Stephanie Doyle - The Way Back

Swell, he was getting aroused before his run. That was not going to be comfortable.

“I wasn’t prepared yesterday so I went shopping,” she said, indicating the Lycra running pants and pullover she wore.

“I see that,” he murmured. Her legs looked long in the sleek black material. The pullover she wore came down over her hips, which, like most women, she obviously wanted to hide. But the legs were all out there for him to see and they looked pretty damn good. “You think you can keep up now you have the right equipment?”

She raised her arms over her head and put one leg behind the other as if she was stretching. Then she switched legs after only a moment letting him know she had no clue what she was doing.

“I’m going to give it my best try. You did say we could talk while we run.”

Right. He ran five eight-minute miles every day. As an obvious novice she had no hope of keeping up.

“That’s what I said.” Jamie bent to rub his dog’s collar. “I’m going to do my usual pace, buddy. You can hang back with her.”

The dog shook his tail.

“Yeah, I know you don’t like it, but those legs are getting too old for the pace. At least today you’ll have company.” It bothered him that Shep was stopping earlier and earlier into the run. It didn’t seem that long ago that Shep would outpace him for the entire five miles.

She hopped up and down a few times and he could see the cold air puffing off her lips. It wasn’t frigid this morning but the coolness would make it harder for her to breathe. He couldn’t help but wonder how long she thought she would manage.

He didn’t wait to ask her. Instead he trotted down the beach at his normal warm-up speed. He could hear her crunching behind him, her rhythm quickly becoming erratic.

“You do this every day?” she called.

“Every day,” he said without turning around. He didn’t want to give her any encouragement although he wouldn’t have minded watching the ponytail—or other parts of her body for that matter—bounce around.

“So if NASA did come calling, you could tell them you’re in good physical shape.”

“I’m in excellent physical shape,” he said trying not to brag. “But it still doesn’t mean I would be a viable candidate.”

“Because of the scandal?”

He tried not to wince at the word. It was so dramatic. “Because I’m retired.”

She was puffing now and falling back a few steps as he increased his speed. “But what if they really needed you?”

What if they did? Jamie shook his head. They wouldn’t. There were always others to fill the spaces opened by those who retired. The finest pilots. The best minds. If the Space Station was truly in trouble and the International Space Committee asked NASA for help, NASA had a rich pool of talent to select from.

Besides, he couldn’t fathom any reason why he would put himself through it all again. The press. The media. The spotlight. Hell, no. Jamie Hunter’s days of standing in front of a camera were over.

“Can you hold up a minute?”

He stopped and saw her several yards behind. She was bent over with her hand grasping her waist. Trying to breathe out a cramp no doubt. She’d barely lasted five minutes.

Rookie.

“Sorry. You know the rules. If you want, you can walk with Shep.”

* * *

GREAT. THE DOG AGAIN. Gabby wondered how much insight into his master Shep could provide.

“I’m guessing not much,” she wheezed. “Right. You’re not talking about him, either. Oh, my goodness, this is painful.” She was finally able to work out the cramp in her rib cage. Several deep breaths and she could stand upright. She thought about starting again, but her legs felt like rubber.

Best to walk it out for a while. As she put one foot in front of the other the dog came to walk by her side. Crazy, but she sort of liked the company and she felt sorry for a loyal friend who was getting too old to keep up with his master.

Her performance was pathetic. That she had deluded herself into thinking she’d be able to run with Jamison… Well, she would have laughed if she’d had the lung capacity. Intellectually she knew a person didn’t get in shape overnight. Not when it had taken so long to get out of shape. She never really saw it happening. She’d never been a work-out fiend. In her twenties what she ate or drank never impacted her figure at all. A couple of times a week at the gym, thirty or so minutes on the treadmill or a stationary bike and she was fine.

It wasn’t until her work weeks started getting longer and her trips to the gym grew fewer that everything changed. Gradually, the inches had packed on. Not enough to make her worried, but enough to maybe shop for clothes one size up than what she’d been wearing. Or to pick a top that hid the little extra around her middle.

Certainly there had to be some forgiveness. At that point, she’d been working harder than she ever had before. Giving more of herself to the show rather than her personal life. Yes, she knew the demographics and format were aimed at a younger audience. A local show competing against a major network had no shot of beating them, but it could target a certain age range.

The guest singers were in their teens, the actors promoting their TV shows and movies were barely into their twenties and Gabby never considered interviewing an athlete over thirty. Only really famous movies stars and the city’s mayor could break the no-one-over-thirty rule.

It wasn’t until last year that she finally stopped for a second and took notice of the people she was working with, the people she was interviewing, even the people she was working for. In an instant she felt older and bigger than she should. For Pete’s sake, how old was Katie Couric when she landed the Today Show?

But Gabby Haines wasn’t Katie Couric and Wake Up, Philadelphia wasn’t the Today Show. And she’d gone up two dress sizes. When her boss suggested a Botox treatment Gabby had flipped. She was smart, she was personable. People opened up to her. She was a damn good interviewer. And they wanted her to inject poison into her skin to help the ratings?

After she refused she’d been fired.

“Fired,” she sighed. The word still sat like lead on her heart.

Woman and dog made their way down the beach, which framed the north end of the island. Moving around one bend, the vista opened up for a piece. She could see a few docks stretching out into the water with skiffs and bigger sail boats tied to them bobbing with the ocean’s movement.

Way up ahead she could see Jamison. Still running. Completely uncatchable.

No doubt when the dog tired, he would simply lay down and wait for his master to return. After about a mile or so the dog plopped down in the sand letting the sun warm his belly before resting his head on his paws.

“Yeah, I’m beat, too. You tell him, though, this isn’t done. Not by a long shot.”

At least she hoped it wasn’t done.

* * *

“SO HOW IS IT GOING?”

“Good,” Gabby lied, glad Melissa couldn’t see her wince. She knew cell phone technology was advancing so people could face time instead of just talk. Gabby had no plans to purchase one of those phones anytime soon. She’d been walking to her car when she got the call and picked up immediately the way any good employee would do.

Opening the door she sat on the driver’s seat glad to no longer be walking. “We’re talking,” she added confidently. At least that much was true.

“Has he changed his position about writing the book at all?”

“Uh…” Nope. “I think he’s looking at all the possibilities. Let me ask you, Melissa, who would do the actual writing? I mean, the man’s an astronaut not a writer obviously. Maybe that’s what is holding him back. A bad case of writer’s block.”