Then he realized he had uttered the words. She had been touched. “Oh, Blake, that’s so lovely. You are the most wonderful man.” But she had not said them back.
He was over the romantic illusion now. He didn’t love her and their parting wasn’t causing him any distress. He’d like to continue to work with her on his athletic performance, but there were other trainers if that wasn’t possible. Other trainers who would give a lot to get him for a client.
When they were at his house and had unloaded the luggage and bikes, she looked around his house and gym. “Wow. I tried to envision this from your descriptions but this is really beautiful. You did an amazing job on the house. It’s just too far away.”
“I didn’t build the house, Gretchen. I just picked out the appliances, paint color and fixtures. That was enough work.”
“How about something to drink?” she asked. “Any chance you have a cold beer?”
“Knowing you like your beer, I bought a six. Your brand. Sam Adams?”
“Will you have one with me?”
“Sure,” he said, sensing she was leading up to something. He opened two bottles and handed her one.
“To us,” she said, toasting.
“Which us?” he asked before drinking to the toast.
“I’d like to talk about that, if you’re open to a conversation.”
“Go ahead,” he urged her.
“I’ve given it a lot of thought, Blake, and I’ll agree to your terms. We can be exclusive.”
“Why do I get the feeling this is a major concession for you?” he asked with a smile.
“Not at all. I miss our relationship. If the price is remaining exclusive, you’re worth it. I meant it—I miss you. What I’d like? I’d like to have a beer, share a shower, roll around in the bed for an hour, then take a ride before the sun goes down. Like old times.”
He put his bottle on the counter. He knew he wore a pained expression. “I’m sorry, Gretchen. You gave me too much time to think. We’re not right for each other. It was pretty clear—we’re looking for different things.”
“So. Have you found what you’re looking for?”
“I’m not with anyone, but that’s really not the point. I was hoping we’d be a couple, but that was two years ago. I thought being a couple meant living in the same house, having common goals, working together and relaxing together. When that was off the chart I bought this house. My first house. It’s not in Boulder—it’s not anywhere near your house. I wasn’t intentionally putting distance between us, but when being close was no longer a priority, I found a place and house I like.”
“We made it work before,” she said. “Not living in the same town much less house.”
“Yeah, I was ready to make something a little more serious work. You weren’t. That’s okay, Gretchen. We have to be honest with each other. But now that we’ve made the break, this is what we have. And I really don’t want to be a casual fuck if it’s all the same to you.”
“I never saw you as a casual fuck,” she said, growling a little.
“At the end of the day it felt like that. Committed people share space. They share feelings and goals and time.”
“We have the feelings, goals and time covered,” she said. “We’ve always been rowing in the same direction, that’s how we ended up in bed together.”
“Is it?” he asked. “I liked you. I was attracted to you, wanted you. Wanted a future with you. When you said that wouldn’t work for you, I moved on.”
“Is it my age?” she asked.
He laughed. “You’re forty-four! You find that old? Too old for me?”
“I spent a couple of decades building this life, this business. I’m not going to settle into being some cute little wife. I’ll never be a mommy.”
He frowned and shook his head. He had never suggested such a thing. “I was thinking partner.”
“I built that business.”
“Life partner, Gretchen. Not business partner. But never mind all that—it’s in our past now. We were connected for a while but it didn’t work. We’ll always be good friends, I hope.”
“Maybe after the next couple of weeks...”
“I want to work on the race, not our relationship,” he said. “You were pretty clear where you stood on relationships and I’m not interested in concessions. Let’s focus on the sport.”
“Right,” she said. And he could see her regroup internally, setting her mind on the appropriate track.
But he had no illusions. Gretchen was strong-willed, which was what had made her successful. If she wanted him back, she would be applying her best strategy to that end. She would be careful and clever because he had a deal with the institute. Not with her, but with the institute, and he was adamant about that distinction. He had allowed his name to be used to promote the institute and, in return, the training fees had been sharply reduced while he maintained a priority-client position. She would not want him to take his business elsewhere.
So, while they finished their beer, she got out her laptop and showed him some charts and graphs worked up to highlight where he stood with major competitors. These competitors weren’t clients of hers, of course; that would be unethical. But their times had been carefully recorded so that Blake had all the necessary information. During the week Gretchen was here they would have one triathlon run and after that he’d work on individual events with plenty of time and nourishment to fully recuperate. He’d enter the race at his strongest and healthiest.
Meanwhile, there would be a lot of spiritual preparedness—envisioning the track, the route, the events. He also practiced yoga and Tai Cheng; Gretchen totally approved and preached the mental aspect of the sport. It was said running was 90 percent mental and the other 10 percent was...mental. But there was a significant difference in the way Blake and Gretchen practiced this aspect of the sport. She was powerfully strong and demanded of her mind that she focus, that she be present only in the race.
Blake practiced by letting go. Trust.
A tai chi mentor had run with him a few times and had said, “Your pace is choppy. Stop running on the trail. Be the trail. Your chi will decide the pace. Trust.”
He had no option but to trust. Really, he shouldn’t be alive today much less a winning triathlete. He learned to run to survive. He ran to live. He was a small kid in a terrible neighborhood filled with pimps and dealers and gang members, and if he couldn’t run, he’d be at least beaten to a pulp.
He still ran to live.
It was nearly five by the time they’d changed clothes and assembled Gretchen’s bikes. It was not a workout but a casual ride, a rejuvenation and a chance to get Gretchen acquainted with the landscape and moisture in the air. When they took the bikes out through the gym door and down the beach stairs, Blake noticed that Winnie was on her deck with company—the ladies of a certain age: Ray Anne, Lou and Carrie. Lin Su was also there, of course.
Charlie would be home from school by now and either doing his homework or secretly searching for his roots, but he was not in sight.
Blake waved and the women waved back, yelling hello.
“Who are they?” Gretchen asked.
“A neighbor lady and her friends. They get together sometimes. They call it a hen party.”
“Attractive,” she pointed out. “Particularly the blonde.”
“That would be Ray Anne, who is probably in her sixties, fighting back age. Winnie is the lady next door. She suffers from ALS so her friends often come to her after work. A little happy hour.”
They set up their bikes on the beach road, pointing toward the town. Gretchen put a hand on the back of Blake’s shoulder as he got astride and slowly moved that hand down his back to cup one firm butt cheek. “Ready?” she asked.
He put a foot on the pedal and shot out, riding down the beac
h road ahead of her. When he got to the marina, before continuing to the road through town, he stopped. He put a foot down and waited for her. She caught up to him and stopped. “Don’t ever do that again,” he said. “Especially in front of my neighbors.”
“Wow. Little touchy, aren’t you?”
“We’re not together, remember? You’re my trainer. My coach. You don’t pat my ass to imply we’re lovers. You hear me, Gretchen?”
“Jeez. You bet,” she said.
She put her foot to the pedal and rode out ahead of him.
* * *
Wherever Winnie was, Lin Su was not far away. While Charlie worked on his homework at the dining room table inside, Lin Su was with Winnie and her friends. Then Blake came outside with a woman, an incredibly beautiful woman, and waved at them.
They all waved back. And stared.
There was the little ass-pat, then off they went. They looked like a Nike ad, riding across the beach road in the late-afternoon sun.
“God bless those biker shorts,” Lou said.
“Seriously,” Ray Anne agreed. “Do you suppose it’s too late to make a play for a younger man?”
“It was too late fifteen years ago,” Carrie said.
“I know what you mean, though,” Winnie said. “That is one fine-looking man. But given what we just saw there, he’s not going to give any of us the time of day. I do believe Mr. Smiley is spoken for.”
“Hmm,” Lou said. “Then do you think we can get him to jump out of a cake for us?”
While the women laughed hysterically at themselves, Lin Su just looked at her hands for a moment. And she wondered if she would ever learn. She felt so foolish.
Ten
It was only a couple of days until Blake brought his trainer to Winnie’s to introduce her to the entire family, including Lin Su. Charlie had already met her because he went to Blake’s gym every day and had pronounced her awesome.
Lin Su found that Gretchen was not only beautiful, she was charming. Delightful. Lin Su almost felt relieved in a way. It was a little bit like meeting Peyton—Lin Su’s brief crush on Scott was forever cured in deference to her admiration for the wonderful physician’s assistant. Thus it was with Gretchen. She instantly felt she couldn’t hold a candle to the beautiful, athletic blonde. Not only could Gretchen keep up with Blake, she advised him on how to improve his skills. His already staggeringly successful skills.
The visit of the gorgeous coach took Lin Su’s mind off her idle fantasies and she was reminded of a couple of things she wanted to do. She asked to run an errand while Winnie napped and Mikhail watched television. She drove to North Bend to pick up the walker she had ordered for Winnie, and while she was out, she dropped into a craft store and department store. She had finally thought of a proper gift for a bachelor—towels that she would embroider with his initials.
Winnie was ambivalent about the walker. “Thank you,” she said dourly. “I know I need it. I hate the look of the bloody things, however.”
“But while you can walk, it’s important to keep walking. The wheelchair is a cop-out and we both know it. Fortunately, it’s too soon for that.”
“Not so much a cop-out as giving up,” Winnie said. “And by damn, I know there’s no going back but I’m not quitting yet.”
“Good for you!” she praised. “But for the first days especially, please let one of us know when you’re taking a stroll. It’s helpful, not foolproof.”
They practiced for a while and in no time at all Lin Su was begging Winnie to slow down, make every step a careful step.
Lin Su often heard Blake and Gretchen laughing if they were on the deck or the beach or even if the windows were open. She tried not to imagine what was happening at his house after the training was done. Unfortunately, she couldn’t stop the images. She knew in her heart that Blake was with the woman of his choice, a woman he’d been coupled with for a long time. He had explained they’d worked together for five years.
Finally the day came that the house next door to Winnie fell silent and this was a great relief to Lin Su. Of course, Charlie still used Blake’s gym with Troy monitoring his progress and taking all his readings for his notebook, but they didn’t hang out over there. They went over for their hour. Troy took advantage and indulged some of his own workout while keeping an eye on Charlie.
Charlie was so proud of his progress. He was gaining momentum in no time. He was only into his third week and he was running. He wasn’t running too far but there had been no serious shortness of breath and not a hint of an asthma attack. He was going to try some training without the nebulizer when Blake got back from his race.
At the words back from his race Lin Su tried to forget the way he’d touched her, kissed her brow. They would have to start over. He was Charlie’s friend and supporter, her neighbor in a sense. Nothing more.
* * *
Once in Tahoe, Blake drove the event track. He insisted on doing this alone. There was one section of the run that was incredibly grueling with a steep climb of two thousand feet around a mountain curve. Then the next four miles were at over five thousand feet, a challenge for anyone who had not trained at that altitude. Then, even harder for some, a decline of three thousand feet. Down was hard.
Go to the track in the morning when you’re fresh and well rested, his mentor had suggested. Walk that part of the route at a slow and leisurely pace. Take it all in, inhale it deeply, listen to all sounds, remember how it felt when you were not depleted. Recall these details in the race and put your mind there. Be the trail.
There were a lot of triathletes out on the route, looking it over, some running or riding parts of it, some just examining it. Blake wondered how many were doing what he was doing—committing it to memory while there was no stress so he could recall and replicate the feelings. And float.
Blake was happy in Tahoe. He saw Gretchen every day but she had rented her own condo, one with space enough for some of the support crew and trainers, and she was busy with her own training. He wanted to be alone, to have no distractions.
She had proven to be a distraction. He was both surprised by this and unsurprised, if that was possible. She was the one who was not flexible about their relationship, yet now she was the one who wanted him back. She didn’t understand about “too late.” Before they made the drive in his SUV to Tahoe, she had begun testing him, wandering around his house in only a towel, a towel that slipped. Touching him in suggestive and affectionate ways. Making comments about what a good pair they were and how something seemed missing now.
But when it came to the training, to tweaking his program and nudging better times out of him, she was a master. He would hate to give her up. It would cost him but the price of keeping her could be higher.
He crouched on the trail he would run on Saturday. He picked up some loose dirt and gravel and let it drift in the breeze. By four Saturday morning Gretchen would have all the temperatures, wind velocity and approximate location of gusts around curves and passes. She would tell him where he’d get his next food and water and the support crew would be standing by to report endurance times and stats. He carried gel packs in his pockets, protein supplements he could use on the track; he shaved his legs.
Blake loved the marathon; it was his favorite part, even when he was tired. His legs were long, his stride wide and his pace even. Sometimes he thought of his childhood and sometimes he felt like Forrest Gump—someone who could run forever. Moving ahead, moving away from the pack, going forward, had always brought deep satisfaction. And during the race he exercised amazing control, not giving in to the urge to change his pace or up his speed—that took confidence. He trusted his rhythm, his heart rate and respirations; he believed his timing was close to perfect. He was rarely beat in the marathon; he knew what he was doing. Those runners who were desperate to make their mark and pass him dropped back before
long because they didn’t trust their training, their pace. Maybe they didn’t know their best, most dependable speed.
This morning as he crouched along the trail and felt the breeze on his face, inhaled the scent of pine and sunshine, he wasn’t thinking of the race. He was thinking of Lin Su. He knew she had seen Gretchen’s saucy move. He knew Lin Su would take that in, weigh it and hold it silently in her head, judging it to mean that she meant nothing to him. She would decide his gentle touch and soft kiss was just a neighborly thing when it was more.
He looked at the sky above the pines. He couldn’t think about that now. Now he had to think about this trail, this breeze, this scent. He would be in a pack of a dozen at this point in the race and he wouldn’t be ahead. He filled his lungs with oxygen; last year this race had been canceled because of smoke in the air. This year the air was clean. He would be ahead after the ascent of two thousand feet, and he would be barely ahead. The descent, if he could hold his heart rate and pace, that was his chance to get ahead if he didn’t screw it up by going too hard or fast. Going down was not easy; it was a trick. Those runners who took advantage of the plunge down and went with it, they got breathing too fast and their respirations huffed and they wore themselves out. You can coast on wheels, not legs.
He’d done this a hundred times. He’d run this race five times; it was a good race. The purse was small but the sponsors were all here. Unless there was a dark horse, he might actually win it.
How could he show Lin Su that he admired her? That he was attracted to her? That he thought maybe they came from the same place and would understand each other?
Don’t expect too much of the future, his mentor would say. Live in the present and let the future evolve as it will and trust. It was a fancy way of saying, You’ll know what to do at the time. Or, Everything will be as it should be.