Page 5 of Past Tents

“Younger than you.”

“By a month.”

Back in high school, I’d been the odd combination of long-distance runner during the fall cross-country season and short-distance hurdler during the spring track season. It didn’t make sense to my coaches. By all accounts, I should have run the mile or the two-mile races. But the hurdles called to me, and I learned how to get over them in quick, neat bursts of energy.

Even now, coming out to the track sent a ripple of adrenaline through my veins, as though someone was hiding with a starting gun and I just might have to sprint. At thirty-six, I didn’t want to believe that anything had changed. Didn’t want to admit thatI might not be able to keep up with my old pace or, worse still, that I might not get over a hurdle without catching an edge and knocking it down. Better to stay in the outer lanes.

“Damn wind,” I grumbled at the gust that kicked up when we rounded the curve and started down the back straightaway. My runners would complain for the entirety of practice that the wind was responsible for their slower times. Any chance to beg for forgiveness. What they didn’t understand was that I knew the wind was a hindrance, but I liked giving them a little obstacle. It made for a better workout.

“A little headwind never hurt anyone.” Jefferson knew how I thought about these things. “Gives you something to work against.”

“Exactly. How long are you staying?” I could hear voices of students crossing the grass field, which meant I might not get a full two miles in. Depended on how long it took them to change clothes. I picked up my pace a tiny bit. Jefferson kept stride.

“I’ll probably run three. Can’t do more than a dozen or so laps without getting batty from running in circles.”

“It’s an ellipse, not a circle.”

“Great.”

I ran beside him in silence. We’d known each other for long enough that we didn’t always need to talk in order to communicate. I didn’t have many friendships like that. Actually, I only had one.

“So I heard a rumor.” His words came in ragged breaths as he ran, our pace faster now than either one of us would have liked.

“Explain,” I huffed. One-word answers were better.

“About your grandmother.”

“Yeah?” That was odd, given that she’d died seven years ago, but Jefferson was like a bloodhound when gossip was afoot.

We rounded the curve, and with the wind at our backs, started running even faster. We were still shy of an all-out sprint, but I was sucking wind. So was he. But being just as stubborn a son of a bitch as me, he wasn’t about to tell me to slow down.

“Could be nothing,” he panted.

“Yet you’re here.”

“To run.”

“So run.”

For a full lap, neither of us said anything, our mutual pulling in air and exhaling substituting for conversation.

Eventually, curiosity got the better of me and I gave Jefferson a nudge. I’d regained control of my breath enough to talk. “Let’s hear it.”

He cocked his head, and I got only a bit more than a side-eye, but it was enough for me to see the discomfort. He wanted to tell me something, but he also didn’t want to tell me.

“Out with it,” I insisted. Not knowing was making it worse.

“Heard a new rumor about why Principal Pindich left that law firm in Knoxville.”

Rumors had been flying about the principal since he took over the job after Kip Sylvester. We’d all figured the new guy couldn’t possibly be worse than Kip, but those two were cut from the same cloth. Principal Pindich was just as vindictive as Kip, buthe managed to come off like a smooth, polished gentleman whenever it mattered.

“Hart Law.” I knew the place. They’d handled my grandmother’s affairs before she died.

There were always rumors about Pindich, and he only fanned their flames, saying things like, “When I was at the law firm...” or “You know, I worked at a law firm...” But Pindich wasn’t licensed to practice law in the state of Tennessee. Apparently, he’d finished law school and never taken the bar. Never worked in the field again after leaving Hart Law. Moved to Green Valley.

“Yeah.”

“Fired for being a douchebag, probably.”

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