Chasing Dreams, Year Two

by Shawn Keys

  If there was no one else, he would have been at Irène’s door in a heartbeat. If there was no one else, he would have been there to give her anything she needed. But that wasn’t the case. And he had made promises. Promises to these women that he would see them through to the end. They were in a different country, about to face one of the most demanding moments of their lives.

  He didn’t know what he would do if Irène called him, crying and demanding for him to come home. It shocked him to realize that his answer wouldn’t be an instant ‘yes’. Should it be?

  He shook that off. That moment was hours away. The one thing he knew for certain was that he couldn’t abandon these women now. If the choice had to be made in this moment, then there was only one choice he could make. There had been death, and those deaths deserved to be honored. But this… this was about the dreams they were trying to realize. This was about the rest of their lives.

  Irène… forgive me.

  He drew Laura a little closer and took a deep breath. “I’m not going anywhere.” Together, they went out to join the others.

  Chapter 9

  “Are you there? I have you on speaker phone,” Daniel announced.

  “Where are you?” Irène asked from over the line.

  “A common room in the athlete’s village,” Daniel explained. “It’s not like at the Olympics. They isolated a block of hotels for us. Decent set-up for a fraction of the cost. They turned all the boardrooms and common areas into meeting rooms for the teams to get together.”

  That was all the small talk the others were willing to suffer. Cadence jumped in, “How you holding together, Rèn?”

  “The funeral is going to be in about a week. My great-uncle and his wife are flying in from Barbados to attend. I don’t know him all that well. Didn’t expect them to even answer the email I sent, but they did. Guess that’s a good thing.” Irène did her best to sound thankful that the family was coming, but it was obviously hard for her to rouse very much emotion for people who were all but strangers to her. Irène was clearly biased toward thinking having a brother there to say goodbye to Phillip was a good thing, but Phillip’s failure to keep contact with his brother muted the impact. Leaving that behind, Irène went on, “I wanted to give Matteo lots of time to get back. It’ll work out.” Daniel swore he could envision her shrugging, unsure of what else to say. “I miss them a lot. Probably more because I don’t have all you around.”

  “Wish we could be.”

  “Yeah, right. You’d much rather be here letting me sob into your shirt than vaulting at a competition.”

  Cadence’s sad smile came through in her voice. “You know I would have stayed.”

  “Which is why I couldn’t let you,” Irène replied, sounding equally sure. Silence extended, though Daniel and the rest of them could hear her trying to decide on how to say something. Finally, she offered, “Evelyn is a very special woman. I wouldn’t have judged. But… now, I really get it. I get why you both wanted her in your lives.”

  Cadence flushed as she realized what Irène was talking about.

  MK covered her own mouth, stifling her soft laugh, then whispered, “Busted…”

  Daniel let out along sigh. Guess that was sort of inevitable. Clearing his throat, he answered, “Is she there now?”

  “In the other room making lunch. You might need to intervene here. She hasn’t been back to work since it happened.”

  “It’s only been three days,” Daniel said. “I’m glad to hear you’re doing alright. But she’s the one who’s there and knows what she needs to do for you. I trust her. You should, too.”

  “I do. And I guess there really is a lot to be done. She’s been great keeping it all orderly and sane. No wonder she runs half the island.”

  Daniel huffed in quiet humor, knowing that was a bit of an exaggeration. Other than the stadium she had inherited from her family, Evelyn preferred to financially support and run smaller businesses. Part of that was charitable, wanting to keep small Portesaran businesses going. Part of it was her preference for dealing with entrepreneurs and the energy they had. Then there was her love for variety. True, it was all financial planning and business processes, but he knew she enjoyed applying it to a wide field. “Trying to stay healthy?”

  As much as it could in her mental state, Irène’s amusement infused her reply, “A little. Evelyn’s been feeding me an awful lot of ice cream. But I go for a run every morning.”

  Daniel didn’t press any harder. He was glad to hear that Irène’s sadness wasn’t showing signs of depression. It would be totally understandable. It might even be in her future. What did he know about dealing with tragedy like that? But he saw it as a good sign that she was using exercise to work through this. It could be therapeutic for her rather than something she felt she needed to abandon in order to move on with her life.

  He wasn’t going to say it to her, but it was also important to stay in shape if she wanted to be ready for the French Language Games. He had already updated the commission on what had happened as well as her preparations for participating in the heptathlon. The conversation had gone close to how he had expected. They were sympathetic, but without a showing at the CACGs, the tightening field would have left Irène off the team if she was only there for pole vaulting. The heptathlon was a premiere event, and they didn’t have a single international-quality candidate. If she could meet their expectations as a serious Olympic competitor prior to the FLGs, she would have a spot on the team.

  The time wasn’t right, so he hadn’t told her the details. He admitted to himself that he was trying to protect her. If he brought it up, he got the feeling she would throw herself totally into training. As long as the decision remained in limbo, Irène would be content to linger in a holding pattern. A week. We’re only here for a week. Give her time to grieve. Time to settle her affairs. Time to decide if she wanted to stay in the pool house or if she wanted her own place.

  Maybe he wasn’t being fair to her. Maybe he should tell her and let her make her decision. It was a fine line between looking out for her best interests and treating her like she was a child who wasn’t capable of making tough decisions in hard times. Just a little longer, he convinced himself. She’s seems to have a good balance right now, from the sound of it. Not the time to rock the boat.

  Before any of them could say anything else, Irène noted, “I saw MK running her heats yesterday.”

  Despite the somber mood, mentioning that brought a natural vitality to MK’s face. “When I first saw the listings, I thought Dior and I would be having more than one show-down. But they delivered the semi-final schedule earlier this morning, and it looks like they are random or something. We won’t meet until the finals.”

  “When do you run?”

  “Semi-finals in an hour, then the finals late this afternoon.”

  “I’ll be watching,” Irène confirmed. “Need to pick up a few tips for when it’s my turn. How do you feel?”

  “Confident, but my semi-final is going to be challenging. Followed the plan we worked out. The Mexican champion, Lucia Rodriguez is going to be tough to beat. Not to mention Liliana Roldan out of the Dominican Republic and Susanna Cuypers out of Curaçao. But I’m in the mix and don’t think I will finish lower than fourth. That’ll get me in the finals.”

  “But not in good position.”

  “That gets to some people. Not me. I’m as happy running in lane 1 or 8 as I would be in lane 4 or 5. Conserving a little might make the difference. Dior hates losing. She’ll be looking to crush her own semi-final. Especially since she’s facing off against Zekia Dixon from Jamaica. She’s the favorite to take gold here. Dior doesn’t like to finish second in any race.”

  “You know what you’re doing,” Irène said. “What about you, Cay?”

  “I’m up tomorrow, during day 3 of the field events. Crazy to see us all lined up for it. Most of the other countries went pretty light in pole vault. Eva Valencia from Mexico and Carmen Rojas from Guatemala will be my bi
ggest challengers, though Virgin Islander, Cindy Dean, is supposed to be pretty good too.”

  “You got this, Cay.”

  Cadence ducked her head. “We’re supposed to be supporting you, remember?”

  “Distractions help. This one is better than anything. I want to be with you in Bordeaux. You need to get there, Cay. You too, MK. I can’t do that alone. If neither of you make it, I’m going to be super mad at both of you.”

  MK wiped away a small tear, cloaking it behind a laugh. “Well then. Guess we better just win then.”

  “Sounds like a plan to me,” Daniel interjected gently. “A plan that we need to get on with. I need to get MK down to the field.”

  “Alright. Doesn’t Azélie have a luncheon lined up for Cadence or something? Spreading her name around the Caribbean business types?”

