Breathe, Annie, Breathe
Page 25
“It’s beautiful.”
“Look under the lid.”
I carefully peel the silk lining back and fish out a delicate piece of onion paper. It’s so fine, I worry it might crumble in my hand like a Saltine. I slowly open the paper and discover a note dated 1946: “For Ellen, with all my love, Arthur.”
“That’s great,” I say with a genuine smile, putting the note back where I found it.
“I’m so happy you found the ring.”
I hold the box out to her, and she takes it.
“He would’ve wanted you to keep this,” she adds.
I can’t. I wouldn’t take it when he was alive.
She must sense my hesitation. “I’ll save it for Connor…maybe he’ll want to give it to a girl one day.”
I clear my throat and nod. Mrs. Crocker opens her mouth again to say something, but she shuts it.
Does she blame me?
That’s when Mr. Crocker shows up, wearing a blue T-shirt that reads Williamson County Fire Department. He used to have a full head of blond hair, just like his sons, but now it’s thinned out.
“Hi, Annie,” Mr. Crocker says. “Your mom told us you’re training to run the Country Music Marathon.”
“To finish on Kyle’s behalf.” His mother chokes on her words.
I nod slowly, picking at a hangnail, ripping the skin away.
“How’s it going?” Mr. Crocker asks, smiling.
I don’t have it in me to tell them I got sick as hell after a run, had to miss work, and nearly got dropped by my trainer. Not to mention I’m scared to death of this weekend’s eight-mile run. When Kyle was training, he rarely complained and never considered giving up. At least not that I know of.
“I did seven miles last weekend,” I say softly. Barely. I had to walk a lot of it.
“Need any pointers? I ran a half one time.”
“Have any idea why my stomach hurts all the time?” Even though Matt changed my diet a little this week, I still feel pains.
Mr. Crocker cocks his head to the side. “Never heard that one before.”
“Did you want to join us for pizza?” Mrs. Crocker asks.
“I would, but my training plan says I have to eat a grilled chicken salad today.”
“I guess we’ll leave you to it, then,” Mrs. Crocker says, and then I’m alone again, with all his clothes and pictures and trophies, with his bed that hasn’t been warm in months, with only the sunlight streaming through the window to hug me.
I curl my arms around his pillow. Make myself think about the three-mile run I’m doing tonight after the heat bleeds off. One foot after the other.
Breathe, Annie, breathe.
THE FOURTH CIRCLE OF HELL
Not only does Matt train people to run races, he gives personal training sessions at the gym where he works on the side—or as I like to call it, the Fourth Circle of Hell. During my first session with him, I discovered muscles I didn’t know I had. I can’t imagine what tortures he has planned for today.
I lean my head into Matt’s office at the gym and find him chewing and reading a magazine. He wraps his sandwich back in its baggie, stands up, and high-fives me. “Ready to work out?” he says through a mouthful.
“Yeah.”
He chews, studying my face. “You feeling okay? You’re all red. Did you hydrate enough?”
“I drank five bottles of water today, like you said to.”
“Good.”
I let out the deep breath I was holding and follow Matt over to the treadmill, where I hop on and jog to warm up.
Ever since I fooled around with his brother a few weeks ago, I’ve been expecting Matt to drop some sort of hint that he knows, but it hasn’t happened. I mean, I didn’t think Matt would come right out and ask, “Whatever possessed you to hook up with my brother?!” But I expected some sort of reaction—a flash in his eyes or flushed cheeks. Either he has the best poker face of all time or Jeremiah kept his mouth shut.
It’s three weeks later, and I haven’t even seen him at training. Maybe he decided to use trails where I specifically wouldn’t be? He still hasn’t called. He won’t, and that’s just fine.
“Hey!” Matt says loudly over the sound of my feet pounding the treadmill. “Where are you?”
“What?”
“I’ve been trying to get your attention.”
“Sorry, my mind’s all over the place today.”
He increases the treadmill speed to six miles per hour. “Oh yeah? So’s mine. My big sister went into labor an hour ago.”
