Going for Kona (13 page)

The next morning I slept in, unable to start my engines, but I had to get moving. I had an eight thirty appointment at Dr. Cooper’s office. I grabbed my phone and noticed the flashing light on my way out the door.

Annabelle.
“Michele, r u there? I need to talk to you.”

I’d have to answer her later. I hustled into the clinic, where the receptionist funneled me into an examination room. I sat on the leather exam table and settled in to wait, but Blake came in almost immediately. He wore green scrubs the color of my husband’s eyes.

“Play it again, Sam,” he said.

It took me a moment to understand he wasn’t referring to my Sam. “I sure hope not. Look, I’m sorry. I’m usually pretty reliable. I know I owe you for the missed appointment.”

He held up his hand in the “stop” gesture. “How can you pay for an appointment you didn’t have? We worked you in. And I told you, the first visit’s on me. I hope everything is okay with your son?”

I pulled the blinds closed over my eyes. “Yes, all fine. Thank you.”

Like he had at the park, Blake let me hide. His restraint or professionalism or whatever it was put me more at ease. “Give me the verdict from the orthopedist.” He sat down and leaned forward with his hands on his knees.

“IT band syndrome, don’t run, I’m not a good enough athlete to waste my time on therapy and rehab.”

He sighed. “I’m sometimes pleasantly surprised when surgeons encourage their patients toward a natural healing approach, but not often. Well, we’ll get aggressive with it. You should reduce your training, but we want to have you running at a hundred percent ASAP.”

Before I could ask what he meant by “reduce,” the door opened and one of his female coworkers entered. Athletic-looking and fit, of course, in blue scrubs. And tall.

“Michele, this is Dr. Greene. I’ve asked her to take care of you. Dr. Greene, Michele.”

We shook hands and she plopped a heating pad onto my left knee and thigh. The warmth rushed through me with a sense of peace. Dr. Greene got down to business. My kind of woman. “Tell me about yourself, Michele.”

I started to tell her about my knee pain, but she interrupted.

“Tell me about your lifestyle, your sport, your workouts, that kind of thing.”

I obliged.

She listened like I was telling her the secrets of the universe. “When did your knee start hurting?”

“Well, my husband qualified for an age-group spot at Kona, and—”

She sat up straight. “Oh, wow, what’s his age group, what’s his name? I may know him, that’s so cool.”

Blake moved to cut in, but I pretended it didn’t faze me. “He died in a hit-and-run accident a few weeks ago, but you’re right, it is cool, and his name is Adrian Hanson. He qualified in forty-five to forty-nine.” I sucked in a deep cleansing breath.

“I am sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“Please, don’t apologize. You didn’t do a thing wrong, and I’m very proud of him.” I felt short of breath, even lightheaded. This was different from talking about him on TV. Intimate. Harder. “I bought a lottery spot to do it with him. I’m carrying on without him, following his training plan, but I haven’t ever done a full-length Ironman. I’ve ramped up the training hard and fast for this. The pain started about two weeks ago, and it’s gotten worse and worse.”

Blake cut in. “Geez, Michele, it just hit me why I thought we’d met before. I’ve seen you on TV. You guys wrote a book together, right?”

Dr. Greene was nodding, too. “Yes, I’ve got the book.
My Pace or Yours
.” She smiled. “I follow triathlon, and he’s the local hero, so I have known of him for a while. So you’re Michele Lopez Hanson. I’m really delighted to meet you.”

I fought the urge to fold in on myself. I stayed in the moment. “Thank you.” I even smiled at her and I didn’t turn to stone.

Dr. Greene fixed her blue eyes on me and got down to business. “Any old injuries or accidents, surgeries, lengthy periods of incapacity?”

“Hmmm, well, I sprained my right ankle in my late twenties. Other than that, nothing big.”

She probed my knee with strong fingers, then moved up the outside of my thigh to my hip. Everywhere she touched, it felt like she was prodding it with a hot poker. A wake of red marks trailed behind her hands. “The IT band runs from the knee to the hip. You’re feeling pain when it rubs back and forth around the knee during running, but the problem is in a much bigger area. And you definitely have a problem. Lots of scarring. You must have a high pain threshold.” She looked like that pleased her.

“I guess so.”

She looked at Blake. “Dr. Cooper, I think I’ve got what I need to start with Michele.”

