Running from Love: A Story for Runners and Lovers (29 page)

As she jogged northward back home, she admired the Charlotte Bronte apartments again. Then she wondered to herself why it was she thought of sharing her enjoyment of them with Jude, not Will. By the time she got upstairs and into her apartment, she’d made a decision. Thanksgiving weekend would be conducted on her terms, not on Will’s. Ready or not, with two men in her life, she was going to mix it up a bit.

“D
ON’T PRESSURE HER,”
Emily advised. It was the day after Thanksgiving and they were sitting around the family room of Jude’s sister’s Huntington, Long Island home enjoying a quiet moment while she watered her plants.

“I’m trying not to. But how do I keep her from slipping away? I mean, she’s seeing this guy and I don’t know what’s happening between them. It makes me sick.” He crushed his eight-year old niece’s slinky in his hand.

“Let’s focus on what you do know,” Emily answered, calm and practical as usual. What did she tell you about him?”

“Nothing.”

“Okay, so what did she
not
tell you about him,” she pressed.

“Well, when I asked if he made her happy, she sort of hesitated.

“Then what?”

“Then she said, “What do you mean?”

“Good.” Emily nodded vigorously. “That’s a good sign.”

“It is?” He’d thought so, too. He just didn’t know what to do about it.

“That’s right up there with Prince Charles’s answer to reporters when they asked him if he was in love,” she clarified, while she watered her ficus tree. She hadn’t moved far from Oyster Bay, where she’d met her husband, Mike, who ran a home heating oil delivery business.

“What did he say?’

Emily was a big British Royal Family follower. Jude had gotten her a subscription to Hello Magazine the year before for Christmas. This year he wouldn’t be able to afford to renew it.

“He said “I suppose so. Whatever that means.”

Even Jude had to wince. “Lame, right?”

“Lame, but accurate. He didn’t know what it meant, at least not with Diana, and look what happened.”

“So where does that leave me?’

“With a chance, I think. What else did she say?”

He gave a deep sigh. She said something like “I’m not sure we should be spending time together.”

His sister frowned. “Did you ask why not?”

“She said it was too confusing for her.”

“Hmm. Emily looked thoughtful as she pulled the dead leaves from the pot of the small tree. “That might be a good thing.

“Why?”

“She wouldn’t be confused if she knew what she wanted.”

“You mean him or me?’

“Yeah.”

He threw the slinky onto the rug, startling Emily’s silky dachshund, who got up and padded into the other room.

“I don’t like feeling helpless. What exactly can I do to make my case?”

“Be there for her, but don’t pressure her.”

“That’s what I’ve been doing.”

“How?”

“We’re running hills together Thursday nights. In her neighborhood.”

“That’s good. Hang out with her in her own neighborhood, listen carefully when she wants to talk, but don’t push on the personal front.”

“Got it.”

“When do you see her again?”

“Next Thursday.”

“Good. Do you know what she’s doing for Thanksgiving?”

“No.” He slammed his fist into the pillow by his side.

“Okay, so don’t jump to conclusions. She has a right to a private life.” His sister smiled and sat down, picking up the framed photo of Ariel as a baby that stood on the side table next to Jude. Ariel smiled beatifically, her tiny fists grasping her father’s shirt, holding on for dear life.

Jude growled.

“Did you know I was dating someone when Mike came into the picture?” As if on cue, Emily’s husband walked into the room looking for the paper.

“It’s in the garage. I put the papers in the recycle bin,” she told him. A minute later, to the sound of the kitchen door opening to the garage, she continued.

“It was a bit confusing.”

“So what made you decide to jump ship?”

“I felt more comfortable with Mike. I could be myself.”

Jude thought back to his friend Tom’s words—the comfort factor again. Apparently, it was key.

“So how long did it take you to figure things out?”

“Not long. Maybe a month or two.”

“Who was the other guy? Do I know him?”

Emily gave a kabuki-like smile. “The other guy is history. That’s all you need to know.”

“Okay, but was he a jerk?”

“No. He was just someone I wasn’t entirely myself around.”

“So why were you dating him?”

“It took Mike coming along to realize how much more comfortable I could be. When I spent time with him, I felt like he was introducing me to myself.”

“Huh. So who were you being with the other guy?”

“Someone I wasn’t.”

