired me.”

  She laughed. “Are you sure? I can’t even inspire myself.”

  “Stop that,” he said, and he wasn’t returning her laugh. He was scolding her. Her smile faded. “You’ve been so down on yourself since the fire. Or since our disastrous drive-athon. I understand why, but it isn’t you.”

  This was why she and Max had gotten on so well from the start. If one of them had something to say, they came out with it. She could hardly fault him for it now, when she was the one who’d lost that spark. “I’m sorry,” she said automatically.

  “See? Now you’re apologizing. Why don’t you tell me to—I don’t know, stop fucking judging you?”

  She squared her shoulders. “Stop fucking judging me, Max.”

  “Doesn’t that feel better?”

  She turned her eyes to the ceiling and shook her head, the corners of her mouth twitching. “Don’t tell me how to feel.”

  “There you are.” He laughed. “Anyway. Listen.” He let out a deep breath—a whew, here goes nothing—and a hand’s length of tension spread itself across the back of her neck. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about our talk when I was visiting. About your move. And me.” She closed her eyes. She’d thought of it plenty, too, though she’d been trying to forget—the unpursued questions, the sudden precariousness of their status. Friends don’t follow friends.

  “Okay,” she said slowly, bracing herself. It had been a good call not to tell him about Henry. If he was about to make her turn him down, he wouldn’t confuse why. Not that Henry was a factor anymore. She’d seen to that, though she halfway wished she hadn’t.

  More than halfway, if she was honest. She missed him.

  “I’m thinking about doing it,” he announced. “Moving to San Francisco.”

  She blinked, reorienting herself in the conversation. “You’re what?”

  “Here’s the thing: I shouldn’t be this bereft here with you gone. It makes me realize how little else is tying me to Chicago. In fact, the biggest disadvantage I can think of to California is being a plane ride away from you instead of a drive away. And I can afford a ticket every few months.”

  “Wow. And your job—”

  “They’re willing to transfer me. It’s a call away from being arranged.”

  “That’s so … easy. They must love you as much as I do.”

  Why had she chosen the very words she’d been afraid that he was going to say? What Freudian bullshit was this
? As soon as they were out, she was back in the kitchen on that night after Molly’s dinner, holding her breath.

  He cleared his throat. The pause that followed went on for a few seconds too long. “That call I mentioned? Standing between me and the move? This is it.” The room tilted as she absorbed the words, bracing for their impact. He took an audible breath. “Can you give me any reason at all not to go?”

  She closed her eyes, expecting the tilt to grow steeper, dizzying, but instead, when she opened them, she found the room had righted itself.

  She could have given him a reason. But it wouldn’t have been the right one.

  “I can’t,” she said softly. She owed him more than that, though. “Did you—did you really want me to?”

  “I’m not sure,” he said, and he didn’t seem upset. “I guess I just wanted to know. And now I do.” He laughed, sounding almost proud of himself. Happy. Resolute. A relief filled her chest as the invisible hand on her neck loosened its grip.

  “If my nickname is going to stay Cincinnati, do I get to call you Frisco?”

  “I heard that term actually annoys the Friscans.”

  “Frisco it is.” It was an odd combination, this relief and the sudden lump in her throat. “Seriously, Max? Good for you.”

  “Thanks, ’Nati. I’m not leaving without a good-bye party. In a month, right before I go. Say you’ll come? Bring whoever and stay here if you want—just fair warning that most of my furniture will be on a truck. But hey, an empty living room will make for an epic dance party.”

  He’d drive that truck all the way across the country, set up a whole new life—one she’d hardly be part of. She knew how this would go, how it would escalate the trajectory she’d denied having set in motion by coming here. How they would slowly grow apart in spite of their best efforts, how one day their daily lives would be unfamiliar to each other in a way that would fill her heart with longing.

  Molly, all over again.

  Yet she’d still hold out hope that maybe things would be different somehow. Because that was what friends did. Significant others, sometimes, too. And if she and Max ever had a chance to find themselves back in the same city and to reclaim what they’d had? How sad and petty it would be for either of them to pass that up, no matter the reason.

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” she said.

  After they’d hung up, Liza’s stomach rumbled, reminding her of the worst thing about hiding here: It was too far from the kitchen. To hell with it. She headed down in search of a snack.

  Steph was at the table, eating chocolate peanut butter ice cream straight from the carton, and she brightened when Liza came in. “I’m just an ordinary pregnant cliché now,” she said. “Isn’t it great?”

  Liza laughed. “Pretty great,” she agreed.

  Her sister-in-law raised a mischievous eyebrow. “Want to just grab a spoon? Luke’s playing basketball at the rec center—he’ll never know.”

  “Sold.” Liza took one from the silverware drawer, joined Steph at the table, and helped herself to a big bite. “Mmm,” she said, grabbing a napkin to wipe her chin. “And now I’m just an ordinary freeloader cliché.”

  “Nah,” Steph said good-naturedly. She hesitated. “Though I have been wanting to get you alone.” Liza peered into the carton and stabbed her spoon into the center of the thickest peanut butter ripple. She scooped it into her mouth before she could say anything stupid.

  “I was vacuuming and I knocked over the bag under your bed. I hadn’t seen it there, and when I hit it, the gift fell out. Luke told me why you hadn’t given it to me.”

  “I’m sorry,” Liza said, setting her spoon on the table with a metallic clink. “I guess I’m not very good at imagining what you might … I mean, I didn’t think about—”

  “Oh, please.” Steph waved the words away with her spoon. “Luke told me because I was so geeked out, I went running into the bedroom to show him. He tried to break it to me that we weren’t getting the present after all.”

  Liza squinted at her. “You mean, you like it?”

  Steph’s head bobbed enthusiastically. “It was the model my coworkers pitched in to buy my boss when she was pregnant. That thing is deluxe! And more money than you should have spent.”

  “I was just so happy for you guys and wanted to help celebrate. I never meant it the way Luke took it.”

  Steph sighed. “I set him straight. The thing is, all of this is new to your brother. He’s been worried about me, and he’s been worried about you, too, and, you know…” She grappled for the right words. “He doesn’t know what he doesn’t know, really,” she said finally.

  Liza shrugged, even as she bit back a laugh. “To be fair, he might have been right about me. Dealing with things wrong, I mean.”

  “Deal with things however you want to,” Steph said, surprisingly firm. “Luke is always trying to tell me the right and wrong ways to cope. Like there’s an appropriate amount of worry or sadness to allot to something. He means well, but he also needs to understand he doesn’t get to decide that for anyone else. We respect his opinion, but we don’t need his stamp of approval.”

  Liza gave Steph’s forearm a grateful squeeze and picked up her spoon again. Steph had said we as if they were unquestionably in this together.

  “I know I’m supposed to be leaning on my husband during this time, but I really like having a girlfriend here right now,” Steph said. “I understand if you’re ready to get your own place, but I hope you won’t let any weirdness from Luke pressure you to.”

  Liza smiled. They’d put up with her for a month, in spite of everything. Where would she be without them? “I’m so grateful for both of you. And you don’t have to apologize for my brother. The flip side is that he’s kind of awesome, for worrying the way he does.”

  “So sweet and yet so clueless,” Steph sighed.

  Liza laughed, then winced. “It might run in the family. I think I was a little harsh on someone who meant well, too.”

  “Not the dashing pilot?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Thank goodness for second chances,” Steph said, getting to her feet. She grabbed a bag of pretzels from the bread box, opened it noisily, and popped one in her mouth.

  “What makes you so sure I’ll get one?”

  Steph plopped back into her chair with a grin. “Because he’s a regular,” she said simply. “And because, more often than we realize, people do.”

  * * *

  It had been the kind of day Liza wanted to tell someone about before drifting off to tomorrow. She passed over her options—Max, Luke, Steph, Henry, all of whom knew some of what had happened but none of whom knew it all—and the urge to rehash the in-between started to subside. She thought again of Max moving so far away, and about second chances and how sure Steph seemed that they weren’t as rare as people thought.

  And then, she picked up the phone and called Molly. Not for any reason, really. Just to hear an old, familiar voice.

  31

  Molly was on the phone with Liza, in the midst of a remarkably animated conversation for someone who was propped on the couch by virtue of a pyramid of pillows and ice packs. She was gushing, if Daniel was not mistaken, about him, though she should’ve been singing her own praises instead. The genuine smile she flashed as he entered the living room filled him with a reciprocal gush, that light-headed happiness far more common in early-stage romance than in slog-status marriages.

  In other words, he’d finally gotten something right. But then again, so had she.

  She’d finished the race as if carried by sheer will. In stride, the three of them had run the first three kilometers, walked the fourth, and resumed their jog for the final stretch. Daniel was just as proud of Grant as he was of Molly. When she could no longer run, the boy did not repeat his earlier admonition that races were not for walking but instead piped up with an “I was getting tired anyway, Mom!” and though it may have been true—his legs were so little to run so far, and he could see that plenty othe
rs were walking by then, too—Daniel and Molly had exchanged a wordless look at his grace. They had made this little person, and though neither of them had been at their best since he’d come along, they had made him kind. That was why his earlier words about his mother’s lack of strength had cut them both so deep: because he hadn’t meant anything malicious by them. He’d only believed them. And now he didn’t.

  Molly was paying for it now, though. The swelling in her knees was pronounced—hues of purple that reflected Daniel’s shame at having ever, at any point, doubted her claims of discomfort—but she’d all but laughed it off, saying it was worth it. She still seemed delicate, beneath the laugh, but there was a resolve to her now. He supposed that for someone who’d been suffering largely in solitude, the support alone was an analgesic, and he finally understood how different things might have been all along, if only he’d listened.

  If it was up to him, and he hoped it was, he’d be doing more of that from now on.

  She hadn’t asked again about how he’d gotten out of the presentation, which was just as well, and as he crossed to the closet for his coat he bargained that she wouldn’t ask where he was going now, either. They often took turns running simple errands after the kids were asleep—getting gas, a prescription, a few groceries—extolling the benefits of not dealing with the whining of kids in tow, or with crowds, while keeping mum on the added bonus of avoiding alone time with each other. He hoped they wouldn’t be needing that avoidance strategy again, at least not on a regular basis. This particular errand would help see to that. He gave her a nonchalant wave, and though she looked about to call him back, she instead raised a silent hand in return, giving in to a laugh at something Liza said, and he slipped out, one step closer to home free.

  Rick answered the door looking impressively more haggard than he had on the sidelines that afternoon—unshaven, with the button-up job on his lumberjack flannel misaligned so that one side hung lower than the other. He looked surprised to see Daniel, guardedly so, until Daniel offered back his book and saw a disproportionate relief wash across his face.