False Start (17 page)

She nodded and gave him one last pleading look.

In the midst of the loud, enthusiastic crowd of runners milling under the balloon-festooned start line, many of whom were wearing "Team Plate Spinner" paraphernalia, he took her by the shoulders, leaned down and spoke into her ear. "Listen. Your hard work got you here, not me. No matter how you do, I want you to know I'm really proud of you. Even if you come in last."

She squinted and shouted, "What?"

As the crowd pressed against them, Nick took her face in his hands and, emphasizing each word, said, "You can do this."

"Nice one," Charlie exclaimed, holding his camera in front of his face.

Annoyed at the intrusion, Nick stood straight up, gave her one last nod, and disappeared into the crowd.

When the start gun went off, Mattie was no longer afraid of being embarrassed; she was afraid of being trampled. Runners of all shapes, sizes, and ages seemed to be flying past her on either side. Doing her best not to panic, she fell into her familiar shuffling stride and followed the crowd running ahead of her. A fog of their warm breath hitting the cold February air floated behind them.

Recalling the course map Nick had shown her, she knew she'd have to run south for a few blocks, then head east toward Lake Michigan, then back north, and finally west to Wells. Before long, the bulk of the runners were out of sight. When she turned the first corner and only spotted a few in her line of vision, she wondered if she had made a wrong turn. By the time she rounded the second corner, she was convinced that someone had mis-measured the course.

This is way longer than three point two miles.

But, still, she plodded on, careful not to rush. She concentrated on her breathing, praying for patience and endurance.

As she turned onto what she presumed was the last leg of the run, she wondered if she was the only runner left on the course. She wondered, too, if the finish-line balloon archway would be dismantled long before she got there. Would the spectators be gone, too, leaving nothing but heaps of empty plastic water bottles in their wake? Even Charlie might get tired of waiting, but she knew Nick wouldn't abandon her. She imagined finding him alone, staring with his stopwatch while he awaited her arrival.

Not seeing anyone on either side of her, she started obsessing whether anyone was actually behind her or if she was indeed destined to come in last.

Don't pay attention to anyone else around you.

Mattie glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone could possibly be running slower than she was. Much to her surprise, she saw several people in her wake. Some were pushing baby strollers. Some were even walking. Some, like her, were just shuffling along.

Seeing at least two with shirts that read, "Team Plate Spinner" on them, she smiled and waved.

"Keep it up," she called over her shoulder.

"You, too," they yelled back.

The well wishes echoed in her muffled ears.

I made the team.

The very thought propelled her along, albeit at a snail-like pace. In the distance, she could see the rainbow of balloons arched over the finish line and hear the strains of a rock band playing some rousing classic at the already well-attended post-race party. The crowds of onlookers thickened as she approached, cheering her and the other stragglers on. But Mattie was only focused on one thing—the sight of Nick waving her toward him from just beyond the finish line.

Almost there.

Her mouth was parched and her legs felt like Jell-O.

Just a little bit farther.

She sensed another shuffler coming up behind her and heard Nick yell, "Close the gap, Mattie."

Ignoring him, she continued to chug along until the other runner was alongside her.

That's when she heard him yell even louder, sounding more angry than encouraging.

"Come on, Mathilde Jean, where's your kick?"

Her eyes widened. What other bits of private information would he be sharing with the crowd today? Her weight? How about her address?

She couldn't believe he called her that in public. And shouting it like that so everyone in a one-mile radius could hear it. Her mother didn't even call her by her full name, not even when Mattie had her at her wit's end or she did something horrific like polish off a tub of store-bought buttercream icing on the eve of Claudia's
eighteenth birthday party.

Chugging along, she tried to remember if she had done it to forget something awful that happened at school that day, or if she did it simply to upset her uber-popular sibling. Just as she was trying to recall which flavor of icing it was, her eyes drifted up from the pavement in front of her to the finish line about an eighth of a mile in front of her.

Nick was standing there, holding his hands out in front of him as if to ask, "Well?"

Focus.

Channeling the indignation she felt to her legs, she somehow tapped into a reserve of energy she didn't know she had. She pumped her arms, lengthened her stride and burst forward in what would pass as a sprint if the rest of the world were going in slow motion.

As she crossed over the finish line and put her first 5k behind her, Nick swept to her side.

"34:11. Not bad. How ya feeling?"

Mattie's head was spinning. Runners were everywhere, laughing, talking, hugging, milling around her, making her dizzy.

"Water. I need water."

He jogged over to a large bin overflowing with water bottles and cracked one open for her. "Here you go. Keep moving."

Mattie took several swigs as they walked through the chute. With all the menace she could muster, she warned, "You call me that again, and I'll take you out."

Laughing, he asked, "What? Mathilde Jean? That's your name, isn't it?"

God, it's hard to be mad at him when he smiles like that.

She scrunched her face and said, "It's a horrible name. Do not use it again. Especially in public. Got it?"

Nick shook his head. "Nope. I'm gonna do whatever it takes to get you to cross that finish line."

Mattie thought for a moment. "Oh, so you're doing me a favor, is that it?"

"That's right."

"And what would you do for me if I called you by your full name? Yelled it, out loud for all the world to hear?" she asked.

Nick stopped and turned to face her, every bit the big bad coach his cross-country runners both feared and revered. "Nothing because I am never telling you my full name."

Mattie, noticing a mischievous gleam in his eyes, glanced at his jacket pocket. "Oh yeah? How about I take a peek at
your
license?"

When she reached for it, her fingers missed their target.

What they found instead was gold.

After her fingers dug into his side, just above his right hip, she watched, astonished and somewhat alarmed, as he recoiled and broke out into a little-girl giggle. It was then that she knew she had found a chink in his hard-assed coach's armor.

