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Grayson needed to eat. It didn’t matter what. He just needed sustenance to keep him going. A glance at the clock on the dashboard revealed it had been a whole four hours since he’d last eaten. He’d been pressing the pace to get to his uncle’s farm, which meant he’d been limiting his bathroom breaks, despite the number of caffeinated beverages he’d consumed since leaving the city.
The thwop-thwop-thwop of chopper blades drew his attention momentarily skyward. He glanced through the tinted upper part of the windshield of his rental car to see an emergency medical helicopter sweep across the sky. Those were never good. The helicopter veered northward, away from the interstate, disappearing after a time beyond the treetops of a distant ridge.
Soon after, traffic slowed. As the highway dipped into a broad valley, Grayson could see the long line of cars and trucks bogging the road ahead. Highway patrol car lights flashed and twirled beyond a point where the vehicles were being funneled into a single lane.
Grayson flipped his signal on and squeezed into an opening in the left lane. For close to an hour, he inched forward, stopping and going at intervals, until he could see a crane lifting a mangled van from the ravine off to the right side of the road. A nearly unrecognizable mass of metal. If the driver or any passengers had survived, it was a miracle. Someone had, though, or else they wouldn’t have bothered to bring in the helicopter.
Finally, Grayson cleared the point where the van had smashed through the guardrail. The highway opened back up into two lanes, freeing the space between the vehicles. Pushing his car back up to speed, he set the cruise. The car was a rental he’d selected based on affordability. His only requirements were something fuel efficient with cruise control and automatic transmission. He got that and little more: a two-door silver economy car with a radio and plain black interior. The suspension was stiff and the ride noisy, but he’d had to make precious few stops for gas along the way—a fact he was grateful for. It was cramped, but he didn’t plan on having it long, anyway.
Although the accident had temporarily diverted his attention, his hunger had returned in full force. The fullness of his bladder made the need for a break even more urgent. He focused his attention on finding an exit with services. It had been forty miles since the last one. He hadn’t been hungry then.
Judging by the online map he’d examined before he left, it hadn’t seemed all that far—only a few inches. The number of miles from Manhattan to Faderville, Kentucky had seemed irrelevant. He’d get there when he got there. Settling matters would take as long as needed and not a day more.
The cramp in his lower right leg had become unbearable. His knee and ankle ached to the point he found it hard to concentrate on his driving. Residual effects of being struck by a car just before his senior year in college, he’d been told. After his leg had healed, he’d refused prescription medication, even though the pain still lingered decades later. The only help, he’d been told by more than one doctor, would be ongoing physical therapy. The schedule had been too disruptive to his work, the exercises too rigorous for what seemed to make only a tiny difference. It was easier to accept his limitations than to try to overcome them.
At times like this, however, he remembered what it had been like to feel the immortality of youth, to be strong and fast and undaunted by the most demanding physical endeavors. Now, however, he felt older than his years, broken and compromised.
When the next exit came up, he got off. The only food was at a truck stop and fueling station. After putting gas in the car, he went to the restroom, washed his hands, then came out to order a greasy burger and overly salted fries. When he asked for water, the clerk slid a bottle with a fancy label across the counter.
Grayson regarded it with disdain. “Just water. In a cup, please. Not that. Water shouldn’t cost two dollars. It comes out of the tap for free. Or close to free, anyway.”
He hadn’t meant to sound so terse. It wasn’t normally his manner. But she’d assumed he wanted to pay extra for the convenience of a plastic bottle with a screw-on cap and a label that proclaimed its purity.
The teenage girl squinted at him. Keen enough not to argue, though, she re-rang his order, handed him back the two dollars, and gave him a paper cup. “There’s a sink in the bathroom.”
He didn’t have the time or motivation to make this into a learning moment. The sooner he got on with this trip, did what he came to do, and made it home, the better.
Back in his car, as he ate the first few bites of his sandwich, he tallied the miles to go. Not far, but still too many. He yawned between mouthfuls. Although he was most of the way there, he wasn’t accustomed to driving for so many hours at a time.
