multimillion-dollar homes to our right. A light breeze blew off the water, and my body kicked effortlessly into gear. My training was paying off. I tried to make conversation with Flash, but he put a stop to that, saying, ‘ Lady, if you can talk, you’ re not running hard enough.’
I’ ll be darned-he was a mini Martucci.
A mile later, we turned up a street to run past shops and restaurants and-yum! I smelled pancakes! One more turn and, ‘ Oh no, look at that hill-it’ s a wall!’
‘ You can do it,’ Flash assured me. ‘ Go like this-’ He showed me how to lean forward a bit. ‘ And then follow my pace.’
‘ Isn’ t there supposed to be special equipment for mountain climbing?’ I huffed irritably. Ow. Ugh. Arrrrgh. Errrrgh. ‘ Don’ t you get-’
‘ Don’ t talk,’ he admonished. ‘ Run.’
Muscles arguing and protesting all the way, I made it to the top. Flash high-fived me without breaking stride. ‘ I knew you had it in you!’
That was the steepest hill, and after that the run was cake. The route wound us around so we ended not far from where we began. Yards from the finish line, I heard my name being screamed, along with catcalls and various inspirations such as ‘ Work it, honey!’ and ‘ You go, girl!’ I gave a victory wave to my pep squad and then, heart pumping, crossed the finish line. Twenty-nine minutes. Not bad, considering the hills.
There were plenty of runners doing their postrun stretch-for all I knew, a few were already home eating bon- bons. But I’ d made it, and not even in last place. Not even close to last. It was especially sweet since I’ d never successfully done anything athletic before in my life. My sports history was tragic. Like in fourth grade when my brother talked me into signing up for softball, where it turned out that the only skill I learned was the art of the deal. I’ d negotiate with the pitcher, the shortstop, and the third baseman as I ran out to left field, briefing them on the ways they were to cover for me should the ball come my way. But nobody had to cover for me today. I was officially a jock.
My cheering squad came over as I ruffled Flash’ s hair. ‘ Thanks for the help, Coach. I couldn’ t have done it without you.’
‘ Yes, you could,’ he said, his freckled face serious. ‘ You can do anything. I believe in you. Remember that.’
‘ Okay, then,’ I said, not knowing quite what to make of him. I had to marvel as I watched him jog back to his dad. How did these children come into my life all of a sudden? Where had they been? Were they always there and just hiding?
A towel hit me in the head. ‘ Nice job, champ,’ Martucci said.
‘ Why, thank you.’
After that, Susan, Chase, and the twins, Martucci, Kip, Sebastian, Deedee, and I all went to breakfast at Uncle Bill’ s, the pancake house I’ d passed during the race. Sitting at the table, I couldn’ t help but smile at the ragtag crew I’ d assembled over the past few months. C.J. spilled the syrup onto Joey’ s lap. Kip kept eating off Sebastian’ s plate. Susan started absently cutting her husband’ s pancakes before Martucci pointed out what she was doing, and we spent the next ten minutes making fun of her.
But it was Deedee who brought down the house when she blurted, ‘ Shhh, hold on,’ and then grabbed my hand to place it on her belly.
And there it was. The baby kicking.
It was as if the room and its noises and people disappeared and the only thing that I could see or hear or smell or taste buzzed up through my fingertips.
This wasn’ t a business deal anymore.
This was a child.
And I’ d never before been so close to holding her.
Chapter 18
Y ou sound like a jealous wife,’ Phyllis teased. ‘ Are you going to start checking his collars for lipstick?’
I’ d spotted Lou Bigwood getting into the elevator with a woman. A beautiful woman. She was the third I’ d seen him with that week. Naturally, I sprinted to Phyllis’ s office to get the story. Why I bothered I didn’ t know. All she’ d tell me was the woman’ s name and company. I could’ ve gotten that reading the sign-in sheet at the reception desk-which I’ d already done.
‘ Is he interviewing people for Lizbeth’ s job?’ I asked.
‘ No.’
I narrowed my eyes at her suspiciously. That had been too easy. ‘ Now let me put it another way: Could one of these women possibly be given Lizbeth’ s job?’
‘ Yes.’
I flailed my arms. ‘ So he is interviewing, then!’
‘ No. Lou doesn’ t interview.’
Talking to Phyllis was like going down the rabbit hole. Nothing quite made sense, yet everything was clear. I needed to make my move soon.
Whatever it might be. I still hadn’ t a clue what might impress the boss into giving me the promotion I so richly deserved. ‘ How long do you figure I have?’ I asked, bracing myself for another of Phyllis’ s noncommittal answers.
‘ Hard to say.’
‘ Suppose there’ s a gun to your head. Then what would you guess?’
‘ Three weeks.’
‘ Really? That fast?’
‘ No, but there’ s a gun to my head. I’ ll say anything.’
