Chapter Six
Two years later... late May 2013
CPOV
The dark skies and the spattering of rain against the windows reflect my current mood. I am depressed, pissed off... mad at the world. School just let out for the year, and a third successful season of coaching at Montesano has come and gone. I have over two months of free time stretching out in front of me, and I don't know what the fuck I'm going to do with it.
I'm twenty-nine, but I feel forty-nine. And I'm pretty sure that my hair is starting to thin on top with all the tugging I've been doing. Natalie left an hour ago, and I'm sitting in the living room of our house - the house that we bought together - staring at the large map of the United States that's hanging above the couch. It's our 'marathon in all fifty states' map, with pins indicating the races we've run so far. Chicago... Detroit... Columbus... Seattle... Portland... San Francisco. It was once something fun, a mutual goal. But now it just highlights the path of our failing marriage.
We ran Seattle after we didn't pregnant on our own, Portland after the first failed round of IVF, San Francisco after the second. San Francisco was in July, so we stayed in the Bay Area for a week's vacation. We took in all the sights and tried to relax and reconnect. Two days after the marathon, we were walking down a steep sidewalk and I felt an ominous pop in my knee. And then it buckled, giving out beneath me. My ACL was shot and running - one of the fraying threads that was holding us together - was out.
I rub my fingers along the four-inch scar that spans the length of my knee. A surgical repair and months of rehab had me walking normally - at least on flat ground - by the time track season came this year.
Late last fall, we agreed to do IVF a third and final time. We had two remaining embryos, and by taking a mortgage out on the house, we were able to manage the cost. Third time's a charm, right? Well, it wasn't for us because we came up empty. Again.
Two months ago, Natalie started pushing for a fourth round, which meant a whole new egg retrieval. And selling one of our cars. And taking a loan from her parents. And I said no. I put my foot down. I tried to reason with her... that we should take the money from the car and her parents and put it toward an adoption. But she wanted to have the experience of being pregnant. She thought we wouldn't feel the same connection with an adopted child. Of all people, I should know that isn't true. My siblings and I are all adopted! But she wouldn't hear of it, wouldn't budge.
And so we were at an impasse. And the next thing I knew, she was taking a job with a firm in Seattle. It was a good career move and she was moving in with her parents temporarily. But when she left earlier today? She took all of her things... her clothes, her books, her grandmother's china. I don't think she's coming back, and I guess that means we're separated... probably headed for the big D. Divorce.
I'm about to run my hands through my much-abused hair again when I spot the corner of a book sticking out from under the couch. Natalie took her little side table where she always kept a book or twelve, leaving four circular indentations in the rug. I walk over and pull it out, seeing that it's one of Natalie's chick books, Wild by Cheryl Strayed. I start to toss it onto the couch, but the byline catches my eye: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail.
Sinking onto the couch, I thumb through the book and then start to read. Reading has always been Natalie's thing, not mine, but I cannot put it down. The rain continues to fall, and the day turns to evening as I read. Without even realizing it, I am making a mental list of what I'll need to hike the trail for a few days. Although the romance of being a thru hiker - hiking the entire length of the trail from Mexico to Canada - is appealing, it takes months to plan. Plus, I think a few days is all my knee can handle at this point.
After finishing the book, I fall asleep on the couch... too tired to get up, and relieved that I won't have to face our bed, one side of it empty and cold. I wake early and shower, dress quickly in jeans and a navy blue flannel shirt, pack an overnight bag with essentials, make a hotel reservation for two nights in Eugene, and head out. I feel a weight lift I lock the door behind me, and I breathe in the misty morning air, realizing how heavy the atmosphere inside the house had been.
After stopping at the REI in Olympia, where they were more than helpful in emptying my wallet, I load my new hiking gear into the back of my SUV. A lightweight pack, a one-person tent, a tiny camping stove, Nalgene bottles with water purification tablets, brand-new hiking boots... I'm telling myself that it'll be good therapy for my knee. That it will be nice to get away from it all, that I've always wanted to hike a section of the Pacific Crest Trail. That's what the rational part of my brain is thinking. The irrational part? It's thinking that the section I've chosen - Willamette Pass to Lolo pass - lies directly east of Eugene, home of the University of Oregon. And the Lady Ducks women's track team has their last home meet tomorrow.
