Left Drowning(113)

Now I press my body to his and wrap my arms around his waist. I lean my head against his back and wipe my eyes on his shirt. “Don’t you see, Chris? You and I are supposed to be together. Not because we have to be together. There is always a choice. This is not an obligation or a duty. But our lives are entwined, they have been, for good reasons. I’ve known that from the moment I set eyes on you. It never made sense to me before. How I felt so deeply connected to you before we’d even spoken. But I did, and I do. I have loved you since that day on the dock. Probably even before that. I feel as though I have loved you my entire life. Please, Chris, I’m right here. I will give you everything I have if you’ll just let me. I am strong now, and I can handle anything. More than that, I want to go through your life with you. I am begging you, Christopher. Begging you with all of my heart. Let me take care of you the way that you have taken care of me.”

Chris turns around, wraps me up in his arms, and rests his chin on top of my head.

I hold him tightly. This is terrifying because I don’t know if he will take the risk to stay with me. I know he’s not one for reaching out for help or love even in better circumstances. I shut my eyes. “You think that I couldn’t possibly fall in love with the vulnerable side of you. And you’re wrong. I love that part of you, too. Chris, I don’t know what I believe in anymore… . I know that you don’t believe in God, or fate, or anything. If you can just push aside that rational, logical, f*cking solidly cognitive piece of your thinking and just feel. Listen to your heart. The other shit? It doesn’t matter. The past? The horrible nightmare you’ve been through? We can handle that. We can. We already have, don’t you see that? For you, telling me the details of your life seems like something new between us, but I’ve always known in some ways. Maybe not the specifics, but I’ve known, and it’s never made my total love for you falter one bit. Never.”

I’m afraid to stop talking for fear that he will walk away for good, but at some point I have to turn the cards over to him. This could be the end. I may lose the only love of my life. But I have fought for him as hard as I can. It’s all that I can do.

“Just feel me, Chris, then nothing else matters. Belief in anything is hard, I know. But I am asking you to believe in me and to believe in us the way that I do. Can you do that? Please, Chris, please believe in us.”

He steps back and looks at me. His cheeks are damp as he lifts our hands between us so that we are palm to palm. Chris nods and drops his fingers next to mine.





CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO


Twenty, Twenty-One


At nine thirty this morning I left Hopkinton, Massachusetts, and I am now entering the town of Wellesley, somewhere around mile eighteen, I think. I am running the Boston Marathon. Sort of. It’s not the real marathon day because I don’t want that pressure. Next month, I will stand in Newton and watch the real one as it takes place, and I’ll hand out water and orange slices to exhausted runners at the finish line. While I admire those who have the ability to run on race day, it’s not for me. I don’t like the competition and the crowds. I just want to run the route and I want to finish. I don’t care how long it takes.

The weather is on my side today. This last Wednesday in March is cool and dry. Weather around Boston is very unpredictable, and some marathon days have been dreadfully hot and humid, leaving even well-prepared runners in bad shape. I’d fall apart in shitty weather, so I’m lucky. I’ve been carb-loading for a few days and I’m hydrated. My sneakers are a reliable pair that I broke in over the past month.

What’s working against me? If I continue this pace, I’ll come in at over five and a half hours. That’s a damn ridiculously long time to run, and my stamina is nearly depleted as it is. Yet I can’t imagine that I can pick up my pace. Eighteen miles is longer than I’ve ever run, and I’m hurting like I never have before. Fighting to do something that I’m not meant to do is scary. The fear of failure is scary. The average women’s time is closer to four and a half hours, but because I want this so much, I don’t give a shit if it takes me nine hours; I just want to finish.

Not only am I a slow runner, but running on an unofficial day means that I have to deal with sidewalks and cars and traffic lights.

However, I do have some help with that.

I take a quick glance at Zach, who is driving a few yards ahead of me with the hazards on. I love him for how he’s unabashedly blocked intersections and ticked off drivers by trying to keep a clear path for me as often as possible. At this point I’d welcome the excuse to stop at a traffic light, and I groan inwardly every time I hit a green.

My legs are jelly, and I have never been this exhausted in my life. I just can’t do it. Accepting defeat is my only option now. I stop running and bend over, shaking my head as I turn off my music. Fuck this. Zach beeps the horn repeatedly, and I shake my head. He backs up and yells out the passenger window to me.

“No way, Blythe. You can do this.”

“I can’t,” I manage. Jonah barks loudly out the window.

“Look ahead. Look up there.” He points up the hill. “Look what she did for you!”

Even in my state, I have to laugh. Estelle is just in my sight. She has traded in her usual high-fashion look for sleek neon-pink spandex and matching sneakers.

I restart a slow, painful jog on Commonwealth Avenue to reach her, steeling myself not to think about how far I still have to go, all the way through Wellesley and up Heartbreak Hill in Newton before I can reach the finish line in downtown Boston. She and the others were supposed to meet me at the finish line, but my sagging spirits are lifted.