“Porter, I’m already home.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Present
“Hey-di-hey. Hi-di-ho. All you hearty winter runners ready to go?” Maureen rhymes, like she does every Wednesday evening, from atop Sally Bernstein’s commemorative bench. Even in the doldrums of January, Maureen can rally her runners.
“It’s colder than my mother-in-law’s embrace out here, Maureen! Let’s get going!” Eric yells through his cupped, gloved hands, and the crowd of diehards chuckles.
“Eric is not wrong,” Daphne leans in to inform me, icy frost dappling the tips of her braids. Turns out Eric went a whole different direction than new running clothes for his Christmas gift to his girlfriend. Santa brought Nicole a different kind of ice from the North Pole in the form of a carat and a surprise elopement on a beach in St. Barts. I was planted on Quinn’s couch on January 1 when the two lovebirds returned to Sacramento and threw a last-minute New Year’s Day party to celebrate.
“I met his mother-in-law at the party. It’s a miracle that frigid bitch raised such a warm daughter.” I don’t argue with Daphne; she knows frigid mothers.
“We’ll be on our way in just a minute, people, I promise. But before we head out of McKinley Park, our running club has a long-standing tradition of recognizing members who, sadly, are leaving us for one reason or another. Callie Kingman, come on up.”
“Sorry, Sally,” I say out loud before stepping on her memory to stand next to Maureen.
“Callie, you will always be part of our hearts”—Maureen points to her own, and the audience of twenty frozen statues plays Simon Says and does the same—“and our soles.” Everyone bends over to touch their shoes.
“Running is now a part of who you are, and so are we. We are going to miss you.” Maureen opens her arms for a big hug, and I fall right into her.
“It’s not too late to change your mind.” Chap jogs up, startling me in the dark of early evening with a statement that has only crossed my mind a few thousand times.
The day after I returned from New York, I signed the paperwork to turn my house over to the budding family of four. If they were taking my house with no contingencies, then the least I could do was agree to a fifteen-day close, particularly before the ten-year-old furnace blew, along with my resolve. I called Thomas to let him know the address of the storage unit with all our furniture in it and that John would have a copy of the key. Quinn’s apartment had everything we needed, and since Thomas was starting over in San Francisco, I figured the least I could leave him was our bed, without me in it.
“Have you ever been to New York, Chap?” I wonder out loud, realizing I have not asked him about his travels.
“No, ma’am. But maybe I should come visit you one day?”
“You should. You’d love running in Central Park.”
“Yeah. And maybe I could bring my uncle.”
“Maybe,” I chuckle, and squeeze Chap’s upper arm as we jog side by side one last time. Chap has not given up on getting his uncle and metogether. But tomorrow I am headed in another direction, on a plane with a one-way ticket east.
“Are you sure you want to go, Callie? You did say your bosses would allow you to work remotely,” Maureen chimes in.
It’s true, in our negotiations over my contract, in lieu of more money, Elizabeth and Leslie proposed the option for me to work remotely from Sacramento. I never asked, but I did wonder if Quinn had told them about Porter, our history, and that I now had a personal offer on the table as well as a professional one. I thanked them for their consideration, particularly since I knew they wanted all hands, as well as brains and bodies, in the office to launch their new endeavor. I had already shortchanged my journalism career once by being in California; I wasn’t going to do it again. Every minute I wasn’t sleeping or running, I would be in that office at 30 Rockefeller because I had a serious number of professional hours to make up for and I couldn’t wait to get started. I was going to be so present in our office, at journalism conferences, and on news junkets that I would make my way back onto Royce Williams’s birthday invite list if it was the last thing I accomplished before turning fifty-five.
“I thought for sure you’d stay,” Daphne interjects.
I know she did. Daphne has found where she flies professionally—nursing—but personally, she is still struggling to figure out that she is worth far more than she settles for in relationships. She can’t understand why I would choose work over love. And I don’t want to sour her on finding romance, but for over thirty years, I have let love lead my life choices. Now it’s time for me to try a different way, and maybe, one day, for me, Quinn, and Daphne, career and love can be compatible. I feel optimistic about our chances.
“You think you’ll join a running club in New York?” Maureen asks, ever the fan of community connection.
“I think so, though I’m going to switch it up and try a morning group. I think work will keep me at the office late, and we all know starting the day with fresh air is the way to go.”
Chap thumps his chest, throws his arms out wide, and runs in between and around the three of us like an airplane circling to land. “You think you can replace this?”
“Absolutely not,” I howl, and think back to the first day I met Chap, clueless as to who he was other than the first man since Thomas to make me take notice of the opposite sex.
“I’m going to be checking up on you, Callie.” Maureen points at me with as stern a voice as my perpetually positive friend can muster. “You’ve come a long way from your first run with us. You may think you’re a New Yorker, but I see a lot of California in you too. Don’t let the hustle and bustle wear away your smile. You’ve dug deep to get that back, so don’t go giving it away at the first sign of stress.”
“No one sayshustle and bustleanymore, Maureen.” Daphne elbows our fearless leader for her antiquated words.
“You all saved me, you know that,” I declare out loud. Tears of goodbye I didn’t expect now flood my eyes. It occurs to me that I must be in my best physical shape, because now I am able to run, talk,andcry all at the same time.
Maureen halts the four of us mid-sidewalk, a shock coming from the woman who, when doubled over in pain, will profess that “no one ever died from a cramp” and one has to “soldier on.”
