Running from Love: A Story for Runners and Lovers (36 page)

“You don’t trust his friends? Or him?’ They hardly noticed the finish line, only yards away, as crowds cheered on the runners passing them, now in their final sprint.

“I—I don’t trust his lifestyle.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, he was living on some rich people’s estate then he moved to some other rich people’s place.”

“From what I hear, there are plenty of rich people in Greenwich with extra space.”

“I guess I wanted him to have his own space.”

“Do you know if that’s what he wanted too?”

“No. We never really talked about it.”

“So, let me ask you this. Are you like one of those fancy women who were sponsoring him for the charity race?’

“Not at all. I’m the total opposite.”

“Okay, but he came after you, not them, right?”

“Well, yeah.” The woman had a point.

“So that tells me he was already making a change.”

“Huh.” Hadn’t she spent the past few months making some changes herself?

“Maybe he was thinking about making changes in other areas, too.”

“What other areas?

“Like where he lives. His lifestyle. Maybe his job. I don’t know. But I think you should give him another chance.” The woman smiled at Farrah.

“What’s your name?” Farrah asked, moved by the woman’s concern.

“Lila.”

Her heart twinged to hear the simple, lovely syllables of her mother’s name spoken aloud.

“Lila, you’re an angel,” Farrah said, half to the woman and half to her mother’s spirit.

“You’re the angel. You helped me up when I was trying to beat you.”

“I’ve been there before. It’s good to be on the other end.”

“So go back to New York, find your Greenwich guy and give him a chance. Or at least tell him about stopping for me when I fell so he knows his good deed ended up causing another one. He changed you for the better. Can’t you give him a chance to change too?”

As the woman smiled at her, her mother’s voice whispered inside:
Get over it.

Get over yourself,
it whispered again. It would be her third resolution for the new year.

She smiled as Sean came over to greet her. Jude had no idea how much he’d influenced her. Maybe he deserved to know.

“M
ERRY
C
HRISTMAS
, U
NCLE
Jude!” Ariel’s voice sang out.

“Merry Christmas, Munchkin,” Jude swept his niece into his arms, making growling noises.

“Help!” shrieked the little girl, squirming and laughing as he spun her around. Finally, he set her down.

“So did Santa get you what you want?” she asked.

“Still waiting, Small Stuff.”

“I am
not
small. I’m almost nine.”

Jude’s sister’s eyes met his over Ariel’s head. “Still waiting, huh? This have anything to do with your friend from the Bronx?”‘

“She stopped talking to me.”

“Come on in, Bro. Merry Christmas.” Emily gave him a warm hug. Mike, behind her, followed suit.

In a minute they were in the family room, seated in front of a lively fire. Emily handed Jude an eggnog as he watched Ariel rip off the wrapping paper on the present he’d brought for her.

“You got me Trouble! I love Trouble,” she cried out, holding the game of Trouble aloft.

“Take mine then, okay?’ he wryly responded.

“Thanks, Uncle Jude!” Ariel ran to the dining room. “I’ll set it up now so we can play.”

“Let me talk to your uncle for a minute, sweetie,” Emily called after her. She turned back to Jude, her brows knitted. “What’s been happening?”

“Finishing up the book.”

“What’s next in the pipeline?’

“I want to get out from under Dan Perlstein and this whole ghostwriting baloney.”

“Be your own man?”

“Write my own book.”

“The one you’ve been talking about all these years?”

Jude nodded.

“‘On the Other Side,’ right?”

“Right.” She’d remembered the name of his sixth grade essay. The one for which he’d won an award.

“So here’s my advice. Find something to do that brings some money in but gives you time to write what you want to in your free time.”

“That rules out ghostwriting.”

“You just told me you’re sick of ghostwriting.”

“I am.”

“What about something else?”

“Like what?”

“How about teaching? Or tutoring?”

“Teaching is out. I don’t have a degree. But tutoring? That’s a thought.”

“You know how much money you can make tutoring kids in your neck of the woods?”