***

An hour later, we were back in the exam room, insurance checked and finances settled. From the meager charges they’d outlined, Blake had to be giving me a huge discount, but I didn’t argue. The sharp smell of Icy Hot filled the room, but underneath it I could still catch whiffs of lavender and sandalwood. I allowed myself to feel hope while Blake went over my treatment plan: heat before workouts and treatments, Dr. Greene performing Active Release Therapy and Graston on me three times a week, daily physical rehab to build stability, and ice after treatments and workouts.

Dr. Greene bounced a pen against her thigh. “Your leg is going to hurt now. Can you keep from using it for twenty-four hours?”

Quick mental word game: if “use” meant run, then I could not use it, but I had a two-hour cycling workout that afternoon. “No problem.” I crossed my fingers, too, just in case.

Maybe she could read my mind. “If you haven’t tried it, aqua jogging can be a great substitute for running.” She reached in a drawer and pulled out a piece of paper. “Here’s instructions on how to do it correctly, so you can get the full benefit.”

I took it from her, intrigued. “So if I follow your plan, I can do Kona in October?”

“You can do whatever your body and mind tell you. Your rational self will know the answer to that. It’s likely you can. Depends on your pain threshold and your overall conditioning.”

“Well, if those are the only criteria, then I’ll be fine.”

Blake stood up. “I have to ask. Worst-case scenario, can you defer until next year?”

“No.”

“You’d lose your spot?”

“No.”

He stared at me. Kept staring at me. Stared at me longer.

I broke. “I don’t actually know. But I’m doing the race this year. For Adrian.”

“That’s valid.” He deepened his voice. “Dr. Greene, have your athlete ready for Kona.”

She saluted. “Yes, sir.”

I braced myself as I walked into the house through the side door. I wasn’t sure if Sam was speaking to me yet. I should have grounded him, but if Sam should be grounded, what about me? We’d both messed up, only there was no punishment I could give myself worse than the purgatory I was already in, so I cut us both a break. I got a surprise when I walked into the kitchen to find Sam at the island making sandwiches.

“Hi, Mom.” His voice sounded relaxed, or, as he would call it, “chill.”

“Hi, honey.”

He pushed a plate at me. “That’s yours if you want it.”

Wonder Bread, Miracle Whip, processed ham, and American cheese. I grabbed it. “Absolutely, thanks. Did you have a good day?” I bit into the mushy bread and sweet and salty exploded in my mouth, bringing back a thousand school lunches and giggling friends. I had forgotten how good crap tasted. Adrian would forgive me.

Sam talked with his mouth full. “Yeah. Some friends want me to go bowling tonight. If you want to hang out there while we bowl, you can. They have wifi.”

I didn’t deserve this boy. I really didn’t. I tried to play it low key, though, so I wouldn’t spook him. “Sounds good, thanks.”

And so, twenty-four hours after I thought he’d never speak to me again, we went bowling together. Or, rather, I watched my son laugh and bowl and be a kid—from a safe distance in the smoky grill. He didn’t bring his friends to meet me, and I didn’t force it. They looked normal enough, minus an earring and a pack of cigarettes or two. Normal enough to keep my fears at a dull roar.

I scrolled through the day’s texts, emails, and voice mails, looking for icebergs.

Annabelle. I hadn’t answered her yet, and she’d said she needed to talk to me. I tried to ignore the prickles of guilt as I typed.
“Hey Belle, you need to talk to me?”

No reply.

“I’m here if you need me. Sorry I couldn’t talk earlier.”

I guess it was too much to expect that both kids could be doing well at the same time.

***

Side-by-side the next morning, Sam slurped his cereal and I ate my egg-white omelet. The decrease in tension emboldened me. “You know, you haven’t had any of your buddies over for a while. I’ve missed having smelly boys around. What about asking Billy over?”

“I haven’t been hanging out with him lately.”

“Bring your other friends, then.”

His spoon clinked against his teeth and he slurped up milk and cereal. I drew a quick breath. I couldn’t let myself spoil the moment.

“Yeah, I’ll try to get them to come over. They’re not, like,
into
hanging out at parents’ houses.”

“What kind of things do they like to do?”

“Uh, go hang out and stuff.”

“Well, I need you to bring them by so I can at least meet them. I don’t know their names or anything about them. I zoned out for a while, but you know the rules.”

“Yeah.” He grinned. He ducked his face to hide it, but it was there.

“I need to go over my training calendar with you, too. That way you will know when I’ll be around and where I’ll be when I’m not.”

