Last Run (8 page)

Interested.

Maybe
, Cathy thought – and that frisson of excitement hit her again.

She was not entirely sure how she felt about that.

Chapter Eight

With Terri working that evening and David at a friend’s house playing cards, Saul stayed home in Golden Beach, sanding down the edges of the new desk he’d been
making for his room, thinking about how much he loved working with wood and how much he looked forward to having his own place someday – with Terri, if she’d have him – with a
spare room or maybe a garage he could turn into a workshop.

‘Take any room you like,’ David had told him more than once.

No shortage of space here at home, they both knew that, two men rattling around in a house that had comfortably held four; but Saul didn’t want to build his workshop in his father’s
house because it would feel too much like giving up hope of moving out.

Which was no insult to his dad because Saul loved him with all his heart, found him the easiest man in the world to live with. But wanting his own place was natural, and David had made it plain
that he understood that, was happy to have his company for as long as it lasted, but would encourage his leaving when the time came.

‘You know I could afford to help,’ he’d offered not long ago, aware of his son’s restlessness, but Saul had said he didn’t want that either, and his father
respected that.

It was Saul’s own self-respect that was a little lacking these days – or maybe it was simple disappointment in himself. He had anticipated his freshman year at the University of
Miami with such relish, certain he was ready for the tough but stimulating journey to medical practice. At the end of the first year, the plan was for him to have a high enough grade point average
to apply to the Medical Scholars Program, admission into which would assure him of a place, at the end of his third year of study, at UM’s School of Medicine.

That was the plan, but truth was as different as hell.

‘I don’t think I’m going to make it,’ he’d confided in Terri that spring.

‘Sure you are,’ she’d told him. ‘You’re smart and—’

‘Even if I was, it’s not just about that,’ Saul had said. ‘I walk into the Merrick Building every day and I’m surrounded by all these bright, confident
people—’

‘You just think they’re confident,’ Terri had said.

‘A whole lot of them
are
,’ Saul had insisted. ‘Certainly far more than I am.’

That was brought home to him at every lecture, as fellow students asked and answered and made worthwhile points or offered salient arguments, while Saul’s butt stayed glued to his seat and
his mouth stayed shut.

He’d always been the quiet kid at home, content to enjoy the arguments or wit or tales that the rest of his family had brought into the house; his quietness in those days stemming from
tranquillity and contentment.

No more. These days there was an ever-growing heap of self-doubt piling up on his head, making it harder and harder for him to think.

Making furniture was a satisfying way to procrastinate, exchanging study for the feel and aroma of smooth wood; the exhilarating, sometimes simply mind-numbing exercise of sawing and hammering
and planning. Even the noise and vibration of power tools helped block out unwelcome doubts about his other, real work.

Except
this
was what felt infinitely more real to Saul, and certainly more attainable: making tables, shelves and chairs, starting out real simple, then becoming slowly more confident and
creative.

‘So quit medicine,’ Terri had said. ‘Make furniture.’

‘It’s not that simple,’ Saul had told her.

‘Sure it is,’ she’d said. ‘One life. One chance.’

There’d been no real pressure to struggle on from his dad, but Judy Becket had badly wanted Saul to follow David’s lead, and then there were Sam’s high hopes for his kid
brother, and Saul hated falling out with him over anything, which was why this problem between Sam and Terri had really been getting to him.

God, he was so crazy about Teté, but not knowing exactly where they were heading as a couple worried him, too, his anxiety that he wasn’t lively enough for her, special enough for
her. And that was
another
thing about studying medicine; no prospect of offering her anything tangible for years, though Terri said she didn’t care about that. So long as this was what
he really wanted, she said, she’d be up for the long haul, and it would all be worth it when he was finally a doctor and helping people.

So why didn’t she want him moving into her place?

‘We both need our space for now,’ she had said.

Saul didn’t need space, not when it came to Terri. If she’d allowed it, he’d happily have moved into a
closet
with her.

‘Anyway, your dad needs you,’ she’d said too.