  “Like I was going to miss MK’s race,” Cadence snorted. “We’ll stick around for a half-day or so to see if there are any business nibbles.” Her tone softened. “But not long. We came here to win because of you. But we’re not sticking around to line our pockets, Rèn. I’m coming back there to hug you as soon as I can get on a plane. If I could make my last vault put me through the door of one, I’d be on my way home that much sooner.”

  “That would raise a few eyebrows.” There was a noise halfway between a laugh and a quiet cry.

  In the background, they heard Evelyn, “You alright, dear?”

  “Yeah,” Irène answered, not really sounding it. Her control was slipping.

  Evelyn’s voice grew louder as she came near. “The food’s ready. Why don’t you say goodbye for now? You need to eat. Could you give them my love?”

  The task seemed to calm Irène a little. “Sure.” Her focus came back to the open line. “Hear that?”

  “Yes,” Daniel answered.

  “Our love right back,” Cadence said. “Will you tell her?”

  “Mmm hmm.”

  “To you as well,” Cadence added. “We’ll be home soon.”

  “Bring a medal.” Irène’s strength returned a little.

  “The shiniest one I can.”

  Irène clicked off the line, leaving them alone in the hotel.

  Daniel drew a deep breath, held it, then exhaled. It was enough to keep his emotions from flooding out. Enough of that. Time to be the coach again. “Alright, you two. Azélie really is out there working hard to get the right people watching you over the next two days. Let’s get out there and give them something to look at.”

  * * *

  # Runners, to your starting marks! #

  Beside Daniel, Cadence bopped up and down on the balls of her feet, cheering and waving a Portesaran flag; nothing too outrageous, but enough to be seen by the various TV cameras.

  There weren’t many of their country’s flags in the crowd. Daniel wasn’t surprised. The return to international sports was still new for Portesara. The CACGs were too small for people to make the journey to cheer on unknowns. Hopefully that would change in the coming years.

  Cadence was doing all she could to make up for their small numbers as MK strode out toward her starting mark in lane 3. It helped that she was allowed on the field, even if she was forced to remain with the coaches. She was in front of the stands, so the cameras were sure to pick her up when they panned over the field.

  While he joined her in clapping, Daniel spent his own time scanning the details of the race that was about to happen. As traditional for the finals of all track events, the announcer had already given each of the eight hurdlers an acknowledgement so the crowd could cheer them. Daniel glanced up and perused the scoreboard, refreshing the names in his own mind.

  Lane 1: Luisa Cuevas – Panama

  Lane 2: Susanna Cuypers – Curaçao

  Lane 3: MK Savoie – Portesara

  Lane 4: Dior DeLavar – Portesara

  Lane 5: Zekia Dixon – Jamaica

  Lane 6: Lucia Rodriguez – Mexico

  Lane 7: Liliana Roldan – Dominican Republic

  Lane 8: Ana Martin – Costa Rica

  On a national level, it was an amazing showing. He didn’t have access to a TV or radio, but Daniel felt certain the broadcasters would be going on about the strong outing for Portesara. The 100-meter women’s hurdle wasn’t the marquee event: the 100-meter sprint had owned that spot forever. But this event was always nipping at its heels, right along with the 200-meter sprint and the marathon. Those were the ones that never failed to get airtime. The reporters and their teams of analysts would be chewing into the superficial details they found on each athlete and showcasing their ‘road to the finals’. Not with the same pageantry as the Olympics. Not as many flashy graphics. No one would have done any real research beyond a quick background check. They would make a hash of the details and get almost everything wrong. But it was a start.

  The lane assignments were the result of how the semi-finals had spilled out. Zekia had taken the top seed. Given her choice of lanes, she had taken 5. From there, the others spilled out in order. Dior second. Lucia third. MK fourth. Liliana fifth. The pattern continued from there.

  It was a good lane for MK, as far as Daniel was concerned. She was still in the central pack, able to see her opponents. She claimed not to care, but in Daniel’s own hurdling experience, it wasn’t about the lane itself. It was about using your opponent for motivation. When they surged hard, you went harder. That was difficult to see if you were too many lanes over.

