Endurance

So why am I so anxious to get away right now?

She knew the reason.

It’s because he’s attractive. Talking to handsome guys makes me feel inferior, inadequate.

Incomplete.

But am I strong enough to deal with it?

Deb took a calming breath, let it out slow.

Yes. Yes I am.

“Please, Ms. Novachek. I feel like we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot...”

Deb stopped and shot him a look. He seemed confused for a moment, and then he turned such a bright shade of red she thought he might pop.

“Oh... jeez... look, I really didn’t mean to say foot...”

She let him squirm for a moment, because he was cute doing so. Then she let him off the hook.

“It’s okay. I put my foot in my mouth all the time. Want to see me take it off and do it right now?”

He looked mortified, then noticed her grin and burst out laughing.

Deb allowed herself a small smile. It felt pretty good.

“Ms. Novachek, I have a feeling this is going to be a great interview.”

Deb had that feeling too. “Call me Deb.”

“Thank you, Deb.” He offered his hand again.

This time, when she took it, she didn’t squeeze as hard. Or pull away as fast.

“Look, Deb, I don’t want to impose, but the desk clerk said they had several rooms, and since all of my interviews are at the same inn, it makes sense for me to stay there as well. Do you mind if I grab my suitcase from my room? I know you’re in a hurry but I haven’t even unpacked yet. It’ll just take a second.”

“Sure, Mal. I’m parked right outside the lobby. It’s the red Corvette.”

“Thanks. I’ll be two minutes, tops.”

He gently disengaged his hand, then quickly walked over to Rudy and exchanged a few words. Deb turned to go to her car and caught a glimpse of the manager again. He was looking straight at her, and seemed to be saying something.

To me?

No. He was talking on the phone. He smiled at her, then shot her with his thumb and index finger.

Asshole.

Deb turned, slow and easy, and headed through the lobby, to the revolving doors.

Revolving doors were tough to navigate in her cosmetic legs. So were stairs and ramps. Ladders were the worst of all, and the one time she tried to climb one, she fell and sprained her wrist.

There are no handicaps. Only challenges.

But why does every simple thing have to be a challenge?

Back when she was still doing the Internet dating thing, one of her prospects actually had the guts to ask what it felt like, trying to walk on prosthetics.

“Ever have your foot fall asleep then try to walk?” she’d responded.

It was a good analogy, but not perfect. It explained the lack of sensation, and how taking away that sensation made it very hard to judge where to place your feet. But it didn’t cover the balance difficulties. Deb spent over a year in thrice-daily physical therapy to get to where she could walk again, and another two years to be able to run, which required a whole new set of challenges.

She approached the revolving door warily, timed it right, then took some awkward little hops to get in, holding the door for support. When she made it through she let out a little sigh of relief—falling in a revolving door was the worst.

Her Vette was where she’d parked it, in the drop-off zone. Deb fished out the keys and hit the alarm, unlocking the doors. Then she maneuvered into the front seat, adjusted her fanny pack so she wasn’t sitting against it, and took the portable GPS out of the glove compartment.

The creepy manager was right. Her Garmin couldn’t find the name of the inn, or the road it was on. She programmed in the spot where it was supposed to be and stuck the unit up on the dashboard, then fought the urge to check herself in the mirror.

After ten seconds she gave in, flipping down the sun visor, meeting her own gaze.

No crud in the eyes. Her brown hair, with red and blond streaks, was a bit poofy and windblown from the ride up, but the layers looked natural and were hassle-free, just like a three hundred dollar haircut should be. The touch of blush and pink eye-shadow—applied at home in D.C. on the off-chance the reporter spotted her in the lobby— were still in place. Deb touched up her lip gloss with just a dab of wet red, and judged herself okay.

Deb knew she was pretty. She just wished she was whole.

She fidgeted, waiting for Mal. He looked to be late twenties, maybe early thirties. Only a few years older than her. Deb hadn’t seen a wedding ring on his finger, but that didn’t mean much. At their age, all the good-looking ones were either spoken for, or gay.

Not that it mattered. The only man Deb had been with since the accident was Scott, and it had been awful with him and not something she ever cared to repeat.

Another minute crawled by, and Deb began to wonder if Mal had changed his mind. She’d gone on a blind date last year, and the guy had gotten up to go to the bathroom at the restaurant and never came back. It was right after he’d gotten a little frisky with his flirting and had cupped her knee, feeling the prosthetic leg below it.

This isn’t a date. It’s an interview. And he already knows you have no legs.

She wondered if Mal, or Rudy, would want to see her bare stumps for the article. That would be a no way. The only one who had ever seen them was her doctor, and the only other person who would ever see them would be her undertaker.

Someone knocked on the hood, startling her. Mal leaned over the driver side door.

“Can you pop the trunk?”

Deb hit the button, then had a moment of panic realizing what he’d see.

It doesn’t matter. He’ll see your prosthetic legs during the competition anyway.

She braced herself for his comments when he sat down next to her, but all he said was, “Thanks again for the ride, and the interview. Please let me pay for gas.”

“If you insist. But this beast doesn’t get very good mileage.”

“I can imagine. I drive a Prius. But I always wanted a Corvette.”

“Me too.” She smiled. “Buckle up for safety.”

Deb started the car, engaging the hand clutch on the gear shift, and squeezed the gas lever on the steering wheel. The tires squealed, pinning Mal into his seat, and the car peeled away from the lobby entrance and onto the main road.

Almost immediately Deb squeezed the brakes, skidding to a stop as someone darted into the street ahead of her—

THWAK!

—the dark figure slapped the hood of her car, spun, then scurried away in a limping crouch. He disappeared into the bushes alongside the road, into the woods.

“Holy shit,” Mal said.

Deb blew out her cheeks, the adrenalin making her hands shake.

“Did I hit him?”

“I dunno. He was huge.”

“All I saw was long, white hair. But an old man couldn’t move that fast.”

“Did you see his eyes?”

Deb nodded, then shuddered.

“They were red,” Mal said. “I swear they were red.”

After taking a few more seconds to compose herself, Deb pulled onto the side of the road and parked the car.