“It’s an idea,” Jude said slowly. Greenwich Tutoring Group was just on the other side of the Post Road from the high school, next to his place. One of his running buddies worked there and had joked about the astronomical sums Greenwich parents spent on getting their kids tutored. It was worth checking out in the new year, after he handed in
How to Marry Money.

“Okay, so we’ve got your next job figured out. Now, what about your love life?”

Jude hung his head.

“Come on. What happened to the girl from the Bronx?”

“She hasn’t returned any of my calls since before Thanksgiving.”

“What?” His sister’s eyes widened.

“She dropped out of sight.” Jude drew his hand across his throat. “Just like that.”

“She was seeing someone else, right?”

“She was. But I bumped into some of her friends the other day, and her girlfriend said it’s over.”

“So what are you waiting for?”

“I—I went down to her place and left some flowers.”

“Good move. Was she there?”

“No.”

“So call her.”

“She hasn’t returned any of my calls for weeks. I don’t want to seem like I’m stalking her.”

“Maybe that’s before she broke it off with him. Try calling now.” Jude’s sister was a woman of action. Growing up, he’d been lucky to have her around, checking his homework, taking care of him when he’d been sick.

“She’s in California with her family.”

“A cell phone call away.”

“I already tried on my way over.” He’d called her, hoping to leave a short, cheery Christmas greeting.

“What happened?”

“Her voice mailbox was full. I couldn’t even leave a message.” Ever since Leatherman’s Loop he’d felt like he couldn’t make a step in the right direction with Farrah.

“When the going gets tough, the tough get going.”

“So what do you suggest?”

“Hmmm.” Emily looked thoughtful for a moment. “Didn’t you say you were running together? Is there any race you can sign up for that she might be doing too?”

“Uh, well, she’s running the Midnight Run in Central Park on New Year’s Eve.”

“Good. So make sure you’re there and make it your business to find her. New Year’s Eve is a great time to restart whatever you had going.”

“I already thought of it. I’m signed up, and you can be sure I’ll be looking for her.”

“That’s not good enough,” Emily’s husband added.

Startled, Jude looked at Mike, usually a man of few words. “What do you mean?’ he asked.

“You gotta have a plan.”

“I do have a plan. I just told you what it was.”

“That’s not going to cut it. You’ve got to do something when you see her that shows you were thinking about her.” One of Mike’s eyebrows shot up as he looked at Jude.

“You mean, bring a gift or something?” It was hard to race with a box of chocolates in hand. And she probably wouldn’t agree to go back to his car with him given the race took place close to midnight, and the fact that they hadn’t spoken in a month.

“Do something that shows her you did some advance planning.”

Jude cocked his head at his brother-in-law. Maybe he had something. But what, specifically?

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know what I mean. All I know is the ladies like signs of advance planning.”

Emily smiled at her husband then reached out and fluffed his hair.

Apparently they did, Jude thought, as he watched the unspoken current of affection between his sister and brother-in-law. Would a similar current ever play like that between Farrah and himself? He’d found his feather. But she’d blown away. He’d do whatever he could to get her back.

“Go play Trouble with Ariel,” his sister said to Jude. “Maybe you’ll have a brainstorm.”

“All I’ve had is trouble lately,” he grumbled, getting up.

“Then that means you’re due for some good luck,” she responded.

At her encouraging tone, his heart lifted. When he’d been down, she’d been there to pick him up throughout his childhood. He’d be lucky one day to have a woman like her in his life. He prayed Farrah still was.

As he walked into the dining room to join his niece, the words from the last fortune cookie he’d broken open came to him. “Thorough preparation makes its own luck.” He’d heed both Mike’s advice and Emily’s encouragement. A plan would come to mind. He’d make sure it did.

T
HE MUSCULAR GAIT
of the runner ahead looked familiar. She stepped up her pace to read the words printed on the white T-shirt stretched across his broad back. As she pulled closer, the white block letters came into focus. “Stay Playful,” they read. She smiled. It was a good concept. Refreshingly, it wasn’t advertising a company—just the philosophy of its wearer. Reading it made her feel lighter on her feet.

