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eight
Clementine swiped the sweat from her forehead and dreamed of a hot bath, even though the Dogwood County Marathon was run at the perfect time of year—first Saturday in November, cool weather, but not cold, and just ahead of all the holidays.
Most people preferred the Marine Corps Marathon, run the previous Sunday, but Clementine liked running through Greenview Park. The Rock Creek Parkway was the only pretty portion of the Marine Corps Marathon, and that came right at the beginning of the race. Running through downtown and seeing all the monuments was great for people not from the area, but Clementine had seen them all a million times and preferred a visit when she wasn’t trying not to die. The Dogwood County Marathon had a solid thirty kilometers of the race within the park, which meant trees, shade, rugged terrain and a limited field. The race had become a lottery years ago, but because Clementine had finished it five times, she had an automatic entry each year unless she deferred.
Every year, right about when Clementine reached mile twenty, she rued her decision not to defer. Mile twenty was the moment. The moment where her body was just done, and the only way she was getting through the next six miles was on pure will. The moment where she burst through the trees at the edge of the parkway and had to leave the forest behind, because the remainder of the race was all on the road. Most people liked leaving the hills, dirt and rocks behind and hitting that flat pavement, but not Clementine. For her, it was like being ripped from her cocoon of safety, into the harsh reality of life.
As soon as she left the forest she thought about Tyler, about the day she’d learned he’d died. Something about her fatigue mixed with the sudden, bright light and the hard surface pounding beneath her feet gave her that same sense of helplessness and despair.
Today was no exception, and she had to steel herself to face down that final ten kilometers. She got through the first five by just telling herself the faster she moved, the sooner it would all be over. She got through the second five by turning up the heat, emptying her tank and dreaming about the finish line: the foil blanket, the carbs and the massage.
Postrace massages weren’t like the real deal. They lasted only ten minutes, fully clothed, and you were too spent to really enjoy it. But Clementine was hoping to see Tabitha, who’d been worrying as much about her massage school extra credit as Clementine had been about running the race.I’m finishing this damn thing for Tabitha, Clementine told herself, with only a quarter mile left that seemed to stretch on forever.
Finally, dragging, she crossed the finish line, smiled for the cameras and accepted her finisher medal from Carole, one of the women in her running group who was volunteering this year instead of running.
“Awesome work, Clementine. How do you feel?”
Clementine forced a smile. “Good. Thanks.” She draped the foil blanket Carole handed her around her shoulders. She actually felt more beat up mentally than physically this year. Lily used to wait at the finish line with Mama, years ago, but after Mama passed, Lily refused to stand out alone in the cold or rain or fog or whatever early November usually dished up. Plus, she had a job now, and Saturdays at the animal shelter were busy. Clementine couldn’t blame her.
She picked her way over to the commuter lot where they ran the farmers’ market every other Saturday. There were medical tents and tables with postrace food like bananas, bagels and even beer. She snagged a minicarton of chocolate milk and drank it down in one go. As she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and tossed her carton away, she spied the massage tables, set up in the far corner of the lot. Clementine took her time walking over, noting the slight limp in her left leg—that knee always got tweaked when she ran more than a half—and let her body normalize, the muscles and tendons and blood all readjusting and squeezing back in place. As she got closer, Clementine counted about two dozen massage tables set up. She queued up behind a tall guy who smelled like seaweed and peeked at her wrist. She realized that though she’d hit Stop on her GPS watch, she hadn’t even checked her time to see if she’d made a personal record. Three hours and twelve minutes. Well, dang. She’d beat herself by about twenty minutes. The only thing she’d done differently this year was she’d joined Semper Fit and had actually decreased her overall training runs. Guess the extra strength building had really paid off.
Why wasn’t she more excited? All she felt was tired and salty. Clementine decided she’d text Lily as soon as she collected her stuff from the storage locker. Lily would get all proud of her and the mood would rub off and Clementine would be happier about how she’d spent her Saturday morning.
