Page 13 of The Now in Forever
“Yep.” Ed holds upDragonsLove Tacosby Adam Rubin and begins to read. He does voices, makes faces, and the kids eat it up. Once the story is over, he grabs his guitar to the cheers of the children. The light coming from the window highlights the strong planes of his face as he tilts his head to look at his fingers. He turns the knobs this way and that then starts to play.
The chords are familiar, but I can’t place the song at first, until he gets to the line that gives it away.
“I don’t wanna grow up.”
The kids are dancing and hopping around. Ed stands and stompshis foot on the wood floors to the beat. It’s glorious, so amazing in fact, I realize I’ve been ignoring a customer trying to ask me a question.
“Sorry. What was that?”
I try to focus on the customer, on doing my job, but my eyes keep drifting to Ed. He catches my gaze and winks.
CHAPTER 3
SATURDAY, JUNE 22ND
It’s against my nature to sleep in. Even if I’m up until three a.m., my body still wakes me up promptly at six eleven. Why six eleven? Who knows? Because of the time difference, I am up this morning at five eleven, early even for me. I guess circadian rhythms don’t adjust for time zones.
Ed’s door is closed. I press my ear to the door, holding my breath as I listen to him breathing deeply. After I wash my face, I grab my neon blue running backpack. Of all the gear I’ve acquired since I started trail running a few years ago, this is by far my favorite. It has a bladder of water with one of those little hoses, a small pocket for a snack, and a side pocket where I can easily reach my pepper spray. Out in Montana, I carried it mostly for bears, but it’d work on a man too. It’s always best to err on the safe side as a woman running alone. I lace up my trail shoes, sling the backpack over one shoulder, and get in the car. Nathan said it wasn’t that far to the trailhead, but I want to save the miles for the trail itself.
The sky looks like a painting, a thin layer of clouds veiling the blue and gold beneath and a light mist hovering over the ocean. The sun is strong, though, and will probably burn through the haze soon enough.
With the GPS, I find the trailhead easily and pull into a gravel lot with a carved wooden sign saying Crescent Trail. I stretch a little andput my headphones on, the kind that sit over the ears so I can still hear my surroundings, and turn on my new audiobook,Darkslide.Ed’s second book.I bought it last night after dinner with Grandma and listened to it on the drive back. So far, it’s good but slow.
Pressing Play, I start my run—the dirt soft and springy under my feet, like running on clouds. The trees are massive, the morning sun peeking through them. I find a rhythm with my feet and breaths. Through the gaps in the trees, I catch glimpses of the ocean, waves rolling in. One thing I love about trail running is how much you can lose yourself in your surroundings. I never feel as close to nature as when I’m sweating through it.
The trail goes up, and I pump my arms to help my momentum. In the background, footfalls thud down the path. I stop. They’re getting louder. Probably just another person out for a morning run. But the other, less rational voice inside me pipes up.Or a serial killer out hunting.
As the footfalls get louder, the less rational voice wins out, and I duck behind a tree, pepper spray in hand. The sound stops right next to me on the other side.Oh shit.They know I’m here. They know I’m hiding.I’ll take them by surprise.I jump out, pepper spray at the ready.
Ed raises his hands and stumbles back. “It’s me.”
I lower the pepper spray. “What are you doing?”
“I was out for a run, and I saw you duck behind the tree. I was going to make sure you were okay but then thought you might be…um…indisposed.”
My mouth falls open. “You thought I was pooping!”
Ed laughs, holding up both hands in surrender. “I wasn’t sure. Things get moving sometimes when you run.”
“Ew. I’m aware, but also, ew. No, I was just…” Hiding—no, he doesn’t need to know my excessive true-crime-documentary watching has me worried about serial killers. “Nothing.”
He wipes his brow. “Want to run together?”
My heart leaps as my mind flashes to Ed and me traveling around New Haven, me on my bike, him on his board.
“Sure.” I try to turn off the audiobook without Ed seeing myphone. I don’t want him to know I’m reading his second book. Switching off my headphones instead of turning off the audiobook, it comes blaring out of my phone speaker at full blast. I fumble and eventually shut it down.
Ed’s smiling. “Those words sound familiar.”
I sigh. “I’m readingDarkslide.”
He’s beaming, but he quickly changes his face to a serious expression. “Ah.”
We run together up the trail, finding a pace that works for both of us.
“So,” Ed begins. “How many mysteries have you written?”
Six. Six unfinished novels, each with a piece of me that will never see the light of day. Maybe someday I’ll go back and write the last chapters. Only one was ever to a place I would call done. Still, I wouldn’t let myself type the words “The End.” There’s always room to improve, edit, polish. I shrug. “A few.”