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APOV
It's the last regular meet of my sophomore season, and I'm letting the excitement of the crowd and my teammates build inside my chest as I step on the track for the steeplechase. Women's track doesn't normally draw a huge crowd, but we have been slowing rising in the NCAA ranks, poised for a national championship. And we're having a stellar meet so far. Shaking out my limbs, stretching out my hamstrings one last time, I'm ready for the referee to call us to the line. And then I feel a sensation - like a buzzing - all up the right side of my body.
I look up, and there he is - Coach Grey. He's sitting high up in the stands, wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses, but I know it's him. I can feel that it's him. And as I take my position, I hear those familiar words in my head: Toes on the line... face forward... eyes on the prize... and GO!
I run one of the best races of my life... lungs burning, my body humming as I fly across the line and finish in first place. But after I catch my breath, look up to see him watching - expecting to see him cheering me on, his smile wide - he's gone.
I linger after the meet, sending my teammates off without me for our traditional post-race meal at our favorite Mexican restaurant. I'm hoping that he'd just changed seats, that he'll be waiting to talk to me... or more. My mind starts to reel through the possibilities. His wife cheated on him and left, and he's here to find you. He missed you so much, has been pining away for two long years...
Don't be stupid, Ana. I convince myself that I just imagined it, that he wasn't really there and head back to my dorm, flopping down onto one of the ugly OU green couches in the empty common room. I'm still in my uniform and feeling sweaty and gross, but I don't have the energy to go any farther. I throw one arm over my face and let out a loud groan.
"That bad, huh?" I hear a familiar chuckle from the far corner of the common room, and I bolt upright, nearly jumping out of my skin.
"Jose!" I squeal, "Omigod... I didn't see you there."
He flashes me a bright white smile, then gets up and moves from the dark corner where he'd been lurking. Okay, he was probably just chilling and playing on his phone, but still! He perches next to me on the couch, and his chocolate brown eyes rake over me. "You look like shit, mi amor."
Jose and I have been buddies since the beginning of last year, when we were both freshmen and scared shitless. We met at an orientation for student athletes as we're both here on scholarships - him for wrestling and me for track.
Jose is cute in that all-American yet sexily-Hispanic sort of way, and he has a perfect, compact wrestler's body. He's from Yakima, and he took the Washington state championship his senior year in high school.
I sigh. I really don't know what my problem is right now. Other than I'm feeling disappointed, tired, and wound up at the same time. "I thought I saw my coach - from high school? - in the stands. I must have imagined it, but now I feel all in a funk over it. And lately? It's like everything's been building up. Being the perfect student, the perfect athlete, the perfect daughter... it's like I'm wound tight and I'm gonna blow."
He quirks an eyebrow and his bright smile is back. "Oh baby, I can give you a release," he says and reaches for me, like he's gonna crawl his hand up my leg.
"Stop... Jose! Yuck. You know I don't have those kind of feelings for you. And I don't do the boyfriend thing. You know that."
He sits back, done teasing for now, and looks serious. "And why don't you?"
"Why don't I do the boyfriend thing? Because I'm fucked up. Because whenever someone tries to touch me, it makes my skin crawl."
"You don't like to be touched." Jose says, and then looks deep in thought, like he's trying to figure me out.
"Nope."
"And this is because..."
I shake my head. I can't go there. Not like this, sitting here on this ugly green couch in the common room.
Jose stands and holds out his hand. "Come."
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A/N: Uh oh... Thanks for reading. Sorry this chapter is a bit of a shorty, but I had to leave it here. Give me a review and I'll send you a teaser ;)
If you're looking for another great FSOG FanFic? Check out 'I Ran So Far Away' by Swimming the Same Deep Waters. She's a great writer and it's my favorite new story.