The rule, external when internal judgment failed. I accepted it. The volunteer guided other runners around us. The course created a small island. Amy stood inside it. She had just over four miles left in her own race.
“You should go,” I managed.
Pain crossed her face.
“You asked me here.”
“I nodded.”
“Yes.”
“Not fair.”
“What isn’t?”
“Your race.”
I spoke in pieces.
“I am choosing this minute,” she said. “Not the rest yet.”
A minute. Understandable. She held up one hand.
“Five things.”
“Blue,” I said.
Her shirt.
“Good. Four more.”
“Star.”
On her hand.
“Good.”
“Road.”
“Yes.”
“Sign.”
The pharmacy.
“One more.”
“You.”
Youhurt. Amy’s eyes went bright.
“I’m here.”
The phrase had lived between us from the first mile. This time, it was not a promise about forever. Only fact. Current. Honest.
“Four things you can feel,” she said.
“Shoes.”
