Hannah Gersen - Home Field

“No! We have to wait for Jessica.”

Jessica passed the first mile marker at eight minutes, twenty seconds, her French braid still stiffly in place. She managed a nod when she saw Bryan, but her face was flushed with exertion, as if she’d just run a sub-six. As soon as she was out of sight, Dean ran toward the finish, which was on the track, inside the football stadium. Willowboro’s football team played Langford every year, and at night, when the white lights shone down on the stadium, with the surrounding unpopulated darkness, it seemed majestic and important, a minor city. Today, in the midday sun, the tall lights and tall silver bleachers were still impressive, but now Dean was paying attention to the red rubberized track and the long finishing chute that was lined with fluorescent pink and yellow flags. The runners would enter the track at the far end, opposite the scoreboard, and then they would run almost a full lap before they crossed the finish line. A crowd had gathered in the bleachers, and a couple of reporters and photographers were waiting near the finish.

The crowd began clapping and whistling when Adrienne entered the small stadium, her white-and-gold uniform shiny in the sun, her stride quick but not lengthening, her shoulders relaxed, her chin lifted, her body a model of efficiency and form. When she passed Dean, he was surprised by how fast she was going, how labored her breath was.

Adrienne had a clear, unshakable lead, with the next group of three runners coming into the stadium about thirty yards behind her. They had their own miniature competition for second place, each runner trying to get the inside lane, a negotiation so interesting that Dean did not notice Megan’s arrival. She had held fifth and was gaining on the minipack.

“Dean, you didn’t tell me she was this fast!”

It was Philips, his lean face clean-shaven. He was slightly out of breath, having run from the two-mile mark. Robbie was at his side, dazed but happy. “Go, Megan!” he screamed. “Reel them in!”

She heard him; there was some micromovement on her face that Dean felt only he could see. He watched as she began to make up the distance between herself and the runners ahead, shortening the space as if she were manipulating time. It was as if she were doing it with her eyes, with Nicole’s faraway gaze.

Adrienne had crossed the finish line, and the crowd was now following Megan’s trajectory with greater excitement. Dean noticed one of the reporters directing the photographer to get a picture of Megan.

When Megan finally passed the minipack, there was real agony on her face, but she still had ten yards to go. Dean started to scream her name, and the people around him picked up the chant. Robbie and Bryan jumped up and down like younger versions of themselves. Megan’s arms turned sinewy as she crossed the line, reaching past an imaginary ribbon.

She stopped almost immediately and bent over like she was going to throw up or gag. The other runners, the ones she had beat, came rushing across the line in third, fourth, and fifth. They kept jogging, as directed, but Megan wouldn’t move. Dean ran over to her, ducking beneath plastic tape to get to her.

“Megan! You broke twenty on your first race!”

“My heart.” She pressed her hand to the middle of her chest. She meant her lungs. “I’m going to die.”

“Keep running,” he said. “Real slow. I’ll go with you.”

She started to jog, barely picking up her feet, her eyes on the ground. When she got to the end of the chute, she sped up just enough to sit down in a grassy spot, free of foot traffic.

“You have to keep moving,” Dean said. “You have to cool down.”

“Okay,” she said, lying down on her back. She stretched her arms above her head and smiled at the sky.

LATER THAT DAY, Dean tried to describe the moment to Laura. They were lying on her futon, looking up at her slanted ceiling. Late-afternoon light glowed on the pale yellow sheets and the walls, which Laura had painted sage green.

“She’s going to remember today for the rest of her life. No matter what happens to her, she’s always going to remember today. How she felt. How that grass felt, how blue the sky was. It makes me proud.”

“Why does it make you proud?” Laura teased. “All you did was cheer her on.”

“It just makes me happy to see a kid like that. Someone who’s got everything going for her.”

“Don’t you feel that way about Stephanie, too?”

“No. . I mean, I’m proud of her. Of course I’m proud. I love her. But it’s more complicated. I can’t appreciate her the same way. There’s guilt, because of her mother.”

“Do you blame yourself?”

Dean rolled over onto his side to face her. “I don’t know, Doctor.”

“Sorry,” Laura said. “I’m not trying to analyze you.”

“I know.” Dean tucked her hair behind her ear, admiring her long neck. He traced her collarbone with his finger, and then down past her clavicle, between her breasts. He wished he could stay all afternoon, all night.

“I wish you could stay,” Laura said.

“I could,” Dean said. “The boys are with Joelle again tonight.”

“You know I can’t,” Laura said. Tim was a subject they really couldn’t discuss. Dean didn’t know why he was pushing. He didn’t want to force a breakup. He just wanted comfort. And little pockets of time. That’s what it felt like in her pale green room. Like he had found a place to go for a little while, where the past and the future didn’t press down on him.

“So what did Joelle say about Megan running?” Laura said. Dean could tell she was trying to get past the awkwardness, that she didn’t want to discuss Tim, either.

“She was waiting in the parking lot when we got back. But Ed was there, too. When he saw the medal, he couldn’t believe it. He said the only reason he was angry was because he hadn’t gotten to see the race. What could Joelle say after that? Bryan actually smoothed things over by asking if he could go to church with them the next day.” Dean sat up and searched for his underwear at the foot of the bed. “I should probably get going, right?”

“Maybe. . I don’t know. Stay for a cup of coffee?” Laura pulled on her robe, a plaid flannel that matched her faded slippers.

Dean finished dressing and followed her down the cramped stairway that led to her small living room. She lived in an old stone house that had been divided into three apartments. Her slice of the pie was a narrow two floors, the downstairs a living room and misshapen kitchen and the upstairs a low-ceilinged bedroom that was likely once a maid’s quarters.

Laura described her decorating style as “recovering graduate student.” There were stacks of books and magazines on the floor, a pilled sofa draped with scarves, a large trunk that doubled as a coffee table, and two precarious CD towers, looking like miniature skyscrapers amid a city of low book buildings. Dean examined her books while she made coffee. He didn’t recognize any of the authors, except for a romance novelist Nicole sometimes read.

“You know, she lives around here?” Dean said, holding up a paperback. “She’s very nice. You’d never know she’s a millionaire.”

“Oh God, I can’t believe you saw that!” Laura laughed. “I got that at the airport.”

“Looks like you go to the airport a lot.”

“Stop it! Everyone has their guilty pleasures.”

“What’s the guilt?” Dean skimmed the summary on the back.

“You want to borrow it?”

“Maybe I will.” Dean stuck it in the back pocket of his jeans.

Laura smiled. “I bet you read two books a year — and neither of them is a novel.”

“Maybe two and a half.” Dean held up a thick paperback called Abnormal Psychology. “Is this part of your self-help collection?”