Page 37 of Free to Judge
Grace’s concerned gaze fixes on me. “Is everything okay?”
“Absolutely,” I force a laugh. “I just have a mountain of work to do. You know how the office can be—chaos should be the next tattoo we get.”
Her smile blooms. “Especially during wedding season.”
“When is it not wedding season?” I retort, and soon we’re laughing together—a small moment of levity amid the turmoil.
For the next hour, I offer unfiltered opinions on every outfit, critiquing each choice. But as the laughter subsides, a heavier urge claims me. I need to escape this overwhelming storm.
Unknown:
Today was a lot.
You okay?
My fingers hesitate. I want to ask who this is, but in my heart of hearts, I already know the answer. I consider the many ways I could respond to his unexpected care and concern, but then my brain kicks in and I realize the danger he just placed himself in if I do.
So, I don’t.
It’s better for his safety if I put Declan out of my mind. As for me, the only way I can do that is to run.
Even if I have little hope of that working.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I hadn’t plannedon joining the Brave Steps Forward running group tonight. One minute, I was reading Declan’s text and the next, I had to leave. Driven by a wild necessity—haunted by echoes of words, both verbal and written. One pervasive thought is on repeat over and over as each footfall lands and my legs churn while I lead the pack of runners on a heavily wooded trail.
Declan.
Declan.
Declan
My lungs burn as my footfalls synchronize with those of the other runners who are seeking to find their new narrative amid the chaos of their former lives. As powerful and hopeful as its name, it’s a way to combine my love of running plus my legal expertise in helping survivors of domestic abuse move forward with new lives.
Donating money is easy for people. But what I’ve learned through my work with the organization is people carry trauma differently. Some get on with it, lying with every word that falls from their mouths. Others fracture, unable to make space for the pain. Our mission isn’t to typecast anyone. All we ask is you take a step forward to try to live in spite of it.
The steady pounding of feet against the ground gives me something to focus on instead of the way Declan consumes my senses more than my breath. Even as sweat dampens my forehead and stings my eyes, I feel the tension I’ve endured since this morning slowly dissipate as I realize our nighttime running group that we’d been lucky to have half a dozen just a few years ago, is now more than forty strong tonight.
If it weren’t for two broken parents who realized they needed each other to heal, I’d never have thought to create an escape for others who just might need someone—even if it’s a stranger who will encourage them to go one more mile. Take one extra breath.
After all, the next thing could be the biggest challenge of your life.
Picking up my pace, I recall fondly how it was my mother who encouraged us to embrace running. My earliest memories include when she bribed my father to join our first 5K, clad in a bright pink tutu. Crazy as it was, that little bit of encouragement got my sisters and me away from screens and into a world of endorphin-fueled escapism. That long ago race—an Amaryllis Event, naturally—ignited a passion that soon ruled every spare moment of my life.
Mama extolled the virtues of running, claiming it was her first love—well before my father. I remember, in my early teens, asking her how she got started. With a tender kiss on my forehead, she would murmur, “Someday, I’ll explain. Just know this.”
“What’s that, Mama?”
“True love is precious. It’s a gift beyond any other. Like love, running isn’t solitary or cowardly. Sometimes, it’s the only way to get clarity and perspective. It allows you the time and grace to salvage parts of yourself that could be damaged otherwise. Just don’t run without someone knowing where you’re going,” she advised me wisely.
Which is the exact reason I sent my cousin a voice text after I’d left the house to meet the running group.
Kalie:
Out for a run
Grace:
