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.But maybe that wasn’t her intent at all.He told himself not to make assumptions.The Woodlake High School track was filling up with walkers, some carrying pink banners.Many wore casual street clothes and sneakers, but most were dressed in running outfits.A lot of the women sported matching nylon pants and jackets.As far as Nick was concerned, none looked as athletically slim as Peggy did.“As cochair, it might look bad if I sit down now,” he said.“But that doesn’t mean you can’t take a break.”Peggy nodded.“Tell me again—how many laps are in a set?”“Four.Each set confirms a pledge.”“And how many have we done?”“Sets? Or laps?”“Sets, silly.”Nick wished he didn’t blush so easily.Her “silly” was an endearment, a caress.“Well, together, we’ve done three-quarters of one.But I walked three sets before you got here.” He hoped that didn’t sound like he was annoyed.She had been more than an hour late, but he hadn’t been irritated so much as.expectant? “I committed to five, so I had to get here early,” he said quickly.“I got someone to handle cleanup so we can leave when I finish.” Nick bit his lip.My god, I’m acting like I run Exxon.“We could grab a bite somewhere.Maybe the Filling Station.”“You like the Filling Station?” Peggy asked.Had his choice of diners said something about him? He and Marilyn used to go to the Filling Station frequently.They switched to the Parthenon when the Filling Station’s Greek omelets started getting too runny and too stingy with the black olives.Marilyn had to have her Greek omelets.Nick hadn’t been to the Parthenon since the last time he and Marilyn ate there.He had no plans to return and wasn’t about to suggest it as an alternative.“Anywhere works for me,” he said.“I just figured that since we’d be wearing our running stuff, we probably wouldn’t want any place too fancy.”“Then the Filling Station is perfect.”Peggy waved at someone on the side of the track.Nick saw Peter Jackson, standing next to the “Walk for a Cure” banner, wave back.“You know him?” Nick asked, immediately regretting the question.Obviously, she knew him.“My ex and I were friends with him and his ex,” Peggy answered.“She moved away with her new husband.Pete’s still a friend.”A friend, she had said, as in No big deal.And it wasn’t, as far as Nick was concerned.After all, he had plenty of friends who were women.Well, he could have plenty of female friends, if he put his mind to it.“Why don’t we do one more lap together before I take a break,” Peggy suggested.Something about the way she said “together” made the other walkers disappear for a moment.A cool breeze ruffled through his T-shirt.“Sure,” he said.Peggy removed a pair of sunglasses from her pocket.“Getting too bright out here.” She adjusted her baseball cap and tugged gently on the blond ponytail that stuck out of the opening in back.Nick wondered how such simple actions could look so.feminine.She unzipped her running jacket.Underneath, she was wearing a pink tennis shirt.Marilyn had not been a tennis player.Her sports were running and swimming.They had, in fact, met at a Bowling Green State University swim meet.Nick was covering it for the BG News, the campus newspaper.The women had just won a division title and Nick needed a quote from the team’s captain.Marilyn answered all his questions without making him feel like a nerd, and Nick would forever remember being distracted by the smell of chlorine in her hair, her slightly bloodshot eyes, the closeness of her near-naked body, and most of all the reddish brown freckles that, sprinkled lightly across her forehead and cheekbones, formed a snowy pattern that forced your eyes down her neck to the rounded smoothness of her shoulders and the soft valley formed by the ridges of her collarbone.He ended the interview by asking her out.She declined.But he had been a persistent nerd, and eventually he would spend countless hours running his fingers over her skin, over the freckles he was not allowed to call “cute,” marveling at the patterns, exploring the places they led him.“So, how did you get involved in the charity? Son or daughter?” Peggy asked.Nick frowned.Was she asking if he’d lost a son or daughter?“My son picked this charity for his community project,” Peggy continued before he could respond.“Bobby Gallagher? On the lacrosse team? Maybe your son or daughter knows him.”“Oh, I see.Actually, I don’t have any kids.We just never.” Answer the question, idiot.“I actually got involved in this through my wife.”“You mean your ex-wife, unless you were at the Suddenly Single meeting under false pretenses, naughty boy.” She chuckled.Nick felt a drop of sweat run down his back.“Actually, not my ex-wife.My wife.She, um.Well, we got involved in this when she was diagnosed.”“Oh my god.” Peggy leaned forward and placed her hand just below her throat, as if the surprise had knocked the breath out of her.“I am so sorry! Here I assumed you were like everyone else around here—divorced, and glad of it.”Nick laughed.“No, no,” he said.“We’d been married for fifteen years.Hardly ever fought.But when we did, we made up quickly.Always followed that saying about never going to bed—”Nick stopped.He was speaking about Marilyn to another woman [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]