Twenty-one

I run home, but not to David’s. He is still up—all the lights are on—but first I go to the cottage, where I pack my bag. Again.

This time, I have to leave. For good. But this time, I will say goodbye. First to David, then to Alex.

It’s for the best. After all, David isn’t even sure whether he himself will stay, without Stacey. And if he sells the store, I’m out of a job.

Besides, I have no choice. That man knows my name. My real name. I wonder if he is a cop. Or a detective. Most of all, I wonder how he found me.

Because I haven’t gone far enough. That’s how.

How far do I have to run before I can be free?

Maybe, like Roman, I’ll never be free. Maybe I’m stuck, just like he is. In this moment, I can understand his gloom, his unwillingness to change. Why try to make things better when you’re going to end up right back where you started anyway?

I wonder what Roman is doing, or has already done, to that man. I’m afraid to know. But I’m even more afraid of him coming after me.

I hear a tap on my door and freeze where I am. Maybe I should’ve gone directly to David’s after all.

I don’t answer, and I hear another knock, then David’s voice.

With relief, I open the door. “You’re up late,” David says.

I glance behind me, hoping he doesn’t see my backpack on the bed, half packed. I haven’t figured out what I’m going to tell him. “Um, yeah. I’m just cleaning up a little.”

“Well, I don’t want to bother you,” he said, “but I wanted to give you something.” He hands me a shoe box. “They just came in.”

I crack open the lid to see a new pair of Brooks trail shoes, much like the pair I’m wearing—but these are built for trail running, with firmer soles and waterproof covering.

“Wow,” I say. “These are beautiful. They’re going to be popular, with Cloudline coming up.”

He gives me a strange look. “I should’ve been more clear,” he says. “This pair is for you.”

I don’t know what to say. “I can’t accept these, David. They’re too—too good. And I already have shoes.”

“Yours are fine running shoes, but you’ve worn them down, and I can’t even tell what the original color was. These are trail shoes, the very best. And if you’re going to win Cloudline, you need the best shoes.”

It’s as if he knows, somehow, about my silent vow to win the race. I never told him.

“I love them,” I say. He is making it impossible for me to say no. To these shoes, and to Lithia. “But I’ve already accepted so much from you, and I’ve done nothing in return.”

“You’ve kept the store running,” David says. “You’ve helped me through some of the worst days of my life. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“But—” I choke up and can hardly talk. “But it’s only because of me that—”

I start to cry, and David puts his arms around me.

“It was my fault,” I say. “I left her behind. I’m so sorry.”

“You are not responsible for Stacey,” he says. “You never were. And I should never have asked you to look after her—it was wrong. It was too much to ask of anyone.”

He pulls away so he can look at my face, which I know is red and tear-streaked. “I knew Stacey very well,” he says. “She and I had our differences, but part of what drove me crazy was also what I loved the most. Like her stubbornness. She was running that trail long before you came along, and she would’ve been doing it even if you’d never shown up in Lithia. And she’d never let anyone tell her not to. There is nothing anyone could have done. It was her time.”

David gets me a tissue. As he does, he sees my backpack on the bed.

“Kat,” he says, “what’s going on?”

I begin to cry again. “Nothing,” I say.

“It looks like you’re going somewhere. Are you?”

“I’ve been thinking about it.”

“Why?”

I look at him, and he looks so sad, like he doesn’t want me to go.

“Kat?” he says. “What is it?”

I decide to tell him. “When I came here,” I say, “I was running away from something. From someone. And now I don’t know what to do.”

“What was it?”

“I—I can’t say.”

He studies my face. “Are you in any danger?”

I think of Roman. Of his hands around that guy’s neck. “No, I don’t think so. Not right now, anyway.”

“But you were, is that it?”

“Yes,” I say. “I was.”

David comes over and lifts my chin to look me in the eye. “Kat, you’re safe here. I hope you know that. Come over and stay in the guest room tonight if you’d like.”

“Okay.” I blow my nose with the tissue he gave me. “Thank you.”

“I want you to know that I’m keeping the store,” he says. “I decided this afternoon. And there’s a full-time job there for you if you want it.”

“Really?”

“It doesn’t mean you have to stay. But I’d like you to.”

“I would, too. But I don’t know if I can.”

“How about this?” he says. “Run Cloudline. Finish the race, then decide. Will you do that?”

“Okay.”

“Good,” he says. “Now, I want you to take these shoes. And I want you have this, too.” David reaches into the pocket of his jacket and hands me Stacey’s custom running cap. The bright orange one with the “S” on the back.

“Oh, I can’t,” I say.

“Stacey would want you to have it,” he says.

I hesitate. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” he says. “It doesn’t fit me. And when I bought it, I knew that the woman wearing it would be the first one to cross the finish line. And now, that’s going to be you.”

