Page 118 of Waking Olivia

I laugh. “Of course I did.”

“Jesus,” he says, grinning at me. “You were even more evil than I realized.”

“You loved it.”

“I loved ittoomuch. Thinking about that kiss tortured me for weeks,” he says, lifting one foot gently and kissing the arch in a way that has me trying to stifle a moan and failing. “You like that?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say, my voice the tiniest bit breathy.

“Your feet are soft now,” he says, kissing the arch again. “Almost like girl feet.”

“These girl feet can still kick your ass in a race.”

His mouth moves to the top of my foot, to my ankle. “We both know that’s not true,” he says with a low laugh.

“You’re just dying to race me, aren’t you?”

“That wasn’t entirely what I had in mind.” He smiles lazily at me, asuggestivesmile, and my heart thumps once—hard. “I’m just saying that all the barefoot running in the world won’t make you as fast as me.”

I swing my legs off his lap. “That sounds like a challenge.” I stand and begin backing toward the door.

“I was just trying to get laid,” he says, but he jumps to his feet with that gleam in his eye, a tiny hint of wildness about to be set free.

“I think you need to earn it,” I reply, and with a whoop, I’m bolting out the door, past the parking lot and into the fields newly glazed by moonlight. I am running hard but it’s agoodhard, and I feel the entire world in my bones—not a horrifying one from a time gone by, but this one with the wind and the dry grass crackling beneath my feet like tiny fireworks. Here are the things I love: I love the smell of winter coming in, I love the burn in my muscles as I sprint across the field and the icy air whipping through my lungs. And I love the boy behind me, the one who’s closing in fast. I love him so much that I slow my pace, realizing that, for the first time in my life, I want to be caught.

Epilogue

After Olivia graduated, we left for Seattle, where she began to race long distance. She had enough endorsement deals to get by on while she trained, and got a part-time job as a nutritionist, using the degree she swore she didn’t care about.

I went back to work for the same guide company I was with before, but it wasn’t the same. A funny thing happened after I got everything I thought I wanted: I didn’t want it quite so much. I still loved climbing, but I’d grown to love other things so much more. There came a point when I could no longer stand the look on Olivia’s face when I left for an expedition, or the fact that no matter how hard I promised her I’d come back in one piece, neither of us entirely believed it.

But mostly, I gave it up because I missed her. Two months in Peru, the trip I’d dreamed of, was the longest two months of my life. I missed her first marathon win during that trip. So I moved on to other things, things that allow me to be where I am today, waiting at the rest station for her during the Western States Endurance Run, a 100-mile race she has a damn good chance of winning.

“How much longer, Daddy?”

Our son has asked me this no fewer than 100 times over the past hour. We are waiting at mile 70, and she’s been running for over 11 hours.

“Any minute now,” I tell him.

“That’s what you said last time,” he tells me reproachfully, reminding me a great deal of his mother.

“Should we go down to the bottom of the hill and run back up with her?”

He’s off like a shot.His mother’s son to the end.We jog to the bottom of the incline and wait, and despite her exhaustion, her face lights up when she sees us there.

“Mommy!” shouts Matthew, “you’re winning!”

She laughs, fatigue cutting the sound a little short. “There’s still 30 miles to go, baby. No one’s winning yet.”

“Daddy alreadytoldme you’re going to win,” he informs her, sounding a little put out.

She smiles at him. “Well, heisthe one with the fancy degree, so I guess he’d know.”

I thought I would miss climbing when I went to medical school, but I like what I do. And it certainly comes in handy when you have a wife who tries to run 100 miles at a time. I’m nearly done with my residency, but I have a feeling things will still be pretty busy even when it’s over.

When we get into the rest station, my mother brings the baby over, and Olivia holds her with that kind of awestruck look she tends to get sometimes when she’s watching the kids, as if she can’t quite believe she’s created them.

“How do you feel?” I ask, pulling off her shoes. Blisters, bad ones, are unavoidable in this race, and she has several.

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