“It was someone from Oyster Bay, right? Jude knew the feeling all too well. It had hung over him his entire childhood. “Do I know him?”

“Unh—uh,” Emily shook her head slyly. “We’re not going there, bro. Over and done with. Let’s just say, you know what I’m talking about, don’t you?”

“You mean pretending to be one of the crowd, when we weren’t.”

“You got it.”

“I’m glad you met Mike and got out of that whole scene.”

“I’m glad you’re no longer in it, either.”

“Greenwich isn’t all that different.” Had he really progressed? He’d just hopped across Long Island Sound to another Oyster Bay-type town he didn’t quite belong in. He pounded the pillow again.

“Where’s Farrah from?” Emily asked.

“Riverdale. In the Bronx.”

“Does she make you feel comfortable?”

“Yes. Totally.”
Uncomfortable, too. In all the right ways.

“Good.”

“But what am I supposed to do in the meantime? Just sit around like some sort of putz waiting for her to get comfortable with me then dump the other guy?’

“No. You’re supposed to keep on doing exactly what you’re doing now. Running with her, focusing on things you can do as friends. Let her do the rest. She’s making up her mind right now.

“What if she makes a mistake?”

“She’ll probably make a few.”

Jude glowered.

“You’ve never made any, bro?”

He got up, whistling for Plato.

“I’m taking your damn dog out.”

The silky dachshund rushed into the room, ears cocked as Jude rattled the leash he’d picked up from the table behind the sofa.

“Take Ariel while you’re at it.”

The little girl ran into the room at the sound of her name.

“What are you doing, Uncle Jude?”

“Get your jacket on. We’re taking Plato for a walk.”

“Oh good. Let’s get some ice cream.”

Emily’s eyes met Jude’s over Ariel’s blonde head.

“Don’t worry, bro. It’ll work out.”

“So you say.”

“Just believe in yourself. And make her comfortable.”

He slammed the door behind him on the way out. Easy for a woman to say. But how was he supposed to put up with Farrah seeing another guy while he was hanging around like somebody’s chump change?

I
T WAS THE
day after Thanksgiving, and the weather was crystal clear. The brilliant, cloudless blue sky overhead was unusual for November. Farrah decided to go for a long run at Tod’s Point, Greenwich’s beachfront park that was only open to non-residents in the off season. She knew about it from running the Cook Your Buns race there the past June. It had been fun, and the scenery was breathtaking. That day it had been hazy, but she’d heard on a clear day you could see the Manhattan skyline from the shoreline near the Tod’s Point lighthouse. Pushing off from Will the evening before had given her an unexpected free day in which to see for herself. On her way up, she thought about Jude. He’d said he was going to his sister’s on Long Island for the weekend.

She couldn’t help it, she was curious to see where he lived. He’d told her he rented the pool house of a large house next to the high school when they’d had dinner at the Mexican restaurant the month before. Punching Greenwich High School into her GPS, she followed the instructions to the high school then drove slightly beyond until she came to the first private driveway. A gate across its entrance was closed, but she could see a large stone and clapboard house at the end of a long driveway. Pulling into the area in front of the gate, she got out and peered over the fence, wondering which of the various smaller buildings on the property might be the pool house. She couldn’t tell, so she turned to get back in the car. Two white mailboxes stood next to the gatepost. Something was taped to one of them. She went closer.

“November 26–December 27: Forward mail for Jude Farnsworth to Jude Farnsworth, c/o Marshall, 26 Indian Chase Road, Greenwich, CT 06830”

She didn’t remember him saying anything about moving during the holidays, but he’d been trying to follow her wishes to keep things impersonal on their Thursday runs together. Getting back into her car, she punched the new address into her GPS.

Within ten minutes, she was down closer to the water, on the coastal side of Bruce Park in central Greenwich. Turning onto Davis Avenue, she passed Mead Point Drive then turned left onto Indian Chase Road. Large, stately homes lined both sides of the quiet block, the ones on the right on shorefront property. Some of the houses had gates across their driveways with intercom boxes affixed to the gate posts. Others allowed access. Driving all the way to the end of the road, she finally found number twenty-six. The name “Marshall” was on the mailbox by the fencepost next to the open driveway. Underneath it was a strip of duct tape with “Farnesworth” handwritten on it in black magic marker.