As he drove on toward the small town called Faderville, clouds dark with rain loomed on the horizon, reflecting his mood.
Ten months without a job. Ten months of sending out resumes, researching businesses, poring over the Wall Street Journal every day, a dozen nibbles resulting in personalized e-mail replies—he wasn’t counting the automated ones—maybe half a dozen preliminary phone interviews, two real interviews, both ending in regrets and good wishes for better luck elsewhere as they selected another, probably younger, candidate...
Ten months of dashed hopes and mounting rejection.
Longer than that living alone.
Even though he and Fee had had busy professional lives, there had been a comfort in her presence: the dresses hanging in the closet, her toothbrush next to his, her collection of shoes heaped by the front door, the warmth of her body beside his as they sat on the couch in the evenings together.
And yet... it had become incredibly mundane. As bland as pureed oatmeal. They hadn’t fought in the beginning, so they hadn’t needed to kiss and make up. Much as Fee had kept her feelings to herself, so had he. Grayson had never told her how gray the world seemed to him, how tasteless every bite of food, how disappointing his once-favorite things had become, how he struggled to find even the slightest traces of joy or causes for laughter. To admit those things would’ve seemed unmanly and weak.
His troubles hadn’t kept him awake, though; every night, he’d slept soundly, lulled into slumber through the magic of a pill. They’d been a habit he hadn’t been proud of, but without them, his nights were restless and his days a mind-numb slog through quicksand. Those uneventful precious eight hours were sometimes the best part of his day. Still, he didn’t feel the need to broadcast his dependence on them. He’d lied, just a little, to Fee about the pills. Just like he’d lied when she asked if he felt sad or hopeless sometimes.
Depression seemed like such a gloomy word. So pervasive. He might be a little down in the dumps, but he wasn’t... depressed. Depressed people moped and complained. He did none of that. They withdrew, stopped showing up to work, abandoned their families. Sometimes they even killed themselves. He couldn’t imagine taking such an extreme measure. The thought of it scared him too much. He didn’t have the stomach for it.
There’d been a time when he’d been happy, though. Even before Fiona had stolen his heart and made him mad with desire. When he was young and vibrant and, in his own mind, undefeatable.
When he’d been a runner. A good one, at that.
It had all ended one misty morning, the summer before his senior year in college. Bowerman University was a mid-sized school in upstate New York, far removed from any metropolis, deep in the forested foothills of the Adirondacks, close to the Vermont border. It was an institution long on academic excellence, but newly upward in the world of collegiate distance running. The climate and terrain had hardened a burgeoning team of determined runners, many of whom had been overlooked by the traditional powerhouses. Coach McCafferty had built his program from the ground up, setting the bar high for his runners. In his ten-year tenure, he produced several Olympic athletes. Grayson had been spoken of in the same light. He was a workhorse, unimpeded by injury, unbroken by the many hundreds of miles of training, undaunted by challenges from the fiercest competitors.
Born to run, Grayson reveled in the rhythm of it, the cadence of his stride, each arm swing, lungful of air, and labored heartbeat. The oneness with the world around him. The feeling of floating on air, of hurtling through time.
The depth on his college cross country team had been nothing short of astounding. As a junior, Grayson was the championship meet runner-up to a senior. During his final season, he was expected to lead his teammates to a national team title. Nothing was a given; he knew that. But he would do everything in his power to do his part.
Late August—just like it was that day as he drove south and west from West Virginia into Kentucky—was his favorite time of year. The workouts were just beginning. But on most days, it was still the quiet and solitude of the long run. Up just after dawn, he’d hit the roads, sometimes alone, sometimes with a teammate or several. On that fateful day, he’d been out with Justin Zarecky, the number-two man on the team. Roommates and training partners, they had become best friends by circumstance. Neither was a talker, which was why Grayson enjoyed his company on early mornings so much. He had no desire to make meaningless small talk before his brain was fully functioning.
They were almost done with the eight-mile hill loop as it descended Fagan Road. The shoulder was gravelly and narrow, the ditches deep with weeds. The road hugged a cutout into the rocky earth on one side.
