Page 12 of Good and Gone

“Fine,” he says resolutely. “I’ll cancel the appointment.”

“Thank God.”

“But if you start keeping me up all night again—”

“Actually,” I say, striding over to where he stands at the sink, “I was sort of planning on it.”

“You think we can finish what we started this morning?”

“Cancel that appointment and I’ll do whatever you want.” I slip my arms around him. “I can’t imagine sitting through another hour with that woman.”

“Great,” he says, stepping away. He hands me a plate and ushers me over to the table. “Now, eat before the kids break out of their restraints.”

I smile. “You mean before their devices die.”

“Same difference.”

“Are you mad?” I ask, dropping my fork a little harder than I intended. I hear the clank of the fork hitting the floor beneath the table and suddenly all is quiet. “About the appointment, I mean. You seem mad.”

“I’m not mad. I’m disappointed.”

“Well,” I tell him with a scoff, “I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

“You just had a long day. Tomorrow will be better.”

7

Hailey

Iwake before dawn and slip out of bed, careful not to wake Tyler. I missed my run yesterday, choosing to sleep instead of sticking to my routine, and I swear that one decision led to a whole cascade of unpleasant effects. Today will be different. I will start off on the right foot, first by keeping my word to myself.

I slip on a pair of running shorts and a tank top, shivering when the fabric brushes my bare legs. I try not to make any noise that might wake Tyler or the kids, tiptoeing down the stairs, careful to avoid the fourth tread from the bottom, which creaks.

The house is quiet and dark. It’s my favorite time of the day. As I pass through the dining room, I see the curtains are open just a hair. Outside, the sky is dark gray, the moon a white sliver peeking through the clouds.

I let myself out the back door, thanking God for the coolness in the air. My feet hit pavement, and I take off running as soon as I’m through the gate.

The streets are deserted this early in the morning, which is not unusual. It’s quiet enough that I can hear leaves rustling in trees on either side of me. I look up at them and smile at their tenacious hold on life during autumn.

I run until I am out of breath, two miles out toward the lake, which is where I turn and start back. Soon, dawn will break over the horizon. I love the feeling of having to hurry before the world wakes, of having this moment all to myself.

I feel the sweat beading on my forehead and down my back as I round the corner, passing the park. Just a little further. The familiar runner’s high kicks in, so I push myself harder, jogging toward home.

It’s near the park that I first hear footsteps on the pavement behind me. They’re coming fast, so I pick up the pace, but so do they.

My lungs heave; the sweat drips into my eyes. My limbs burn and tingle. I’m tempted to stop, but I’m coming up on our street. If I can make it there, I can slow down. If I can slow down, I’ll be able to see who is behind me.

My heart pounds like a drumbeat in my ears, my arms pumping furiously in front of me, as though they have minds of their own. My lungs burn. My breath comes harder and harder and in shorter spurts, until finally I can’t get any air into my lungs. I am crushed by the weight in my chest and the feeling of suffocation. This forces me to slow to a steady jog.

I look around for signs of anyone else being awake this early, but see none. Our subdivision is quiet. It’s always quiet. We moved to this community for that very reason. The houses are dark and set apart, so it is difficult for me to determine whether anyone will hear me if I were to scream for help. But one thing is certain: the pounding footsteps are getting louder.

As I round the corner, my jog morphs to a power walk. I need to be able to look behind me without tripping. When I turn, no one is there. The streetlights cast a yellowish glow, but like the houses, there’s plenty of space between them, so it's still pretty dark.

There's enough light that I could see if someone was directly behind me, but not if they were beyond about three feet. It’s probably an animal, I tell myself. Tyler hates it when I run at this hour on account of that. He’s always warning me about coyotes or loose dogs, or rabid opossums…whatever he thinks might scare me most.

My heart pounds, feeling like it might burst from my chest. The pressure is so strong that I am gasping for breath. The pain sears through me, and I begin to panic. Now I’m more concerned about a heart attack than anything else. But that feeling doesn’t last long, because there is a rustling behind me in the bushes.

“Something wrong?” a man's voice asks.

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