“I already look at it, you know.” He watched me carefully, his head tilted like a sparrow.

My lips formed a “hmm” expression. No, I didn’t know. “You do?”

“Yeah.”

“How come?”

He scooped up some cereal, and I braced for it. Clink. Slurp. “I just, uh, well, I make sure you put your X’s in. If you do, then I know you’re still going to Kona.”

“There’s a lot of X’s these days.”

He put his spoon down. “Yeah, but—”

“What?”

“You haven’t X’ed your runs.”

Sam was out-parenting me. I licked my lips and swallowed. “I hurt my knee, and I have to take a few weeks off from running. I start aqua jogging today in the indoor pool. Me and the little old ladies’ water aerobics class.”

“Oh, I didn’t know. Are you going to be able to do Kona?”

“Yes, I’ve got a great doctor, and I’m doing therapy and rehab.”

“Cool.” He picked up his spoon.

I decided to capitalize on our détente. I needed information about his sister. “Sam, Belle hasn’t texted me back. Do you know if something is wrong? Like, is she mad at me?”

“I don’t think so. I don’t know.”

“Okay. Well, let me know if you hear something.”

An odd exchange, not merely because we were talking to each other at seven forty-five a.m. instead of staring at our food, but because Sam was a teenager, and I had not known he took any real interest in my life except as it impacted him. I didn’t know what to make of it, but it stuck with me all day. So when I got home that afternoon, I went all out and made Sam his favorite food, a disgustingly wonderful tater tot casserole my Mississippi-born maternal grandmother used to make for me after school sometimes, when she’d moved to Seguin after my grandfather died. That spicy browned hamburger meat still smells like love to me.

I set the table for two. As I was getting out the silverware, I heard Sam enter the house, and from the sound of the voices, at least one other kid, too. The boys burst into the kitchen like a shock wave.

Sam was out of breath. “Whoa, Mom, something happened, and you’re gonna
kill
me.”

I looked from my son to the two boys with him. They seemed a little stonerish. Hair collar-length and messy, skater t-shirts, dirty blue jeans (in August?). One of them had a silver chain hanging down from his belt loop then back up to something in his pocket, and the other I’d seen bowling the night before. They fit the description of the boys Detective Young had seen. Nothing like clean-cut Billy Mays and the other boys Sam had always hung out with. The old crowd sure wasn’t perfect, but I knew their parents. I didn’t know the first thing about these two. I was glad they were there, though, finally.

“Slow down, Sam. Does this involve a bloody stump?”

“No.” He pushed his hair back and I noticed how long the swoop had grown. He looked coltish and wild, a mustang boy with a mane across his forehead.

“Introduce me to your friends first, and then I can kill you.”

“Oh, okay, um, this is Ted, and, um, Andrew, and, um.” His vague points in their direction didn’t help me differentiate the two.

“I’m Mrs. Hanson, Sam’s mom.”

They answered in harmony. “Hey.”

“Nice to meet you.” I turned back to Sam. “Go on.”

He spoke at a gallop. “I picked up Ted and Andrew after practice. I, uh, went in Ted’s house for a few minutes. When I backed out of the driveway, I, well, Mom, I just messed up, okay?”

I put my hand on his elbow. “Slow down. Just tell me what happened.”

“I backed into a lady’s car.”

I gave his elbow a squeeze. “It will be okay, Sam. Is everyone all right?”

A chorus of yeahs and uh huhs came from the boys.

“The lady wasn’t hurt. She had an old car, and she said she couldn’t even see a dent. There was one, though, and it was, like, huge. And Adrian’s, uh, I mean my car, it has a big one, too.”

“Did you exchange insurance information? Did the police come?”

“Nah, she said she wasn’t even going to fix it, and that she didn’t want me to get in trouble. She just left.”

“She had a huge dent in her car but she didn’t call the police, and she didn’t want your insurance information? That doesn’t sound right. Did she ask for your name and number?”

“Nope. We just drove off when she did, Mom.”

“Well, you have twenty-four hours to call the police, so let’s do it tonight. She might change her mind and call it in herself. Then you’d be in big trouble for leaving the scene of an accident.”

The blonder of the two boys spoke and my head swiveled toward him. “Dude, she was weird. And that old Ford was smashed. I don’t know what she was thinking.”

“Which one are you, Andrew or Ted?”