Pretty soon, there was only Seaweed Man ahead of her, and Clementine had a better look at the massage operation. Tabitha was only a few yards away. Clementine recognized her dark hair, pulled into space buns, and the fluidity of her movements. She was slender and long-limbed and moved with a certain amount of grace, like a dancer. Clementine figured that between the grace and the quiet, sensitive way in which Tabitha carried herself and dealt with people, she’d be a good massage therapist. There was a calming aura about her that eased your tension when you hadn’t even realized you were tense. Right now, though, Tabitha was trying to help a young woman wearing bright pink shorts onto her table. The woman had approached on wobbly legs, but then stopped short. She covered her mouth with her hand and swayed a little. Tabitha had a hand on her shoulder, her lips moving like she was either comforting or coaxing the woman. The runner finally got on the table, facedown. She hung there, like a limp doll.
Trinity, who normally stayed quiet unless Tabitha needed her, rose to her feet and started circling the table. Her muzzle went into the air.
Clementine searched the row of tables for the instructor, who was supposed to be overseeing the students, or for Red, who had also volunteered to be a supervisor, as most of these therapists would be in their first year of school. She spied Red by her strawberry hair and the Semper Fit hoodie she wore, at one end of the long row of tables, busy with a student. The rest of the people were a sea of faces to Clementine. She had no idea who was a teacher and who wasn’t, but her runner instincts were kicking in and she couldn’t wait it out. “I’m not cutting, I swear.” Clementine pushed in front of Seaweed Man and jogged, despite the protest of her muscles, over to Tabitha’s table.
“Clementine.” Tabitha’s eyes widened as she approached. “Hey. I’m not ready for anyone else yet. She just lay down.” Tabitha had her hands on the woman’s thighs and was massaging upward with short, quick pressure. “But I’m glad you found me. Just wait right there and you can be next.”
“Tabitha, I don’t think this woman is well. I was watching and she seemed really wobbly. Too wobbly. What did she say to you?”
“Um.” Tabitha froze, lifted her hands away, her brow creased. “She was really wobbly,” she agreed. “I thought it was just from running all those miles. What she said didn’t really make sense. Something about feeling hot and cold andwavy. That was kind of weird, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.” Clementine planted her hand on the woman’s back and leaned in close to the face cradle. “Ma’am, are you okay?” When she didn’t respond, Clementine gave her a gentle shake. “Ma’am? Can you hear me?”
The woman groaned and made a retching sound. Then puke hit the ground beneath the hole in the face cradle.
“Medic!” Clementine turned and raced for the medical tent. She could no longer feel any pain in her feet or legs; she just flew. With all her yelling, medics met her halfway. “Third table over.” Clementine pointed. “She’s wobbly, incoherent and vomiting.”
The medics rushed over to Tabitha’s table and surrounded the runner in pink shorts; she hadn’t moved since she’d vomited. Tabitha froze, staring at the medics with her mouth open in shock. “What’s happening?” she said. “What did I miss?”
Clementine pulled her away, so the medics could do their job. Two more appeared carrying a stretcher. “Can’t say for sure. But it looked like hyponatremia. I’ve seen it a few times before.”
“Is it dangerous?” Tabitha spoke through the fingers that covered her lips.
“Yes. Very. What caught my eyes was her loss of muscle control. That could mean swelling of the brain.”
“Oh, my God.”
They both watched in silence as the medics assessed the woman’s vitals, then shifted her to the stretcher. All the massages either came to a halt or slowed considerably as everyone looked on. A crowd formed around the scene. Both Red and a small woman with short dark hair rushed over to see what was going on. As the medics lifted the stretcher and headed for the medical tent, the woman groaned and shifted. At least she was conscious.
“What happened, Tabitha?” The woman with short dark hair approached, with Red at her heels.
“She came for massage.” Tabitha sounded stricken. “I didn’t know she was sick. I thought she was just exhausted. I’m sorry, Joy. I know you told all of us to be on the lookout for warning signs of trouble. I don’t know how I missed it.”
“She’s got help now.” Joy, who must’ve been Tabitha’s massage instructor, rubbed Tabitha’s forearm. “I’m going to start at the head of the line and go down the whole length, checking each runner. You take a break.” Joy squeezed Tabitha’s hand and walked swiftly to the first table in the row.
