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Which led her to wonder if that’s what had indeed happened.
She helped herself to one of the crackers and took a sip of Coke, hoping that the combination of them might relieve her queasiness. “What’s the elevation here?”
“Close to five thousand feet,” he replied. “Difficult terrain for running.”
“I’m training for a marathon.”
He stopped eating, interested. “First one?”
“Fifth, actually.”
“Huh. Hoping to improve your time?”
“Always.”
“So you push yourself.”
“I don’t see it that way. I love it.”
“Quite a challenge, distance running at this altitude.”
“Yes, but it makes running at a lower level easier.”
“You don’t worry about overdoing?”
“I’m careful. Especially with my right foot. I had a stress fracture last year.”
“No wonder you favor it.”
She gave him a sharp look. “How do you know I do?”
“I noticed as you were hobbling from the bed to the door.”
Possibly, she thought. Or had he noticed it before when he was watching her through binoculars? From just how far away? From a far ridge as he’d claimed, or from a much closer distance?
Rather than confront him with those questions, she continued making conversation in the hope of gaining information. “My foot gave me fits last year after Boston. The podiatrist advised that I stay off it for three months. I hated being unable to run, but I followed his instructions. Once he gave me the green light, I began training again.”
“When’s the marathon?”
“Nine days from today.”
“Nine days.”
“Yes, I know.” She sighed. “This concussion comes at a most inconvenient time.”
“You may have to pass.”
“I can’t. I have to run it.”
He didn’t ask, just looked at her.
“It’s a fund-raiser. I helped organize it. People are counting on me.”
He spooned another bite, chewed, and swallowed before continuing. “Your driver’s license identifies you as Dr. Emory Charbonneau. Medical doctor?”
“Pediatrics. I share a practice with two OB-GYNs.”
“You take over the babies once they arrive?”
