Page 75 of Perfect Mess

Gary’s eyes drifted back down to my green bib. “You know, I bet they would let you switch over to purple. That is, if you wanted to switch.”

Over Gary’s shoulder, I could see the volunteers setting up the ice cream sundae station. In the distance, misting stations released a cooling mist of water vapor into the breeze.

“You can run with Kyle and me,” said Gary.

It was a tempting offer, I had to admit. And not just because of the ice cream. It made absolutely no sense, but a tiny little voice in the deepest, darkest recesses of my subconscious brain told me Gary was the better choice. The safer choice. The right choice. Even though Gary had almost gotten me killed multiple times.

But just as I was about to take Gary up on his offer, I glimpsed Jack leaving the sponsors tent, heading toward the green banner flapping on the horizon. He wore his green racing bib like a sponsor’s badge on a race car.

Another megaphoned voice rang out, “All runners report to your designated starting areas. The races are about to begin.”

“Mary?” Gary waited for my decision.

I told the tiny voice to keep its mouth shut. “I think I’ll stick with green,” I said. Gary may have been the safe choice, the easy choice, but too much was at stake. I couldn’t afford to take the safe and easy route. I had a job to do, no matter how hard or how difficult. It was too late to turn back now. Besides, no risk, no reward, right?

Gary smiled, but it was a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He said, “Okay. Good luck then.”

“Yeah. You too.”

He turned to leave.

“Gary. Wait.”

He stopped. Turned.

“Maybe I’ll see you after?”

“Maybe.” The smile still didn’t reach his eyes. And now it wasn’t on his mouth either.

ChapterSeventeen

Imade my way through the crowd of runners, submersing myself in the current of green bibs flowing toward the green banner. I spotted Jack near the starting line and snaked my way toward him.

“Mary!” Jack’s eyes did a double take when he saw me wearing the green bib. “I didn’t realize you were so hard core.”

“My core is always hard,” I replied. I wasn’t sure what exactly that was supposed to mean, and based on his confused expression, I don’t think Jack did either. Before he could put too much thought into it, I said, “Although it has been awhile since I ran a 5k.”Awhile, as in never.

Jack frowned. “The Family Fun Run is the 5k. Us green bibs are doing the fifteen.”

“Fifteen?”

“Fifteen,” Jack nodded.

“Fifteen, what exactly?” I asked, once again expecting an answer I would not like.

“Fifteen K,” Jack explained. For a moment, I held onto a sliver of hope that the “K” in this nightmare scenario stood for “Kahula” shots. Or Krispy Kreme donuts. Alas, it did not stand for either.

I took a deep breath, trying to maintain my slipping grasp on my sanity. “And remind me again how many miles that is?”

“Nine point three two,” Jack said, a bit too enthusiastically for my taste.

“Nine miles?”

“Nine point three two.” Jack must have seen the look of terror on my face because he waved his hand in the air as if running nine point three two miles was the equivalent of a leisurely stroll through the park.

Without even attempting to be subtle, Jack looked me up, down, and all over. I could have sworn his eyes even paused on my spandex wrapped hips. “Somebody in as good a shape as you are, it’ll be a piece of cake.” I would have given my left ovary for a chance to sit down and eat a piece of cake at that moment, instead of running nine miles.Whoops, sorry, nine point three two.

When I was a kid, my dad would take me to one of those fancy art house movie theaters, the Enzian, off Highway 17-92. It was the kind of place that hosted Avant Garde festivals and showed documentaries about foreign directors, and you could have a glass of Chardonnay while watching movies with subtitles.

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