But that wasn’t true, so Saul figured that no matter what she said, the truth was that he probably just wasn’t enough for her. Teté was so alive and brave, she had this
amazing wild side to her, and he would do just about anything for her. Except he couldn’t do
anything,
could he, because he was still a student living at home with his old man, who was
a great guy, but still . . .

And how long was Terri going to put up with that?

Chapter Nine

August 19

Gregory didn’t think he could take this any more, this sense of doom, feeling so
bad
, sleeping and waking. And he knew there was only one way to help himself feel
better, he
knew
it, and he’d been so damned scared since
it
happened, had been straight and clean and feeling like shit because he was clean.

Except the truth was he wasn’t feeling shit because of not doing coke, was he? It was because of what had happened, because of what he’d seen, because he was scared half out of his
mind that he or she or
it
was going to come back for him
because
he’d seen it. And maybe the only thing that was going to help him
was
coke, because the fact was no one
else was going to be able to help: no doctor, no parents, no shrink.

What Greg needed now, more than anything – except for it not to have happened, or at least for him not to have
seen
it happening – was for the memory and the fear to go
away.

Cocaine could do that for him.

And it wasn’t as if he even had to go looking for it, not as if he had to risk his mom and dad or even the cops finding out he was buying it, because he already had it, didn’t
he?

Because last night Santa had come down his frigging chimney, metaphorically speaking.

Because when Greg had got up this Friday morning and unlocked the sliding doors to the deck outside his bedroom, he had seen it lying less than eight feet away.

Folded silver paper glinting in the sunlight.

Plastic baggie inside.

And sure, it was kind of weird,
more
than kind of, actually, because how in hell had it got there? And Gregory had wondered if maybe one of the guys who knew how freaked out he was
feeling had left it as a gift, because otherwise how
could
it have got there? But bottom line, it
was
there.

It had come just when he needed it. So tonight, if he still didn’t feel any better . . .

Tonight.

It was late Friday when Kez called Cathy to ask if she felt like driving up to West Palm Beach for the meet the next day.

‘I could use the support if you’d like to come,’ Kez said, ‘and if your ankle’s up to it.’

‘My ankle’s fine, but I’ll bet you’ll have a zillion supporters,’ Cathy said, though she’d been longing to go up, but suppressing the urge, figuring that
since Kez had not asked if she was going, that had to mean she didn’t want her there.

Not the case.

‘No one but the coach that I know of,’ Kez said. ‘And I’d like having you in the crowd.’

Excitement shot through Cathy again, warming her. Another kind of longing, she thought, still unsure. About anything.

Except that she wanted to go.

The first hundred metres of the 800 was run in lanes, but after that, as often happened in this race, the runners were bunched so close for the rest of the first lap that had
it not been for the fierce red of Kez’s hair – no sun, so she was wearing no cap – Cathy might not have been able to pick her out of the pack.

At Sarasota where Cathy had seen Kez win the 800, one of the competitors had gone off fast, driving all the runners into too high a speed in the first lap, and with the favourite laid up with a
broken ankle and the other main threat, Maria Valdez, finding herself boxed in on the inside, Kez had been the athlete with the most strength and speed on the last lap. Valdez had come home first
in Tampa, but Kez’s run had been both tactically near-perfect and almost – even Coach Delaney had felt – inspired, gaining her the silver.

‘Tail wind,’ Kez had answered self-deprecatingly when Cathy had asked her, at the café on Wednesday, what she thought had made that race so special.

‘Why do you do that?’ Cathy had asked. ‘Make it sound like nothing.’

‘Just one race. Greatest buzz in the world at the time, but doesn’t mean much on its own.’

Coming right after Sarasota, Cathy had wanted to argue, she’d have thought it meant a hell of a lot. But something – a kind of reluctance to overstep – had held her back, kept
her silent.

Later, perhaps, when – if – they knew one another better.

If.

A lot of talent was absent today in West Palm Beach, and even as Cathy saw Kez breaking away from the pack and sprinting into the lead, she guessed that if her new friend broke
the finish tape, she’d be the first to point that out.

Which didn’t stop Cathy yelling her support,
shrieking
as Kez crossed the line.

‘Pal of yours?’ the man next to her asked. ‘She’s not bad.’