Ending things with Will made her feel lighter yet. In the waning hours of the old year, she’d thoroughly cleaned house. Her heart buoyant, she was ready for what the new year would bring. There was no better feeling than taking charge of her own life, the way she’d done over the past few weeks. Two days after returning from California, she’d posted her completed job application for a teaching position for Lehman High School’s Honors program. It was back in the public school arena, but it would be a position teaching some of the Bronx’s brightest students. Whatever happened, she’d stepped out in the right direction for herself.

“Go Farrah!” a voice encouraged from the side of the road.

“Thanks!” she called back cheerfully. She was wearing the sweatshirt her brother had given her for Christmas with “Go Farrah” printed on it. It was the first time she’d worn it in a race, and it felt good to hear people cheer for her personally. She’d made three new year’s resolutions. One was to open her heart again. Now that she’d finally achieved closure with Will, she was ready. The second was to run her third New York City marathon. This time, she’d carve out the time to train, even if it meant cutting back on business trips. She looked forward to less travel. It would give her more time to prepare to return to teaching.

‘Stay Playful’ had looked back to see who was behind him. That one unnecessary movement would cost him valuable seconds. Why had he done that? They were barely one mile into the four-mile midnight run in the park. Runners didn’t typically look round to spot the competition until the final half mile, when they needed to judge when to begin their final sprint.

The runner ahead turned again, his profile visible for a split second in the light of the streetlamp. It’s clean strong lines were achingly familiar.

Jude.

Her heart froze. Suddenly, “Stay Playful” felt like a warning for her personally: Stay away. Not your type. Her blood boiled as she mentally corrected his T-shirt slogan. “Stay a Player” was more like it.

“Farrah!” he shouted, his face lighting up at the sight of her. “I hoped you’d be here.” He loped back to her. As his well-cut features came into view, electricity pulsed through her. She told herself it was irritation. It wasn’t.

“Go on. Don’t mess up your time,” she called to him.

“Who cares about my race time? Did you see me up ahead?

“I read your shirt. Nice slogan.” She’d play it cool.

“It’s my new year’s resolution.”

“I like it,” she said, before remembering her third new year’s resolution. Inside, a fire flamed. She told herself it was anger. It wasn’t. Despite her misgivings, it was so good to see him again.

“So what’s your resolution this year?’ Jude asked, matching his pace to hers.

“To stay away from men with complications,” She was paraphrasing, but “get over it” was along that line.

“Ouch.” He looked vulnerable. “You think I’m one?”

She didn’t want to hurt him, but he needed to know what had gone wrong between them. She wouldn’t leave another soul clueless and grasping for answers the way Will had left her. On behalf of other women he might one day date, she’d give Jude the opportunity to learn from his mistakes with her.

“You lead a complicated life,” she said.

“Not really. Okay, sort of—but I don’t want it to be.”

Her own life had been more complicated than she’d wanted it to be over the past few months. How could she fault him?

“Writing a book called
How to Marry Money
can lead to complications,” she snapped.

“The title wasn’t my idea. It was my boss’s.”

“It’s pathetic.” Farrah sped up, the tiger in her flexing it’s claws.

“You’re right, it is. It’s also done. I handed it in today.”

“Congrats. And are you working on it?’ “On what?”

“On how to marry money?”

“Nope. I’m working on another project.”

“Let me guess. How to pursue one woman while you’re living with another?” Why did her temper always get in the way when she was trying to come off as cool, calm and collected? Once a Queens girl, now a Bronx girl: Whatever she was, she would never be a Gold Coast type.

“What are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“Not really. But I’ve got a new year’s resolution for you,” he said, ignoring her question.

“Yeah, what’s that?”

“Get over it.” He sped up, leaving her behind in the dust.

How had he known ‘get over it’ was her third resolution for the new year??

She took off after him. This time, her accelerator worked. After the last six weeks of steady training, fueled by a burning desire to figure out what she really wanted, both personally and professionally, she’d worked out like a maniac.

The letters ‘Stay Playful’ came into focus again, taunting her until she passed him on the left, shoulder to shoulder.

“Get over what?” she yelled.