“I’ve been thinking of asking Caroline to marry me,” Justin said soberly.
“Eventually, you mean?” Grayson pulled in a deep breath. They’d kept up a good clip, faster than was necessary for an easy day, but the mist had given the woods around them a mystical quality. It was like running on a cloud, their steps light, hearts quick. “Like after the next semester, when you graduate?”
“No, like tomorrow night. I’ve been thinking all summer—she’s the one. The one. I know it. So I figure... why wait? If she says yes, we could be married by this time next year. Besides, that would give her—I mean us—time to plan.”
“You don’t have a job yet.”
“Yeah, so? Neither do you.”
“I’m not contemplating marriage.” Grayson hated being the practical one, but Justin was too smart a guy not to think things through. He just felt an obligation, as his friend, to point out the obvious.
“Anyway,” Justin went on as they began into the last turn, “it would give me some incentive to find a job. A good one. Her, too. If we both got offers in different cities, though...”
Grayson wasn’t paying close attention at that point. Justin was merely thinking out loud, maybe looking for a little reassurance. He wasn’t going to dampen his hopes any further. Caroline was a great gal. His friend would be stupid to let her slip away. He’d be even stupider to get hitched before he had his life plans in place, but he couldn’t tell a guy that when he was blind with love.
“Don’t you think that’s the way to go, Grayson?”
“Sure. You’re a couple of smart cookies. You’ll make it work.” Even as he said it, Grayson had no idea what he’d just encouraged him to do.
The hill fell away behind them, but the woods closed in tighter. They had less than half a mile to go. Justin had a bounce in his step and a smile to match. It was annoying.
Grayson checked his watch to gauge their pace. Too fast. He’d pay for it tomorrow. Justin looked at his in sync.
“Ah, damn.” Justin wiped the spit from the corner of his mouth. “I have anatomy in fifteen minutes. If I’m late, Dr. Horton will lock the auditorium doors and I’ll have to knock to get in. Bastard.”
Then he took off like his shoes were on fire. Grayson, foolishly, took off after him. But his friend had a head start. Swinging close to the curve, Justin took a hard left.
Grayson saw the car before he ever heard it. It was going too fast. A blur of gray, careening over the white line. Justin dived to his left, toward the ditch. But physics and mathematics and geometry had unchangeable laws. Justin’s attempt to alter course at his relatively lower speed was not enough to avoid the trajectory of the car.
Its front grill impacted with Justin’s legs in a bone-crushing thump! He smashed into the hood. Then his body flew into the air, did several flips, and hit the asphalt on the opposite side of the road.
Lagging behind, Grayson had dodged to the right. But the car’s driver, reacting too late, overcorrected the steering. The car spun partway before heading back toward the ditch to Grayson’s left, but not before the bumper clipped his left knee.
Grayson was thrown back, twisting as he reached to break his fall with his hands.
The next thing he was aware of was the driver kneeling at his side on the road.
The man, dressed in a navy button-up shirt and matching pants, laid a hand on his shoulder. His embroidered name badge said, ‘All-Seasons Heating and Cooling,’ and below it, ‘Steve’.
“Don’t move, man. Don’t move.” Steve glanced at Grayson’s legs and winced. “You... Are you okay? Can you understand me?”
Grayson stared at his legs. Whose foot was that, pointed at such an odd angle? Was it... his? “Okay... I guess.” He was more concerned about Justin than himself. Besides, he couldn’t feel anything wrong. Not yet, anyway. He tried to turn his head to find his friend, but he couldn’t see him. Everything around him was spinning and out of focus. “My friend...?”
The driver’s gaze slid to a place Grayson couldn’t see. “Um, I... I don’t know.” His face was a mixture of horror and wide-eyed panic. “I was just changing the station on the radio. When I looked up... he was there. I couldn’t...” His eyes, full of tears, met Grayson’s. “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t see him in time.”
In the end, Grayson survived, his lower leg cleanly broken, his kneecap shattered. He hadn’t run a step since that day.
Justin, mercifully, had died instantly.