Chapter 9 Olena
OLENA
I’m already regretting getting out of bed as we pull up to the curb next to Lyons Park, last night’s merriment having carried on late enough that I could have used a few more hours of sleep.
Natalie parks under a large oak tree. Black Bear River flows calmly along the opposite side of the park, a paved footpath following the river’s edge, the burbling sound of the water a familiar backdrop for our Sunday morning runs.
I unclip my seat belt and cram my phone and keys into the overflowing glove compartment.
The lid takes a couple of shoves to latch shut.
I reach around the back of the seat and twist, trying to wake my body up with the stretch.
“It’s not too late, you know,” I say to Nat dryly, releasing the stretch and slumping back against the seat.
“We can still bail and go get greasy drive-thru breakfast instead of”—I gesture in the general direction of the river in mock disgust—“this.”
“Ugh, rude of you to bring that up!” I direct a scowl at Nat.
She rolls her eyes. “Olena, my darling,” she says patiently, “we are going to be fabulous, fit babes.” She flips down the sun visor to look in the mirror, rubbing her eyes.
She’s as tired as I am, but she was born with the gene that lets her overcome such things in favor of being practical.
“You know,” she continues archly, “the kind who enjoy exercise and talk endlessly about endorphins and protein shakes and collagen supplements.”
“Oh, please promise to shoot me if I ever become that person.” I close my eyes and let out a deep, soul-level sigh.
I reconsider. “Well,” I say, “maybe I can accept the fit part and the babes part, but that’s it.
No insufferable carrying on about it. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.
” I open my eyes, bringing my knees up to hug them against my chest. I seem to be having an enthusiasm malfunction this morning.
“And you’d better not become that person either or I will disown you!
” I narrow my eyes and level a serious glare at Nat.
She raises her hands in defense. “Okay, okay, shoot. I won’t.
But we signed up for that 5k together, so let’s muster up the…
” Nat trails off and looks past me out the passenger side window, seeming to search for the word in the park beside us.
“Strength? Energy? The… chutzpah?” She turns to me with a hopeful expression.
The prospect of mustering up chutzpah hits me in a fresh wave of dread, and I whimper dramatically, pulling my hood up over my head as if I can shield myself from reality. I zip up my hoodie with a scowl and yank on the laces, cinching the hood almost shut so only my nose sticks out.
“Oh, come on,” says Nat, “it’s not gonna be that bad.”
“It’s going to be the worst and I don’t wanna.
” My whiny toddler voice is muffled against the inside of my sweatshirt, but there’s no turning back; I’m committed to my petulant performance and Nat knows it.
I expect her to play the part of responsible adult now.
That’s how this always goes. But I don’t hear her cajoling me along like usual.
“Nat?” I ask uncertainly, wondering what the dead air is all about.
“What? Oh, yeah, right.” She sounds distracted.
“Aren’t you going to convince me to get out of the car? This is normally when you’re like ‘Olena, running always makes you feel better, come on,’ or ‘Olena, get your ass out of the car and put on your big girl pants’ or—”
Nat interrupts my childish impression of her with a gentle swat. “Len, shut up; what did you say that landscaper guy’s business was called again?”
“What? Oh. Something Knives? No, Blades? Grass Blades? No… I can’t remember. Why?” I ask from inside my hoodie cocoon.
“Sharpe Blades?” she asks tentatively.
“Oh, yeah, that was it. Why?” I try to get us back on track. “Nat, focus up. I need some more mustering help here.” This is how it works between us: I’m the hot mess and she’s my voice of reason.
“Oh, wow. You didn’t mention…” Nat sounds like she’s smiling. Then, more alarmed, I hear, “Oh, shit.”
The sound of her keys jingling reaches me through my morning fog, penetrating the combined layers of sweatshirt and soul-crushing ennui. The automatic window whines softly as it rolls down beside me. I absentmindedly lower my legs to the floor of the car, now thoroughly confused.
I shift the fabric aperture of my cinched hood to line up with one eyeball as I turn to Nat, trying to figure out what has caught her attention.
When I finally align my little window correctly, it reveals Nat sporting a massive grin, her eyes shifting rapidly between me and the open window to my right.
“What’s going on? Nat—”
Nat discreetly shoves my arm.
“Olena?” A deep voice from outside the window startles me and I jump, realization hitting me in slow motion. Jude. Jude is here. Why is Jude here?
In a panic, I claw at the edges of my hood, tugging it open, snagging a tangled section of my hair along with it.
“Shit, ow,” I mutter under my breath as I sweep away my hoodie and hair as fast as I can.
In my rush to free myself from my sweatshirt prison, one of the laces whips up and drags across my open mouth.
Frantically inhaling at exactly the wrong moment, I get a mouthful of hair and hoodie lace.
I recoil, coughing and spluttering as I rip the hood down and attempt to spit out several errant hairs my fingers are failing to drag out of my face.
Finally, smoothing my hands over my hair and face a half dozen times proves successful; I return to some approximation of my normal appearance, though I know I must look disheveled. I take a steadying breath and look up.
“Jude. Hi,” I manage to say, although my voice comes out at a higher pitch than normal, as if contrived cheerfulness can help me recover my dignity.
I clear my throat and look away, the eye contact intolerable as my cheeks flush in humiliation.
I can feel him grinning down at me, his forearm braced over the passenger side door.
I send a fervent wish to the universe for a sinkhole to swallow me up. But, knowing my luck, it’d swallow us all up together and we’d have to continue this cringefest at the bottom.
I turn wide eyes on Nat. She’s pressing her lips together, her shoulders twitching forward as she tries to suppress a laugh. My eyes shoot silent daggers, pleading with her to save me from this moment. But there’s clearly no escape.
“You okay?” Jude asks, and I turn back to him reluctantly. I lift my eyes to meet his with an expression that hopefully reads I’m not deranged. His smile tells me he’s as delighted as Nat is at my suffering, his green eyes shining with amusement. “Did I… interrupt something?”
Oh, just me humiliating myself. Nothing to see here. Move along, citizen. Please, please move along.
Jude remains in place, looking down at me under his arm.
A breeze drifts through the open window and carries with it the scent of him; he smells of freshly cut grass and sawdust mixed with something deeper, smokier.
My eyes linger a moment too long on his broad chest, then I snap to attention when I realize I haven’t answered his question.
“Oh, us? No, no. I mean, we were just… we’re going for a run. We were just talking and I was—” I gesture weakly at Nat, trying to convey meaning with my hands because my mouth can’t put words into a coherent sentence.
“I recognized your car from the other day,” he says to me, then nods to Nat.
“I’m Natalie, hi.” She waves.
I scrunch up my face as I realize I have, yet again, forgotten how to be a human with even the most basic grasp of social graces.
“Yes, sorry, Jude, this is my best friend, Natalie; Nat, this is Jude, from the work… thing.” I shift my eyes to Jude’s briefly, cringing at my weak reference to how we know each other.
The work thing? I should stop talking. My inner critic is logging all of this in furious detail to be replayed later.
Probably when I’m trying to fall asleep tonight.
“Nice to meet you.” Nat leans over me from her perch in the driver’s seat and flashes a friendly and somewhat amused smile. “And this is actually my car; Olena was borrowing it for a bit.”
“Right,” he says, nodding. “Well, it’s hard to miss. Not many yellow cars around.” He flicks his gaze to me for a thoughtful moment, then inhales and breaks eye contact.
“What are you working on over there?” Nat asks as she looks past Jude, saving me from having to open my own mouth and risk whatever humiliating nonsense might come out.
With a half-glance behind him, he gestures over his shoulder. “Just finishing this job at Lyons Park before we get going on the Faulkner property.”
I feel him look at me. Avoiding his gaze, I scan the park and see a small crew of workers building a retaining wall alongside a freshly paved footpath. A half-dozen saplings stand sentinel, waiting to be planted, their root balls covered in burlap. A familiar dark green truck is parked beside them.
I swallow and smile weakly at Jude, then look away.
My embarrassment is still too potent to shift into small-talk mode.
I envision myself fleeing the scene without looking back.
Diving into the river. Building a new life in the mountains, surrounded by animals who don’t care that I’m an awkward bonehead.
“Well, I should let you get on with your plans, ladies,” Jude says as he gently taps the car frame with his fist and pushes off to take a couple of steps back. “Have a great run.” Then, to me: “See you at the work… thing.” He raises an eyebrow and gives me a crooked half-smile.
As he turns and walks back to his crew, Nat’s eyes follow him for a few paces, then widen as she turns to me with her mouth agape. A delighted and knowing grin spreads across her face.
“O-le-na!” She punctuates each whispered syllable with a slap to my upper arm, devolving into suppressed cackles.
She’s clearly relishing the delicious horror of having witnessed me making a fool of myself in front of Jude—Jude, who, I now realize, I had neglected to describe to Nat last night.
The look on her face tells me she wasn’t expecting… him.
With a muffled groan, I slowly slouch down into my seat, lower and lower, until I’m sure I’ve disappeared from view altogether. I let the last few minutes wash over me and feel a fresh twinge of self-loathing.
Sinkhole, take me now.