‘Not bad?’ Cathy told him. ‘She’s
amazing
.’

 
‘Yeah.’ The man shrugged and smiled. ‘Good for her.’

There was no victory in the 1500, but Cathy was yelling just as wildly, and sure, she was used to cheering on the Tornadoes, but she knew that she’d never shouted this loudly before. Had
never
felt
like this before. Watching Kez running in this race, the distance so much tougher than the 800, physically and psychologically; watching her giving her all and
then
some,
observing the fiercely working muscles on those tanned legs, the intensity of her focus, the obvious pain on her face from the pounding punishment, the pace and sheer speed of the sprint. Noting
her grimace, the moment when fatigue took control, mastered her, then, finally, wiped her out.

‘I’m fine,’ Kez told her later, shrugging off defeat as she had victory.

She was starved, she said, knew exactly what she wanted – and no, the coach didn’t know and would not approve, but she hardly ever broke diet rules and right now, at least sometime
in the next hour or two, she wanted
steak.

They left West Palm Beach and Cathy drove them – Kez had come up in Mike Delaney’s car – to Fort Lauderdale and found Ruth’s Chris Steak House, because
most people agreed their sizzling broiled steaks were the best around.

‘You’ve told me,’ Kez said a while later, eating Gulf shrimp, ‘why you run, but I haven’t told you why I do.’

‘Because you’re so talented.’ Cathy speared a heart of lettuce from her salad. ‘Because, I guess, you have no choice?’

‘I started out running,’ Kez said, ‘because I could, went on because I seemed pretty good at it and then, like you, I got hooked.’ She finished a shrimp, licked her
fingers, met Cathy’s eyes. ‘But you run partly to get away from things, and I run because I’m afraid that if I stop I’ll get ugly again.’

‘Ugly?’ Cathy could not keep the astonishment out of her voice.

‘Oh, yeah,’ Kez said. ‘I was a real ugly teenager.’

‘You can’t have been,’ Cathy said.

‘I’m no oil painting now.’ Kez held out her hands, palms down, fingers splayed. ‘That’s why I do stuff like paint my nails this way.’

‘I figured it was a tribute to Flo-Jo,’ Cathy said.

‘Sure,’ Kez allowed. ‘I admired the hell out of her – who didn’t?’ She paused. ‘But I also do it because they distract people from the rest of
me.’

‘That’s crazy,’ Cathy said. ‘You’re wonderful to look at.’

‘You’re very kind,’ Kez said.

‘No,’ Cathy insisted. ‘Your face, your body, it’s all marvellous.’

Kez shook her head. ‘You’re too beautiful to understand.’

Cathy laughed.

‘What’s funny?’ Kez asked sharply.

Cathy looked at her in surprise and saw what looked like hurt in her eyes, perhaps a hint of anger too, realized suddenly that Kez might think she was laughing at her.

‘I guess I’m embarrassed.’ She paused. ‘I’ve never seen myself as beautiful.’

The hurt and anger had already left Kez’s eyes.

‘Then you’re the one who’s crazy,’ she said.

She was looking at Cathy now with warmth. Making her feel special.

There was no doubting one thing.

Cathy had never met a guy who’d made her feel like that.

‘Did you see how she looked?’ Grace asked Sam softly.

Cathy had come in a while back and found them settled in the den watching one of the old British sitcoms they enjoyed; Woody on the sofa between them, sharing the popcorn Grace had developed a
liking for during the pregnancy. She hadn’t said much about her day, just that she’d had a great dinner and was tired and going straight to bed, and then she’d gone upstairs.

‘Happy,’ Sam said. ‘Like she had a good time.’

‘Mmm,’ Grace said. ‘Little more than that, I’d say.’

He watched her for a moment. ‘And that’s bad, why?’

‘Not bad, of course not.’ Grace thought for a moment. ‘I can’t give you a good reason why I feel this way, but I just seem to have this sense that Kez might be having a
more powerful influence than Cathy may realize.’

Sam frowned, then leaned forward. ‘What kind of influence?’

Grace shook her head. ‘I’m probably turning into a neurotic mom, scared of Cathy getting hurt.’