~

The next day after work, I lace up my shoes and jog away from the store. I am supposed to meet Alex at the co-op for a run—a short workout before the race tomorrow. But instead of heading for the co-op, I find myself circling around it. I’m still trying to decide what to do, and I haven’t had any time alone to think.

I snake back and forth on Lithia’s streets for a while, but it’s not the same as being on the trail. I have to wait for lights, dodge pedestrians, watch for cars. I can’t think here either. I want to head for the trails, where I can be alone, at peace—but I’ve promised Alex I wouldn’t. And this is one promise I plan to keep.

I hear a voice shout my name, and when I glance over my shoulder, I see a figure in the shadows of the streetlights running toward me, quickly. I can’t see who it is, so automatically I accelerate, heading for Main Street, for heavy traffic and crowds of people.

I hear the footsteps getting closer. There’s a gas station ahead, brightly lit with people and cars, and I run toward it. The footsteps are right behind me now, but oddly, I don’t hear the sound that should accompany it—the sound of someone out of breath. As soon as I’m under the bright lights of the station, I stop and turn.

It’s Roman.

I breathe, leaning down and resting my hands on my knees.

“Why are you running from me?” he asks.

“Because you were chasing me. I thought you were that guy. From yesterday.”

“You no longer have to concern yourself with him,” Roman says.

Roman’s wearing running gear, head to toe, and I remember that he, too, is taking one last run before Cloudline. His skintight tank top exposes his broad shoulders; the black tights display sculpted legs.

I look at him. “What does that mean, I don’t have to be concerned about him?”

“You think I hurt him.”

“I worry you did more than hurt him.”

“I didn’t.”

“How can I believe you?”

“You’ll have to take my word for it. I could have killed him, very easily, and nobody would have been the wiser. Believe me, I was tempted.”

“How am I supposed to believe you didn’t?” I say. “It’s what you do, isn’t it?”

“Do you think this is easy for me?” Roman asks, and I hear in his voice the same anguish I heard when he was on stage, playing Hamlet. Roman’s never been emotional, except on stage, and it takes me by surprise. “I eat very seldom, Katherine, and I usually travel far away from here when I do.”

“You think that makes it better?”

“No, but it makes it easier. You don’t understand. When we get hungry, we don’t realize what we do. It’s as if we go into a trance. What you think is barbaric—for us, it’s normal.”

“But you’re living in a world where it’s not normal.”

“Katherine, I did not harm that man last night. I escorted him to his car, and I watched him drive out of town. I’ll admit I made sure he would not come back, yes. But I didn’t hurt him.”

I look at him doubtfully.

“You are in a strange position to be so judgmental.”

“What are you talking about?”

Roman holds up small notebook. “I lifted this from the man’s coat. You may be interested in its contents, Ms. Healy.”

I grab for it, and he holds it out of my reach. “We all have our secrets, Katherine. We all live with mistakes.”

“Give me that,” I demand, and he lowers his arm.

I take the notebook and open it, holding it up to the light. Inside is a minute-by-minute breakdown of my life over the past week. Nothing more.

“What’s this for?” I ask. “Who was he?”

“A private investigator. From Texas. Do you know anyone in Texas who might want you followed?”

“No,” I say, but I can tell Roman is unconvinced. As unconvinced as I am that he let that man go.

I feel the night close in on me. But I’m not telling him anything. I can’t.

“Are you sure you don’t have something to tell me?” Roman asks. “He was being paid a tidy sum to follow your every move. That usually doesn’t happen to people who have nothing to hide.”

“Did he say who hired him?”

“Why are you using a different name?” Roman counters.

“I asked you first.”

“Katherine, I know what it’s like to have secrets,” Roman says. “And I’m quite certain that I can handle yours, whatever they are.”

“Have you told me all of your secrets, Roman?” I’m getting defensive. He’s the vampire, after all; why is he interrogating me? Besides, I’m not prepared to talk about my life.

“Some secrets are too painful to share,” Roman says quietly.

“Then stop asking me to share mine.”

Roman sighs. “I was not completely forthright about this investigator.”

“So you did kill him.”

“No, I did not. Truly,” he says. “But he told me who hired him.”

I feel an awful pressure, like strong hands squeezing my heart, making it hard to breathe. “Who?”

“Your father.”

The grip tightens. “That’s impossible.”

“That’s what he said.”

“Then he lied to you,” I say. “Or you’re lying to me.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Then that investigator lied to you.”

“What makes you so certain?”

“My father is dead,” I say.

Roman looks at me, puzzled. “This man seems to think otherwise. One of you clearly has the wrong information.”

“He’s dead,” I repeat.

“And you are sure about that?”

“I’m positive,” I say. “I’m the one who killed him.”