“Backup alarm?”
“My phone.”
“Third?”
“Your watch.”
“It is in my bag.”
“Set it.”
I did. At nine thirty, we turned off the lights. The hotel room became quiet except for the air-conditioning system. I lay on my side of the bed. Amy lay on hers. The pillow barrier stood between us like a poorly funded border.
“Are you awake?” she asked after two minutes.
“Yes.”
“You need sleep.”
“So do you.”
“I am trying.”
“Stop trying.”
The mattress shifted as Amy rolled onto her back. I could hear her trying to make each breath behave.
“That is not actionable.”
“Breathe.”
“I know how.”
“Longer exhale.”
Silence. Then a slower breath. I smiled in the dark.
“Better?”
“Yes.”
Another minute passed.
“Dani?”
“Yeah?”
“Were you afraid the night before your first marathon?”
Amy asked softly. I stared at the ceiling.
“Yes.”
“Did you sleep?”
“Not much.”
“Did you know something was wrong?”
