“You said inaccurate.”
“Stopping does not always equal quitting.”
“Was she ill?”
Rose put down her pen.
“I will not disclose medical information.”
“Then why warn me that her unfinished history matters?”
“Because it affects her behavior now.”
“How?”
Rose turned back.
“She coaches you away from mistakes she made herself. That is a strength. The risk is that your result can feel like evidence about her.”
“Has she said that?”
“Not directly.”
“Then you are interpreting.”
“I know her.”
I thought of Dani’s certainty during six miles and her fear when my knee hurt.
“Does she care whether I finish because of me?”
Rose’s face softened. “You know that answer.”
I did. The problem was how much her care had become tangled with her unfinished race. Rose returned to the stool.
“I told Dani to be accurate with you,” she said. “I will be accurate too. The marathon is not neutral territory for her.”
“We are not in a relationship.”
Rose waited.
“We have admitted mutual attraction,” I amended.
“And you have a disclosure deadline.”
“Yes.”
“Hold her to the deadline she chose. Do not make me violate her privacy, and do not let sympathy convert a missed deadline into a new indefinite one.”
I frowned. “What exactly are you warning me about?”
“Dani is more frightened than she looks. She coaches you away from choices she once made herself. Most days that makes her excellent. Under pressure, it can make your result feel like evidence about her.”
“Is she dangerous?”
“No.”
“Unqualified?”
