Claire widened her eyes, uncomfortable with anything that even hinted at crude language. She did brighten at my compliment though, which was completely true. In the two years since her type 2 diabetes diagnosis, Claire had transformed from an overweight spectator to a rather impressive athlete with an ever-expanding nutritional knowledge base.
“I’ve been thinking about starting something…maybe.” She smiled at me. “I could definitely make a better juice.”
“And I will definitely watch you drink it.”
“So,” Claire said after I chained my bike, suddenly very interested in a rock by her foot. She nodded toward the end of the parking lot where a forest green Jetta was idling, its driver fast asleep behind the wheel.
Sean.
Unlike Claire and me, this was the end of his day, not the beginning. He came to the track straight from his summer job—the night shift working security at his dad’s construction site—so someone usually had to wake him. I kept waiting for the morning when the simple question “Do you want to get him today, or should I?” wouldn’t swirl misery through my gut.
We’d been running together for five straight weeks, and I still didn’t know why Sean had agreed to run with us when Claire told him she wanted to go out for cross-country. There were days when I barely knew why I did.
Actually, that wasn’t true. I knew exactly why.
Sean had been sitting on my front porch the morning after my mother left, eyes as bloodshot as mine, waiting for me before I left for school. I hadn’t been surprised to find him there. He’d been calling and texting all night until I shut off my phone. He wasn’t the kind of person to give up easily. Growing up with four older siblings, he couldn’t afford to.
But it had hurt, the sight of someone I used to love mired in a memory too fresh and painful to bear.
He’d been wearing the same clothes from the night before, wrinkled and slept in; he hadn’t even fixed the button Mom had undone.
“I don’t want to talk to you,” I’d said, in a voice that sounded stronger than I’d felt. I’d shut the front door behind me and kept a death grip on the knob.
Sean had jumped up, never taking his gaze off me. “You don’t have to talk but I need you to listen.”
I’d shook my head, feeling tears pricking my eyes as he drew closer.
“I’m sorry.”
And they’d spilled over, streams running down my cheeks. I’d wanted him to deny what I’d seen the night before. I’d needed him to make me believe my own eyes had lied. To tell me something,anything, that meant I could keep him, keep us.I’m sorrywas a confession disguised in an apology.
I’m sorry I was with your mom.
I’m sorry you found out that way.
I’m sorry I couldn’t love you back.
I’m sorry you can’t tell your dad why his wife left him.
I’m sorry your family was destroyed.
I’m sorry.
“I shouldn’t have left you last night,” he’d continued. “I panicked and I ran.” He’d taken a middling step forward. “I need to tell you what’s been going on. Your mom—”
“Is gone.” My chin quivered. He was so close I’d had to look up. “And she’s not coming back.”
His brows drew together then smoothed, and that easy acceptance had galled me. When he opened his mouth, I’d cut him off. My lips curled back. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry again.”
He hadn’t. He’d shook his head and reached out a hand, brushing the back of his fingertips against mine. “I didn’t know. She said some things last night, but I didn’t know.”
I’d pulled my hand back, breaking the contact with his skin. “I’m not talking to you about this.” I’d lowered my voice. “My dad is a mess and he doesn’t even know—” bile rose in my throat “—what I saw. That is the only reason I’m out here and not inside.”
The muscle had tensed along Sean’s jaw. “That’s the only reason?”
I hadn’t answered him; I didn’t have to. My cheeks were wet and my chin kept twitching.
“I am sorry. It shouldn’t have happened. I should never have let it happen. But you have to believe that I—”