  Not only that, but MK’s plan had worked. She had only given about 95% in the last race, if that. Enough to make a statement without burning herself out. Meanwhile, Dior had charged down the track like a demon, trying to outmatch Zekia. It hadn’t worked out like Dior had hoped. It had been a close race, but there hadn’t been any need for a camera. Zekia had been a half-stride ahead when they crossed the line.

  The problem was, Daniel didn’t think Zekia had been giving all she had, either. It had cost her a little to stay ahead of Dior, but the Jamaican champion was a machine. Olympic material for sure. One of that country’s new rising stars. Like many of the Caribbean islands, Jamaica had to guard its resources and pick its battles. They had turned the production of track stars into a profitable industry. They found talent early and developed it with expert care. No surprise to see that Zekia was ready to challenge any other country’s athletes.

  Refocusing on MK, he watched as she bounced a little behind her starting block, then shook herself, keeping loose. First one foot and then the other found their spots as she went down into her crouch.

  # Set! #

  The call came as the last of them found their place. As one, the eight women’s backs arched. Their knuckles whitened on the orange-rubber track. All of them tensed, waiting the signal.

  Crack!

  They exploded off the mark. A good start that wasn’t called back. This was it. The medals were going to be decided in this race.

  As she always did, Dior had an excellent first ten meters. Unfortunately for her, Zekia was right there with her. She all but flew over the first hurdle as if she had wings.

  By the second hurdle, MK and Lucia were both getting their stride. Both were late finishers. They began to close the distance. Over the next four hurdles, they nibbled away at that separation until the toes of their leading legs were parallel to Dior’s and Zekia’s. At hurdle seven, the race got messy. Both Dior and Lucia hit their hurdles. Dior powered through and it only cost her a fraction of a second. The impact jarred Lucia a little more. As they went over the eighth, both hit it again. Lucia’s caught on the trailing knee and broke her out of her rhythm. She lost stride and didn’t pick it up again until she was behind Susanna and Liliana.

  Dior’s impact didn’t faze her, but MK was fully into her flow now. Floating over the eighth hurdle, she was suddenly within a half-meter of Dior. Zekia remained a half-step ahead of them, but she wasn’t out of reach if either woman could dig deep for something extra.

  MK tried. Accelerating with every ounce of determination, she crested
the ninth and then the tenth. Dior smashed both, snarling as she charged to the finish line, not about to be left behind.

  They crossed almost simultaneously, making it difficult for the brain to process. Daniel knew he had seen Zekia finish first. That was confirmed a few moments later by the scoreboard:

  1: Zekia Dixon – Jamaica – 12.793

  2: Dior DeLavar – Portesara - 12.804

  3: MK Savoie – Portesara - 12.805

  4: Susanna Cuypers – Curaçao – 12.88

  5: Lucia Rodriguez – Mexico – 12.89

  6: Liliana Roldan – Dominican Republic – 12.99

  7: Ana Martin – Costa Rica – 13.04

  8: Luisa Cuevas – Panama – 13.49

  Daniel let out a small “Gah!” of disappointment as MK was a millisecond slower than Dior for the second time. Once again, it was hardly a terrible outcome. A silver at nationals and a bronze at a regional level event… that was impressive! And she was still improving, having taken her national silver with a 12.84 run. Shaving off 0.045 seconds didn’t sound like a lot, but if she continued that pattern once more, she would be in contention with Zekia.

  All his internal analysis stopped as he noticed the white flag up in the air. One of the officials was waving down the central coordinator.

  A second later, the coordinator was nodding, speaking into his microphone as if asking for a playback and review. It seemed like 10 minutes passed before he nodded, understanding what the official reviewers said over his comm.

  Daniel glanced back up at the scoreboard and watched in stunned amazement as it changed: