Running from Love: A Story for Runners and Lovers (20 page)

“Who’s having the shrimp?” the waiter asked, appearing before them with an armful of steaming plates.

“That’s me,” Farrah said, releasing the fork and straightening in her chair.

“Plate’s hot, be careful,” the waiter warned, placing a large oval dish before her.

She nodded, breathing in the savory smells of garlic and cilantro.

The waiter served Jude, then left. The spell they’d been under broken, he picked up his knife and cut into the soft burrito, releasing the mouthwatering scent of grilled steak.

“Umm,” Farrah murmured, savoring the first bite of shrimp. They spent the next few minutes in rapt silence, enjoying the meal. Meanwhile, a three-piece Mexican band began to play in one corner, soft guitar chords warming up with a slow rendition of “Guantanamera.” Simple and soulful, it was one of her favorite songs.

J
UDE TRIED TO
make out Farrah’s face in the dark, as she gazed up at the sky next to him. Leaning against the railing of the Mianus River Marina’s dock, he was nervous, worried he’d scare her off.

She flipped a thick shock of dark hair over her shoulder, reminding him of something his sister had told him: “When a woman plays with her hair, it means she’s interested.” Silently, he took a deep breath.

Reaching behind her neck, he grabbed her hair. It was thick, amazingly silky and full. He gathered it into a ponytail, stroking the sides of her neck as he did.

“How do you feel?” he asked, his voice low.

“How do you want me to feel?” she whispered back.

I want you to feel safe,” he said, thinking he didn’t actually want her to feel safe at all. Just safe enough not to run away.

“I usually do,” she said, turning from him and leaning both elbows on the railing. She stared out over the inky black water, as enigmatic as before.

“What about now?” he asked. His right arm circled behind her, his hand moving to the railing on the far side of hers, touching it.

She half-turned to him, her left profile silhouetted against the dim lights dotting the marina. “Should I?” Her eyes danced.

What a question. He hadn’t expected that response. For the first time that evening, he sensed she was no longer holding back.

“Not really,” he said, his right eyebrow shooting up as it did when surprised. He remained motionless, hoping she wouldn’t think he resembled a snake studying a mouse.

“You know what?” she asked, her mouth curving up at the corners as her eyes went to a point above his.

“No. What?” She was full of surprises. He didn’t feel safe himself around her. It was like walking on a tightrope without a safety net below.

“Your eyebrow has a mind of its own,” she said. A low tinkling laugh followed as she put a hand up to her mouth to hide it.

“You know what?” he asked, mimicking her as he gently put his hand on her wrist. It was as small around as one of his niece’s doll’s.

“No. What?” she asked, her hand still up to her face.

“I already saw the way your mouth curves up when you’re making fun of me.” He tugged her hand away. “So don’t hide it.”

The corners of her mouth turned up even further in response.

“My mouth isn’t as weird as your eyebrows,” she protested.

“You can say that again.” Her mouth wasn’t weird at all. It was small and shapely with upturned curves at each end when she smiled. Without thinking, he released her wrist and stroked one upturned corner. Her shiver was unmistakable.

“My mouth isn’t—” she began.

“Shhh,” he whispered. Or was it the breeze?

With his thumb, he traced the line of her full lower lip. Back and forth, his fingers pressed into warm, pliant skin.

She stood perfectly still, blending into the night silence around them. With ineluctable clarity, her female stillness challenged his male spirit to leap. Feeling his oats, the universe told him this was the moment.

He slid his hand up her jaw line until it rested on the back of her head. Then he drew her toward him and covered her gorgeously curved mouth with his.

This time, she kissed him back.

E
IGHT

I
f only the rest of life’s directives could be so clear, Jude mused, mulling over the evening before as he sipped his coffee in the cool morning air on the back deck. Autumn showed hints of arriving. The Japanese maple in his backyard had turned a deep wine-colored red.

The evening before had been inarguably great. Farrah’s signals had been clear, his responses passionate but controlled. She had a way of communicating to him without words that he’d understood perfectly.

At least he thought so.

Should he call her now?

Ridiculous. It was only ten in the morning, and he’d dropped her home less than twelve hours earlier. But didn’t women get nervous the day after first getting physical with a guy? They’d had their first kiss and quite a few more after. He needed advice, and there was one source sure to give it to him.

Stepping back into the living room, he called his sister in Long Island. Ariel, his niece, would be at school by now, so Emily should be around and available to talk.

“Hello?”

“Hey. Jude here.”

“You? To what do I owe this honor?” His older sister sounded sweetly sarcastic as usual.

“Just thought I’d say hi.”

“At nine o’clock Monday morning? What’s the problem, Baby Boy?”

“I—uh—no problem. Just need a little sisterly advice.”

“Girl stuff, huh? You seeing someone?”

“Yes. Sort of.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean I just started seeing someone, and I really like her.”

“So you haven’t blown it yet, and already you’re panicking.”

“You put it so well. No wonder I chose you to be my sister.”

“You couldn’t have done better if you had, Smart Stuff.” He smiled at her use of his childhood nickname. It wasn’t the only one she had for him, but the nicest by a long shot. She must be in a good mood. “So how far have you gotten and what’s her name?”

“Slow down. I need to ask you something.”

“Have you slept with her yet?”

“You are pathetic. One, it’s none of your business. Two, you talk like a guy and three—this is my long distance bill I’m running up. So let me ask the questions.”

“I already know you’ve got an unlimited nationwide plan, because I’m the one who signed you up for it. But go ahead—suck up my first free minutes in two days. What are big sisters for?”

“I need to know what to do next.”

“No surprises there. How can I tell you if you don’t let me know if you slept with her yet?”

“Okay. I didn’t. But I really like her. I don’t want to scare her off.”

“On the other hand, you don’t want to turn her off.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He had no doubts about turning her off. Not after the night before down at the docks. Remembering the velvet voluptuousness of her lips on his mouth, fully returning every one of his kisses, his knees began to give out. With a thud, he dropped to the bench piled with last week’s clean laundry he still hadn’t folded.

“I mean you don’t want to come across as a player, but you also don’t want to look like some sort of safe haven.”

“Safe haven?”

“You know—like a chump or a guy to go on safe dates with.”

“That’s not happening.”

“Good, Baby Bro. Good on you.”

He marveled that since Emily had married and had a child, she now talked like one of the boys. When they’d been teenagers, she’d been concerned about the finer points of gentlemanly behavior, few of which she deemed Jude to possess. Now, she usually asked him about his sex life within the first five minutes of any conversation.

“So what I need to know is how long to wait before calling her after we’ve gotten—uh—physical,” he continued.

“So you did sleep with her.” His sister’s raucous laugh sounded clearly through the receiver.

“No. I didn’t. We just kissed.”

“Wow. This must be serious. You’re thinking you’re in a relationship after just some kissing? I guess this wasn’t a bar encounter.”

“No. It wasn’t. We’ve gone out a few times, and we got to know each other before we just mauled each other.” His sister’s conversational style was rubbing off on him.

“Amazing. So you must have something in common if you spent all that time together not doing it.”

“She’s a runner. And she’s got some similar family type stuff.”

“You mean a genius older sister?”

“No. She lost her mother.”

“Oh.” A silence ensued on the other side of the line. His sister had been nine when their mother had died. Despite her young age, she’d stepped up quickly to assume the mothering role with Jude. “So you need to know when you should call her next to firm up the kiss?”

“Yes.”

“And you were thinking about sometime like right now, except that it’s too soon.”

“That’s what I thought. Should I wait till later this week?”

“No. Wait till later today. Like this evening. Catch her around the same time of day you kissed her. That way, she’ll be thinking about it when you call.”

“It’ll be too late to call then.” He hoped Farrah would have given their time together a thought before this evening. In fact, he hoped she’d think about it non-stop until he called and set up a time for them to get together again.

“Okay, so just wait until this evening.”

“Okay, Boss. Should I have a plan ready when I call?”

“Should mama bird bring her baby a worm?”

“It’s just when I called her the day after our first date, she took three days to get back to me.”

“That was pre-kiss, and this is post-kiss, right?”

“Right.”

“Definitely call tonight. Strike while the iron’s hot.”