She pulled over and peered down the driveway. No one was around. Thinking of an excuse, if someone came out, she decided she would say she got lost and was turning around. According to her GPS there were quite a few street names in Greenwich with “Indian” in them. Indian Field, Indian Harbor, Indian Chase.

The white clapboard and stone house was large, decorated with tasteful fir wreaths on each of its ground floor windows. It looked smug, stately, as she imagined its owners did. Why Jude was living there temporarily over the holidays? If she could just get comfortable relaxing her “don’t get too personal” rule, she was sure he’d tell her. He’d laugh if he knew what she was doing now. Not only was she getting personal, she was more or less spying on him. But he didn’t have to know that. She simply wanted to satisfy her desire to know more about him without asking him directly. She wasn’t ready to get his hopes up. Not with Will in the picture.

As she ruminated, two women came out of the house, both laughing. The taller one was carrying a large brown and black striped shopping bag that said Shoes and More. Her Louis Vuitton handbag was almost as large as the shopping bag. She opened the trunk of a dark blue Mercedes-Benz sedan and popped it in then went around to the driver’s side.

“See you tomorrow,” she called out as she opened the car door.

The wind coming off the Sound blew into Farrah’s face, carrying the women’s voices to her. She discreetly watched from behind the stone wall, praying it hid her from view.

“We should be there by seven. You’ll probably find us in the lounge where the game will be on.” The voice of the tiny woman at the door was silky, cultivated.

“What are you wearing?”

“Something naughty,” the tiny woman replied sassily.

The larger woman laughed. “Long or cocktail length?’

“Not sure yet. Something that’ll knock his eyeballs out.”

“I thought you said Jay won’t budge from the lounge.”

Jay? Who was Jay?

“He won’t. Especially if I’m in there.” The cheeky voice sounded eerily familiar. Farrah studied her carefully through her sunglasses. The tiny woman wore high-heeled boots with tight, dark-blue jeans tucked in. She’d seen that look before on a woman recently.

Suddenly, the woman in the parking lot at Leatherman’s Loop came back to her. Peering closer, she tried to make out the woman’s features.

“Can hardly wait. Bye.” The engine of the Mercedes started, and the car began circling out the driveway. Farrah took one final glance at the tiny woman in the doorway. Her face was as perfect and doll-like as it had been back at Leatherman’s Loop. The Eva Longoria lookalike’s voice sounded totally familiar. It was the voice of the woman on the phone who’d called Jude “Big Guy.” Apparently, she lived here—the same place where Jude was staying.

Was “Jay” someone’s name or had the woman meant “J” for Jude? She burned.

Quickly, she started the engine and pulled out onto the street, just in time to see the other car pass in the opposite direction. The woman driving it didn’t so much as turn her head.

Farrah circled around and followed behind her. At the end of the road, another car turned in and pulled up alongside the Mercedes. The female driver rolled down her window and greeted the woman in the Mercedes. Discreetly, Farrah rolled down her window to catch what they were saying, but this time the wind was against her. She couldn’t make out a word.

In a minute, the car windows rolled up again, and the Mercedes moved off, turning left onto Davis Avenue.

Farrah turned right and headed in the direction of Tod’s Point. She had a lot to digest on her run that afternoon.

“L
EAN INTO IT,”
Blanca yelled as she sped past Farrah on a downhill slope of the Pete McArdle cross country 15K in Van Cortlandt Park. The trail was treacherous, covered with leaves and crisscrossed with roots underneath on the cold, clear Sunday after Thanksgiving. Gingerly, Farrah felt her way down, pulling back from the pace she had set for herself. She could hear another runner coming up on her.

“Come on, girl. Catch me,” Blanca yelled out ahead.

Gritting her teeth, Farrah tentatively leaned forward as she made her way down the slope. Within two strides she pulled back, putting on the brakes. It just wasn’t in her to fly forward, throwing caution to the wind—not in a race, not in life. What if she tripped and sprained an ankle or broke it? How would she manage business trips if she couldn’t walk? She could lose her job. Or at least her chance to collect the special year-end bonus for top salesperson for the division. The Southeast territory would be awarded to Alison Keane, and Farrah would end up traveling less, but with less earning potential. Her heart leaped just thinking about it.