She waited as he composed himself, but even then he was beaming at her. His eyes sparkled like Christmas trees.

Eddie never looked at me like that.

She felt a heated blush cover her entire body, not that anyone would notice because any exposed skin was still red from the run and the cold.

"Come on. You want to get something to eat? They've got all sorts of food over there." He pointed in the direction of the post-race party already in full swing down the block.

Hearing the band and seeing the reveling runners, the enormity of what she had just accomplished settled on her like a nice warm blanket. All of a sudden, she didn't care what anyone, including Nick, would think if she were to hug him.

So she did just that. And she wasn't in a rush to let go either.

"Thank you," she mumbled, the side of her face smushed against him. When she felt his arms wrap around her, she added, "I couldn't have done this without you."

After a long moment, she felt a chuckle erupt in his chest. She pulled away, her defenses at the ready.

"What?"

"I just hope you remember this in a couple of weeks when I have you doing hill work."
Mattie took another swig of her water. "Bring it."

"He that but looketh on a plate of ham and eggs to lust after it hath already committed breakfast in his heart."

– C. S. Lewis

Lester walked the circumference of his desk examining the proof sheets from Mattie's 5k that were laid out on top of it.

He pointed to one of her holding up the race shirt from her packet. "That one."

He paused before another. It was a perfectly framed shot of her jogging mid-way through the course. She was in the foreground smiling, and four "Team Plate Spinner" members were in focus not far behind, all waving at the camera. "This one."

Lastly, he selected a side shot of her just as she stepped over the finish line. "And this one."

"That's it?" Charlie Clark was incredulous. "I took dozens of pictures and you're just picking three? I thought we were doing a slide show?"

Lester scowled down at the rest, his gaze lingering the longest on one in particular. It was a close-up of Nick with his hands cupping Mattie's upturned face. He actually looked like he was about to kiss her. And she looked like she wouldn't mind at all if he did.

"That's right," Lester replied. Sounding rather preoccupied, he continued, "I'll hang on to the rest of these. We can use 'em for the big year-end retrospective."

Throwing his hands up in the air, Charlie sighed, "You're the boss."

After he left, Lester picked up another photo and stared at it. Mattie was hugging Nick. Her eyes were closed tight and her arms were locked behind his back. He couldn't see Nick's face, but he was bent over her, returning the embrace.

"Natural," Lester supposed, "given what she's been through and all the excitement."

But there was something about their body language that didn't sit quite right with him. He slid both pictures back in his desk drawer and picked up the phone to call Dianne.

*  *  *

Since crossing the finish line two days before, Mattie had yet to step down off cloud nine. It wasn't a great time, but as Nick said, "Nothing to sneeze at."

She couldn't wait to see the pictures. Feeling like a bona fide runner, she wanted proof that she actually looked like one and not just a vertical red-faced lump wrapped in dark gray spandex.

Nick had given her the day after the race off. Then he begged off running with her that morning. No reason. He just told her to get a couple of miles in. It was the first workout with her that he had ever missed. While concerned, Mattie was more than a little relieved. In the post-race euphoria, she felt like she was one careless slip away from shedding her marital armor, exposing her to all manner of potential heartache.

That morning, she took to the streets alone, shuffling along a different route through her neighborhood, doing her best to blend in with students from a nearby university. Now that she had a 5k under her spandex waistline, she was able to shed her self-consciousness. That she was wearing big black Audrey Hepburn sunglasses also helped.

By the time she made it to work, she was looking forward to diving into emails and responding to posts on her designated social media pages. Twenty minutes later, Dianne burst into her cube and hugged her tight. "Congratulations, Sweetie. I'm so proud of you."

"Thanks," Mattie replied as she sank into her chair. "It was incredible. I can't wait for the next one."

Leaning against her desk, Dianne asked, "When is it?"

"Either late April or early May. I don't remember. I'm not even sure he's registered me for it yet."

Dianne lowered her voice. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but you seemed to have lost every single misgiving you had about him being your coach."

Mattie's eyes widened. "Oh, I don't know. I wouldn't go that far."

"Well, I just thought, given the amount of praise you've been giving him in your column… "

There was something in her tone that gave Mattie pause. "Too much?"

"No, no. I'm sure it's well deserved. However, as your editor and chief back-protector, I feel it's my duty to remind you of your marital status."

She pointed to her own ring finger like she was revealing a secret handshake to an exclusive club.

Frowning, Mattie asked, "Why? What's going on?" Goosebumps started to race up her arms. She noticed Dianne had something in her hand. Papers and something else. A photo?

"Let me see."

Dianne handed two printed emails to Mattie. Each was a letter of complaint from readers asking, in so many words, why they changed the format of the
Plate Spinner
columns from a working parent advice column to a fitness column.

"What? How can they say that? I've responded to questions from working parents recently."

When Dianne didn't respond, she looked up at her and implored, "Remember? The road warrior dad who didn't feel like his family appreciated him?"

Dianne looked at her over her reading glasses. "You mean the one who you advised to take advantage of hotel fitness centers while traveling so he could try and bolster his self-esteem?"

"Yes," Mattie responded, her voice laced with defiance.

Dianne scooted further back onto Mattie's desk, then checked behind her to see if she had knocked down any of the prized family photos. Not seeing any, she turned and demanded with no small amount of alarm, "Where are your pictures?"

"Don't worry. I'm getting some new ones. What's with you?"

"That guy? The road warrior? The old Mattie would have reamed him up one side and down the other for feeling sorry for himself. What's with
you
?"

"Did you read his letter? I actually did feel sorry for the guy."

Dianne's expression softened. "Yes, but sweetie, there's no profit to be had in pity."

Frowning, Mattie handed the letters back to her editor. Nodding at what she was still holding in her hand, she asked, "What's that?"