“Okay, sis, I owe you one.” How had his sister become his sex life advisor? “How’s the family?”

“The family is great and I’ve got to go. My to-do list for the week is waving at me from the counter.”

“Goodbye then.”

“I want a full debriefing after your next date.”

“Over my dead body.”

“Make a plan, man, then execute.”

“Bye, sis.” He clicked off.

W
ATER SQUELCHED THROUGH
the nylon mesh material of the tops of her running shoes. Never mind the river they’d told her lay up ahead near the end of the race. It had rained the night before, swelling the negligible creek she’d just crossed to a two-foot wide, raging stream. She’d miscalculated her leap to clear it and landed in the water.

Thank God Jude was way ahead of her. She didn’t want him to see her gasping for breath, her calves mud-splattered, her sneakers and socks soaked. Why had she signed up for this bloody race, anyway? No reason seemed good enough at the moment.

A woman shot by, at least five pounds lighter than Farrah. Her orange and white running shirt had “New York Flyers” printed on the back.

She gritted her teeth and took off after her. This time, she picked up her feet. No way could she afford to trip here, in the middle of nowhere, probably one of the last runners in the race, judging by the buff bodies she’d seen at the starting line thirty minutes earlier.

The woman was a gazelle. Jumping and landing securely, she leaned forward, fearless. Farrah couldn’t see her face, but she knew she wouldn’t like it. It was even worse that she was from one of the more competitive New York City clubs which frequently outranked her own track club in local competitions.

“Hah!” she exhaled loudly, stepping on the accelerator. Nothing happened. “Ahh” she moaned even louder, pumping her arms to pick up speed. She watched as the woman ahead turned a corner, leaving her behind on the pebble-strewn downslope, rife with danger, loose stones, and opportunities to trip.

Coach had trained them to run downhill, face down, body forward in aerodynamic formation. Farrah was terrible at it.

The last time they’d trained on Cemetery Hill in Van Cortlandt Park, she’d tried to hide behind Blanca, but her friend had hurtled down the hill past her like a runaway bicycle. Farrah had nowhere to hide as she timidly passed Coach John, her form halting, pathetic.

“Run like you’re five, not fifty!” he’d shouted at her.

Nothing in her careful makeup could induce her to throw all caution to the wind and hurl herself down the slope—any slope.

She slowed down as she navigated loose pebbles under her feet. The downward slope wasn’t steep, but it was covered with leaves. Roots stuck out where the leaves had scattered. Unsure of her footing, she straightened her back and gingerly jogged down, slowing almost to a walk. Behind, she could hear another runner fast approaching.

“Hunh—hunh—hunh—” the runner grunted rhythmically as he shot by, head down, leaning into the wind.

Why couldn’t she run like that? For a brief moment she tried. Then fear overcame her, and she pulled herself up, stepping cautiously on the uneven ground. Finally at the bottom, she sped up, but not until three more runners—two female, one male—passed. Pulling herself together, she turned the corner.

Another downhill slope lay before her. The three runners were nowhere in sight, but someone had left what looked like a long shoelace across the path. She made a note to leap over it so as not to trip. It was odd that it was so long. At least three feet of a thin ropey material formed a sideways ‘S’ shape on the ground ahead. It was wider than a shoelace, yet not a piece of rope.

About three yards before she reached it, the ‘S’ shape shifted ever so slightly, catching the light.
Oh my God, don’t breathe, just get past it,
she silently screamed, willing herself to leap over the creature. Before she could think further she sprang into the air, clearing the snake by at least two feet. Terror gave her wings. She flew down the hill, visualizing it slithering after her. Before she knew it, she’d overtaken all three runners who’d passed her. Ten seconds later, after running like the wind, the slope leveled off, and she came out into a clearing. The woman in the orange and white shirt sat by the side of the trail, head down, pressing her ankle.

Farrah flew by. The woman hadn’t made eye contact, so maybe she didn’t need help. Besides, wouldn’t one of the other three runners have stopped if she did? So the New York Flyer had tripped. Served her right, Farrah thought, happy to think Van Cortlandt might come in ahead of the rival track club in the race results.