Chapter 4
It was Thanksgiving morning, and I was being tortured.
“You’re an officer of the law,” I gasped. “Help me, for God’s sake.”
“Let’s make it to the end of the trees,” Bobby said—and he was such a jerk that he didn’t even sound like he was out of breath. With unnecessary enthusiasm, he added, “You can do it.”
Could? Maybe. Wanted to? Definitely not.
It was a beautiful day. The clouds had moved out.
The sky had just the barest tint of blue, like water in a glass.
The cold was tight but not sharp, and now, with my body in danger of overheating (in my professional opinion, anyway), it felt wonderful as we “jogged” through the Sitka spruce woods.
Bobby kept pace easily with me, and in his long-sleeved athletic tee and mid-thigh shorts and fancy running shoes, he looked… good.
And I blamed him (and my general lack of good judgment when it came to all things Bobby) for how I’d gotten into this mess in the first place.
“You’re doing great, Dashiell!” Althea Wilson called as she jogged past. Althea owned Ancient Mariner Antiques and had white hair down to her waist (although today, of course, it was up). She was probably a million years old. And she was leaving me in her dust. “Don’t give up!”
“Oh my God—” I began to moan.
That was when Tessa AND HER NINE-YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER passed us. Tessa gave us a smile and a wave and said, “Looking good, guys!”
I tried to stop, but my body had forgotten how.
“I give up,” I panted. “Push me into a ditch. Leave me for the wolves.”
“I don’t think we have any wolves around here,” Bobby said.
I made some more desperate panting noises.
“Also, I don’t see any ditches,” Bobby added thoughtfully.
I’m not proud of it, but that almost made me cry.
Instead, I channeled my anger. “Why? Why would anyone do this for fun?”
“A lot of people—”
“Why would anyone run a hundred thousand miles on this day, of all days? On this sacred, special day that’s supposed to be about eating until you fall asleep in front of the TV, and then waking up to eat some more until you feel sick and have to lie on the floor, and then when Indira gets distracted, you get yourself some more of the trifle she made, and then they have to pump your stomach at the hospital or you’re going to explode. ”
“I know you’re joking,” Bobby said, but we only made it another yard before he said, “Right?”
I groaned. “I’m dehydrated. I’ve got no water left. My body has zero water.”
“We’re almost there. Another twenty yards.”
Genius, my old friend, struck: “I’ve got a cramp.”
Bobby took a long look at me and said, “Where?”
That one stumped me.
Somehow, I was still running.
I went for the gold standard, the one that would definitely work with Bobby because he was my friend and he cared about me and because he was professionally obligated to intervene: “I’m dying,” I said, and I let the end of it turn into a wail.
When I finished, Bobby said, “I didn’t know your voice could go so high.”
Up ahead, Tessa was explaining to her daughter, “No, honey, everyone’s fine. That’s the noise a turkey makes when it’s happy.”
Bobby looked like he was trying not to laugh.
“Jerk,” I said. “I never should have let you talk me into doing this stupid Turkey Trot—”
And that was when my foot went into a hole in the ground. I stumbled, my foot twisted, and pain ignited in my ankle. As I fell, I let out a cry.
I barely had time to roll over before Bobby was there, crouched next to me, his hands steadying me.
“My ankle,” I managed to say, struggling to draw slow, controlled breaths against the pain.
Bobby helped me sit up. “I’m going to check it, okay?”
I nodded.
When he touched my ankle, I hissed. He made a soft noise of acknowledgment, but he kept poking and prodding, his face set in its usual reserve.
“I don’t think anything is broken,” he said, “but I’d like to see if you can walk on it.”
“I can’t. Chop it off. And then find a ditch and roll me into it.”
I thought I caught a hint of a smile as he said, “Upsy-daisy,” and the next thing I knew, he was hauling me to my feet.
“Just a few steps,” Bobby said as he released me. “If it hurts too much, stop—you don’t want to make it worse.”
But to my surprise, I was able to hobble one step, and then another, and then a few more.
“That’s enough,” Bobby said. “I’m guessing it’s a sprain.”
“Just take the whole leg.”
“Ice,” he said gently, “heat, ibuprofen, and of course, staying off it.”
“Everybody okay?” That was Brad Newsum (Newsum Decorative Rock), who’d stopped to check on us. He looked like every single piece of athletic apparel he was wearing was new. “Want me to get the golf cart?”
I gave Bobby a miserable look. “I’m sorry I ruined your Turkey Trot.”
“You didn’t ruin it,” he said. And then, in that truly mind-bending way he had of saying things that made me want to unscrew my own head, he said, “I got to spend it with you.” To Brad, he said, “We’re okay, Brad. I’ll give you a call if we need the cart.”
Brad gave us a way and jogged off.
“Uh, not to be rude,” I said, “but I believe there was some mention of me staying off my shattered ankle—”
“Lightly sprained.”
“—and while I want to impress you by being all butch and manly—”
“That entire sentence,” Bobby murmured.
“—I don’t know if I can make it to the finish line like this.”
Bobby stared at me.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll try.”
“I’m not going to make you walk, Dash.” And then he crouched and said, “Hop on.”
I don’t know if you’ve ever had a perfect human specimen, who is handsome and kind and strong and patient and gets this slightly confused look when you crack your best jokes, give you a piggyback ride.
If you haven’t, let me just explain that it is…
confusing. There’s a lot of physical contact.
And he’s so strong. And you keep getting whiffs of his hair.
And you’re regretting every time you suggested to Indira that now would be a good time to make another cake.
In other words, I kind of lost track of the race itself. I was caught up in, uh, other things until, all of a sudden, Bobby swatted my leg and said, “Get down now.”
He helped me slide off and held my arm so I wouldn’t have to put my weight on my bad ankle. We were at the finish line, I realized. Just a few feet before the end of the course. And it looked like the entire town was standing there, watching.
“You worked very hard today,” Bobby said as he slung my arm across his shoulders. His own arm went around my waist, stabilizing me. “I think you deserve to finish what you started.”
Together, we shuffled forward the final few steps, and everyone burst into cheers.
Bobby’s lips brushed my ear, and I thought I could hear the smile in his voice as he whispered, “Happy Thanksgiving.”