He grinned. “I’m Andrew. He’s Ted. You can tell us apart because he’s fat. Tubby Ted.”

“I’m not fat.” He wasn’t, but he did have a little belly. Enough to remember their names, anyway.

“Got it. Okay, boys, what kind of Ford did she drive?”

Andrew bobbed his head. “A Taurus.”

Chills. “Color?”

“White.”

“Mom, what’s wrong?”

“Can you describe the woman, Sam?”

“Uh, yeah, but you’re kind of freaking me out.” He paused, but I just waited for him to answer me. “She was old, you know, a little older than you, but she looked way older because—”

“Because you’re, like, way hot, Mrs. Hanson.” Andrew looked to Ted for confirmation.

“Totally.”

I shot Andrew a look. “So you guys didn’t find her attractive. What kind of clothes?”

Sam shrugged a shoulder. “Sweats, maybe?”

Andrew took a seat at one of the bar stools. “Yeah, man, gray and navy sweats that said Rice University on them. And dirty, like, gross.”

This didn’t sound like Rhonda, but it could be a disguise. “Hair color?”

Sam shook his head. “Her hair was basically no color at all. What do girls call that?”

“Mousy?”

“Yep, exactly like a mouse.”

“You’re sure it wasn’t blonde? Like, really, really blonde?”

“I’m sure. Why?”

“No reason.” I dialed back on the paranoia. It was just a coincidence. “Have you ever seen her or her car before?”

“No—”

Andrew cut in. “I have.” He turned to Sam. “She sits in her car where you work, man. I’ve seen her there a couple of times.”

The needle on my tension meter quivered just below 10. “Really? Could you tell what she was doing there, Andrew?”

“I dunno. Maybe she’s got a kid that goes there. Haven’t you seen her, guys?”

Two head shakes.

Sam was the common denominator. My head spun. It had to be the same person, and everything inside me screamed Rhonda. Crazy didn’t mean stupid. Of course she would change her appearance to do something creepy like stalk my husband and son. Dios mío. I reached my hand up to touch Sam’s arm and saw myself shake. I dropped it and clasped my hands together. I had to figure out what to do.

“Did you get her license plate number?” My voice had a tremor like my hands.

More head shakes.

“All right.” I crossed the kitchen, then stopped short. How could I warn Sam without panicking him? Maybe I couldn’t. I needed him to get it, really get it. “Sam, that’s not normal, what she did.”

“It’s not that weird. What’s
up?
”

Think fast, Michele, I told myself. “I’m paranoid, ever since Adrian got hit. I don’t mean to scare you, but just humor me, okay?”

“Okay, I guess,” he said.

I made eye contact with each boy in turn. “I want you guys to tell me if you see her again. All of you. Can you do that?”

They okayed in chorus.

I hardened my voice. “Take pictures of her and her license plate with your phone, and get away from her. Call or text me immediately, or call 911, and go someplace safe.”

They stared at me. Andrew half-laughed. “Whoa, you’re really freaking me out, Mrs. Hanson.”

I nodded. Good.

Sam had a funny look on his face. “Yeah, Mom, no problem.” He changed gears, stepping between his friends and me toward the oven. “Hey, what’s that smell? Is that tater tot casserole?” He peeked inside. “Guys, this is like the best stuff
ever
. You’ve got to try it.”

Ted shifted from foot to foot. “We were gonna pick up some Taco Bell, dude.”

Sam went to the breakfast table and grabbed one of the plates. “Suit yourself, but I’m eating this, and I’m your ride.”

Sam’s normalcy brought me partway around. I grabbed a mitt and pulled the casserole from the oven. “There’s enough for all of you. I’m going to put the bicycle on the training stand and ride for a few hours. I’m watching
Miracle on Ice
if you guys want to watch it, too.”

Sam loved
Miracle on Ice,
and I knew it. He still cried when the US won the gold. He started telling his friends about it as he scooped an enormous portion onto his plate. I had planned to eat with him, but his friends provided me with a great cover-up for a shift of gears. I needed to figure out what to do about the stalker.

“Hey, Mom, do you want any of this?” Sam asked, holding up the nearly empty dish. Ted and Andrew had full plates now, too.

“No, you guys finish it off.”

I changed clothes and jumped on my bicycle. I pedaled to the sounds of teenage boy voices cheering on hockey players. I was too stressed to connect with Adrian, but I didn’t have time for self-indulgence anymore. My son was in danger.