June darted her gaze toward me then faced forward again and continued at her steady pace. Her breaths were even, effortless. She looked as fresh as if she had just begun jogging now.
“Can you talk?” I asked.
“Since I turned two years old.”
“Can wereallytalk?”
“I’m busy.”
“I can see that, but you can handle running and talking. You don’t even break a sweat, do you?”
“I don’t like sweating,” she replied without looking at me.
“June.”
She shifted her head to look at me.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” She looked away again.
“That’s all you got?”
She gave me a pointed look.
“If it helps, I’m sorry about what I said this morning. I didn’t mean it.”
“Yes, you did. And it’s okay; I meant it all, too,” she said, her gaze focused on the beach that stretched ahead.
“Did you?” I asked.
It took her a moment, but then she turned to look at me resolutely. “Yes. We didn’t choose each other. Now, if you don’t mind, I want to jog alone. It’s enough I have you in my house, in my shop; I don’t need you here, too.”
“Yourchoice.” I slowed my pace until I halted entirely, leaving her to open a distance between us.
I bent and put my hands on my knees, inhaling deeply. A mix of lack of oxygen and rage.
If she wanted the beach to herself, she could have it, but I’d had it with her. She was going to talk to me tonight, one way or another.
23
June
Deep breaths.
You’ve got this.
Everything will be all right.
Next week, you’ll have your life back. Hundred percent.
Ninety-nine percent.
It’s an eighty-twenty pareto.
Soon. Soon, you’ll have your life as you know it back.
Just go in there, take a shower, go to bed. Forget about the ice cream, forget about getting sick, forget about Angelo. You had a little slip or two. That’s all. No need to make a big deal out of this.
