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We jogged slowly through the neighborhood to warm up. The morning air was cold and damp. Fog had moved in overnight and was just beginning to burn off as we turned toward the beach. The fog rolled slowly over the ocean, like smoke from a chimney.
I kept pace with Elizabeth as we picked up speed heading south toward the jetty and the hotel, running on the hard packed sand at the water's edge. I was even with her when we U-turned and headed back toward the base at North Island. She started to push a little harder, but I stayed with her, focusing on getting my legs to turn over, my arm swing pulling me forward. She kept trying to drop me, but I stuck to her, refusing to fade. The fence to the base was in view as we reached the end of the beach reserved for dogs and I surged ahead of her, my feet flying over the sand. I heard some sort of noise from her—surprise, shock, anger, I wasn't sure—and she pulled even with me again and then stretched out her stride.
She beat me to the fence by four steps.
I paced around for a couple of minutes, my hands on top of my head, pacing around, trying to catch my breath. My lungs burned and my legs were heavy with lactic acid. Sweat poured down my back. That was about as fast as I could go. I wanted to win and was mildly irritated that she'd beaten me, but I knew that was probably as good of a fight as I could give her.
I noticed that she was taking a little extra time to recover. Her hands were still on her head and her breath hadn't returned.
Small victories.
“Almost,” she said, finally dropping her hands to her hips.
“Almost,” I said, nodding.
“Was that your anger with me fueling that?”
I laughed and shrugged. “Maybe. I don't know. Just felt like I could go today.”
“Well, you went.” She shook her head. “I never would've heard the end of it if you'd beaten me.”
“One hundred percent true.”
She laughed and took a deep breath, her cheeks pink, sweat dotting her forehead.
We walked slowly back toward the dogs romping in the waves. Their owners were throwing balls and Frisbees, standing around, chatting. The dogs moved back and forth, chasing one another, thoroughly relishing their own stretch of sand and water, frolocking in the water despite the cool temperature.
“Maybe we should get a dog,” I said, sitting down in the sand to watch them.
Elizabeth sat down next to me and untied her shoes. “A dog?” She tipped one shoe over, letting the sand slide out from inside of it.
“House is quiet without you. Would give me a companion.”
“You aren't home very much,” she said. “With school and all.”
It didn’t sound like a barb over the time I’d spent on Patrick’s case, and I didn’t want to think it was. “I suppose.”
“Did you figure out the thing for Mike?” she asked, right on cue.
“I did,” I said. “Met with him yesterday. We're all done.”
I waited for her to ask questions, but she stayed quiet, her eyes locked on the water.
A wave rose up and knocked over two smaller dogs. They came up yipping and running for the shore.
“What?” I asked. “I can tell you're thinking.”
She plucked a shell from the sand, a white scalloped one, and held it in the palm of her hand. “It's what I said a few days ago. Maybe you need to think about it.”
“About what?”
“Investigating again,” she said. “I know you said you were done, but...I don't know. I don't want to repeat myself, but maybe this is what you're supposed to be doing. Instead of teaching.”
I watched the dogs jump around in the water. I'd felt the same thing the previous few days. I felt competent again, comfortable. I had yet to feel those things in a classroom. I hoped they would come but I was starting to doubt that.
“I don't know,” I said. “Maybe. But not sure how that would be fair to you. The odd hours, the not knowing where I am all the time. It doesn't make for a great home life.”
She picked up a handful of sand and let it sift through her fingers. “You can't just do things for me, Dad. That's a really bad way to go about things.”
I knew it was and she was right. But that didn't mean I could change my way of thinking.
“I mean, get a dog if you want,” she said. “If that'll make you happy, let's go get a dog today.” She paused. “But don't get a dog to replace me or Mom or anything else. You need to start doing things that will make you happy. Stop worrying about me.”
“I'll always worry about you,” I said.
“Well, sure, but you know what I mean,” she said.
“If you need to go to Minnesota, I'm okay with it,” I told her. “I'm not going to lie and tell you I understand or that I'm totally comfortable with it. But I trust you, and you're old enough to make your own decisions. I might be a basket case while you're there, but if you need to go, then you should.”
She laughed softly. “Okay. Thank you.”
“And I can get you the ticket,” I said. “Just tell me when you want to go.”
“You don't have to do that,” she said. “I'm the one who wants to go, so I should pay for it.”
“Not like you have a lot of extra cash lying around,” I pointed out. “I'm happy to buy the plane ticket.”
“Is that your way of trying to bribe me so I'll let you beat me running?”
“Ha. And no, I'd like to beat you fair and square.”
She laughed and looked away.
I really wasn't comfortable with her going to Minnesota. There were a million reasons it scared and angered me. But those were my feelings, not hers. She needed to do what she needed to do for herself.
She leaned back on her hands, watching the dogs. “I'm serious about the teaching, Dad. If it's not for you, don't force it. Don't stay stuck in it because of me or any other reason.” She shook her head. “Life's too short.”
“That feels like something I should be telling you,” I said.
“Maybe,” she said.
We sat there quietly for a few minutes.
“What is it?” I finally asked.
“What's what?”
“There's something else. I can feel it.”
She glanced in my direction. “How do you know that?”
“I can just feel it.”
She looked away again at the water, without saying anything.
I waited.
“Yeah,” she finally said. “There's something else.”