Evening was approaching, and with it, cooler temperatures. I shivered as I stretched in the driveway, but I knew that I’d warm up as I ran. I took off down the street, no particular route in mind. I pulled up Star Beck’s latest album, the one she’d written herself, on my iPod, and let myself slip into the music as my feet pounded the pavement.
My leg ached, as I knew it would, every time my left foot hit the ground. I tried to imagine the exact places my femur had broken, tried to imagine the bone shattering as our car crumpled around us. It seemed unfair that my leg would be able to heal almost entirely, while my dad’s injuries had stolen him in a matter of seconds. In a way, it was comforting that my leg still hurt, and I found myself wishing that it would ache more, as if hanging on to the pain of that day would give me a do-over.
I avoided, as I always did, the intersection where the accident had happened. It used to be part of my jogging route, but now I went the other way, winding deeper into our subdivision. I ran back toward the cranberry bogs, which were awash in red, ripe fruit. It was harvesting season, and even as the sunlight waned, I could see a few men in hip boots in what appeared to be a brick-colored sea, raking floating cranberries into containers. My dad had harvested cranberries as a side job when he was putting himself through college. I tried to imagine him out there with the other men, but I couldn’t fix the image in my head. I used to be able to close my eyes and see the outline of his face so clearly, but now he had all but disappeared.
I turned away from the bogs. I ran along the main road for a little while, then dipped into the next neighborhood. Jennica lived here, and I ran by her house, not sure what I was intending to do or say. But the lights were all off, and her mom’s car wasn’t in the driveway. Perhaps she and her mother and sister had gone out to dinner, like a normal family.
I ran on. My leg still ached, but the pain felt like a companion now instead of a burden. I was running with it, not against it. I turned down a street I hadn’t been on before and noticed, way off at the end, a guy in a long-sleeved gray tee, a baseball cap, and running shorts mowing the lawn of a big house that sat a little way up a hill. As I ran toward it, I thought about what an insurmountable task it seemed like with the push mower he was moving around the enormous yard. My feet took me closer, and just as I was about to pass by the house and loop down another street, the guy mowing the lawn turned, and I realized with a start that I knew him.
It was Sam.
I stopped in my tracks without meaning to, and our eyes met. He stared for a moment and then shut off the mower.
“Lacey?” he yelled down the lawn a little uncertainly. “Um, hi,” I said. I took my earbuds out and glanced around, unsure of what to do. I was suddenly conscious of how I must look. I was drenched in sweat, my hair was frizzing out of my ponytail, and I didn’t have any makeup on, which meant that the two pimples on my chin were probably staring right at Sam, in all their angry red glory.
As Sam made his way down the lawn, I was surprised to see a tattoo on his left calf. I couldn’t help staring. It was a Celtic claddagh, a pair of hands clasping a heart with a crown on top. My dad had the exact same one. I knew it meant love, friendship, and loyalty. My mother’s wedding ring had the same design on it too, and my dad had once explained to me that it meant he had married his best friend, the woman he loved most in the world, and someone he’d be loyal to forever.
“You have a tattoo,” I said.
“What?” He looked surprised and glanced down at his leg. “Oh. Yeah. I got it after my dad …” His voice trailed off. He looked down, then he smiled at me. “I thought my mom was going to kill me when I came home with it. The guy at the tattoo place thought I was eighteen.”
I smiled. “My dad got a claddagh tattoo too. On his arm. He got it when he and my mom got married.”
“Oh yeah?” Sam said. “That’s cool.”
We stood there awkwardly for a minute. “So,” Sam finally said. “What are you doing here?”
I could feel the color rise to my cheeks. I probably looked like I was stalking him. “I was just going for a run,” I said, and added hastily, “I had no idea you lived down here.”
Sam glanced back at the house. “I’d invite you in, but my mom’s sort of freaking out right now. My little brother just gave her his report card, and he failed English. They’re screaming at each other. That’s why I came out to mow the lawn.”
“You have a brother?”
“Yeah,” Sam said. “Joey. He’s eight.” He paused. “Is it just you and Logan?”
“I have another brother too,” I said. “Tanner.” I paused and added, “He’s eleven. He doesn’t talk very much anymore. Since the accident.”
“It’s crazy how much things change, isn’t it?” Sam said. “You know, after.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. I suddenly wanted to change the subject. I glanced up at the lawn. “So you mow this whole thing by yourself?”
Sam laughed. “Yeah, it’s crazy,” he said. “Our old house had a much smaller yard, so it was a lot easier. But you know, I don’t really mind. It’s kind of nice to have a reason to be outside.”