“Routine,” I said.
Amy’s mouth flattened. Not anger. Recognition. Incomplete answer.
“I am not asking you to disclose every feeling before a run,” she said. “I am asking whether the run was healthy.”
“Yes.”
“Did you punish yourself?”
“No.”
“Did you chase a pace?”
“No.”
“Did you choose the distance because I am running fourteen?”
“Partly.”
I answered without the delay I once would have used as disguise.
“Thank you.”
The acceptance made the truth easier.
“I wanted to know I could still do distance.”
“You already know.”
“Knowing changes.”
Amy touched my hand.
“Are you staying for eight?”
“Yes.”
“Then we start easy.”
She had begun using my words against me. It was extremely attractive. We began running.
Amy’s fourteen-mile route followed the river for six miles, cut through downtown, then joined the final section of the Lake City Marathon course before returning through North Park. Miguel had selected it. He did not know the history. Rose did. She had seen the route and asked whether I wanted it changed. I said no. Avoidance had lasted three years.
I could run the streets. I had done shorter pieces. The intersection at mile twenty-two was just pavement. A traffic light. A pharmacy. A row of trees. Memory could not own public infrastructure. That was the argument. It remained effective through mile five. Amy ran well. Her knee stayed quiet. The pace was conservative. We discussed her promotion interview.
“What will you say about the hours?” I asked.
“That I can commit to defined peak periods, not permanent availability.”
“Good. I’m proud.”
“The statement may cost me the position.”
“Then the position costs too much.”
Amy caught my face. “What?”
“I like dating you.”
