Page 22 of Dear Henry, Love Edith
Edith slowed, not sure whether to keep running or stop and say hi. What was the proper etiquette in a cemetery? She thought about Brian and the few times she’d visited his grave. And yeah, she had always preferred to be left alone.
Except Paul Newman was walking toward her, staring straight at her in the rain that had slowed to a soft pitter-patter. His button-down shirt rolled up to the elbows drippedwith water, and his dark jeans looked heavy with the weight of the rain. He wore a pair of brown work boots. Edith bet his feet were nice and dry at least. More than she could say for her own.
Rain drizzled down the sides of his face into his shirt collar. “Hey,” he said, coming to a stop a few feet away from her.
“Hey.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked her over from head to toe. “You look good. You do something different with your hair?”
Edith blew out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding and smiled, wringing out her ponytail again. “Tried a new conditioner. I wasn’t sure if anybody would notice.”
The corners of his lips tipped in a small smile. Up close, his blue eyes were rimmed in red. She glanced past him to the graves. She really shouldn’t intrude. “Sorry to—”
“So you’re a runner?” he said, dropping his gaze down the length of her.
“Kind of. Not like I used to be. I used to run marathons. Now I just...” She looked down at the trails of muddy water snaking down her legs, dripping into her grimy socks. She didn’t even want to think about what her face looked like.
“Train for mud runs in cemeteries?”
“It’s a special niche in the running community. Hasn’t quite taken off yet.”
“I’m sure it’s just a matter of time.” Paul’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. Edith bounced another look off the grave he’d been standing over. He twisted, following her gaze.
“My parents,” he said, turning back to face her.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“No intrusion.” The rain might have stopped completely, but Edith couldn’t tell when a gust of wind blew raindrops from the surrounding trees down on them. Edith shivered. Paul swiped a palm across his face. “So tell me, Liddell, what else do you do, besides run? We didn’t really get the chance to finish our conversation the other morning.”
“Liddell?”
“Oh, come on.” Paul’s shoulders sagged with exaggerated disappointment. “You can’t call yourself a runner and not know who Eric Liddell is.”
“Technically, all I said was I used to run.”
Paul groaned. “I’m disappointed in you.” He lifted his arms and began mimicking slow-motion running while singingda-da-da-da-dun-dunin a very off-key tune. So off-key it took Edith a moment to recognize the song.
“Chariots of Fire.”
“Chariots of Fire,” Paul said. “Eric Liddell.”
“I remember now. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen it. You can stop making that motion now. You can definitely stop singing. I remember.”
He sang louder.“Da-da-da-da-DUN-da-DUN-da-DUN...”
“I said I remember.”
“Da-da-da-da—”
“You’re just making noise now.”
“Dooby-dooby-doo.”
“Lord, have mercy.”
He stopped singing, but his smile reached all the way to his eyes now. And Edith felt fairly certain hers reached to the top of her head. Which was why she should get movingagain. Before they started sharing more than a smile. Before they started sharing real names. Phone numbers. Free evenings. Their hearts.
“Well...” Edith looked at her wrist. She really needed to invest in a watch someday. “I should finish up my run. Nice bumping into you.”