“Look under the lid.”
I carefully peel the silk lining back and fish out a delicate piece of onion paper. It’s so fine, I worry it might crumble in my hand like a Saltine. I slowly open the paper and discover a note dated 1946: “For Ellen, with all my love, Arthur.”
“That’s great,” I say with a genuine smile, putting the note back where I found it.
“I’m so happy you found the ring.”
I hold the box out to her, and she takes it.
“He would’ve wanted you to keep this,” she adds.
I can’t. I wouldn’t take it when he was alive.
She must sense my hesitation. “I’ll save it for Connor…maybe he’ll want to give it to a girl one day.”
I clear my throat and nod. Mrs. Crocker opens her mouth again to say something, but she shuts it.
Does she blame me?
That’s when Mr. Crocker shows up, wearing a blue T-shirt that reads Williamson County Fire Department. He used to have a full head of blond hair, just like his sons, but now it’s thinned out.
“Hi, Annie,” Mr. Crocker says. “Your mom told us you’re training to run the Country Music Marathon.”
“To finish on Kyle’s behalf.” His mother chokes on her words.
I nod slowly, picking at a hangnail, ripping the skin away.
“How’s it going?” Mr. Crocker asks, smiling.
I don’t have it in me to tell them I got sick as hell after a run, had to miss work, and nearly got dropped by my trainer. Not to mention I’m scared to death of this weekend’s eight-mile run. When Kyle was training, he rarely complained and never considered giving up. At least not that I know of.
“I did seven miles last weekend,” I say softly. Barely. I had to walk a lot of it.
“Need any pointers? I ran a half one time.”
“Have any idea why my stomach hurts all the time?” Even though Matt changed my diet a little this week, I still feel pains.
Mr. Crocker cocks his head to the side. “Never heard that one before.”
“Did you want to join us for pizza?” Mrs. Crocker asks.
“I would, but my training plan says I have to eat a grilled chicken salad today.”
“I guess we’ll leave you to it, then,” Mrs. Crocker says, and then I’m alone again, with all his clothes and pictures and trophies, with his bed that hasn’t been warm in months, with only the sunlight streaming through the window to hug me.
I curl my arms around his pillow. Make myself think about the three-mile run I’m doing tonight after the heat bleeds off. One foot after the other.
Breathe, Annie, breathe.
THE FOURTH CIRCLE OF HELL
Not only does Matt train people to run races, he gives personal training sessions at the gym where he works on the side—or as I like to call it, the Fourth Circle of Hell. During my first session with him, I discovered muscles I didn’t know I had. I can’t imagine what tortures he has planned for today.
I lean my head into Matt’s office at the gym and find him chewing and reading a magazine. He wraps his sandwich back in its baggie, stands up, and high-fives me. “Ready to work out?” he says through a mouthful.
“Yeah.”
He chews, studying my face. “You feeling okay? You’re all red. Did you hydrate enough?”
“I drank five bottles of water today, like you said to.”
“Good.”
I let out the deep breath I was holding and follow Matt over to the treadmill, where I hop on and jog to warm up.
Ever since I fooled around with his brother a few weeks ago, I’ve been expecting Matt to drop some sort of hint that he knows, but it hasn’t happened. I mean, I didn’t think Matt would come right out and ask, “Whatever possessed you to hook up with my brother?!” But I expected some sort of reaction—a flash in his eyes or flushed cheeks. Either he has the best poker face of all time or Jeremiah kept his mouth shut.
It’s three weeks later, and I haven’t even seen him at training. Maybe he decided to use trails where I specifically wouldn’t be? He still hasn’t called. He won’t, and that’s just fine.
“Hey!” Matt says loudly over the sound of my feet pounding the treadmill. “Where are you?”
“What?”
“I’ve been trying to get your attention.”
“Sorry, my mind’s all over the place today.”
He increases the treadmill speed to six miles per hour. “Oh yeah? So’s mine. My big sister went into labor an hour ago.”
