False Start (18 page)

Dianne handed her an 8x10 glossy from the race.

It was a shot of the crowd, but only Mattie and Nick appeared to be in focus.

Nice job, Charlie.

She remembered the moment exactly. Still, her heart did a tumble in her chest when, at first glance, it looked like he was going to kiss her. She finally began to understand what was upsetting Dianne.

Feeling the color rise in her own cheeks, she asked, "What's the problem?"

"I'll tell you what the problem is. Lester wants me to stop by this afternoon and explain to him why it looks like you two are about to lock lips. What do you suggest I tell him?"

Mattie's mind flashed back to her rehearsal dinner, then to the comment Nick made outside of the YMCA's weight room.

She rather liked being perceived as a bad girl for a change. It made her feel pretty, sexy, and popular—a trifecta of feelings she never had before.

A smile started at one corner of Mattie's mouth and worked its way to the other as she pointed at the picture and asked, "Does this make me a slut? I've always wondered what that would feel like."

"That's not funny."

Mattie laughed. "Yes, it is."

When Dianne didn't join in, she sighed and explained, "All right. Here's what happened. It was really noisy at the start line, and I couldn't hear a word he said, so he grabbed my face and said, 'You. Can. Do. This.' Honest. That's all there was to it."

Dianne narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. After a moment, she nodded. "OK. That works."

"Good, because, trust me, if he did kiss me, I wouldn't be sitting her smiling." She pretended to shudder.

"Oh yeah?" Dianne stood up, and yanked the photo from Mattie's grasp. "Pull this one, and it plays 'Jingle Bells.'"

*  *  *

That morning, Nick had two reasons for stopping by the Knollwood High School field house. The second was to pick up items from the "long-lost-and-found box"—a repository of unclaimed clothing that was left behind in the locker rooms during the previous semester.

The first was to run a fast five miles to try and clear his head. Alone.

While the "business only" rule he and Mattie had in place prevented them from discussing their personal lives, it did little to keep him from wondering about hers. He couldn't put his finger on it, but she just didn't seem married. Not happily anyway. While he could explain away the pictures on her desk, he couldn't do the same with her wedding ring. But then again, lately, she rarely wore it.

He tried pushing Mattie out of his mind by convincing himself that she didn't have any feelings for him, but his thoughts kept drifting back to the way she almost kissed him outside of Lester's office. And then there was that hug after the race on Saturday.

Despite the many times during their workouts that he had come close to asking her, straight out, something always held him back.

Maybe it's better to believe she's married than find out she's still not interested in me.

An hour later, he arrived at the Lincoln Park Community Center to meet up with the members of an informal, albeit steadily growing, group of homeless runners, a large contingent of them had already gathered. While the group had started out as just a handful of wannabe runners, their number had swelled to almost two dozen.

"Hey, guys."

As he approached, he asked, "Anybody need shoes? Or sweats? Or socks?"

Digging through the box, he added, "Or shirts?"

As the men milled around him, he handed out all of the items until the box was empty. John, the young man whom he had met on Thanksgiving, approached him wearing a long-sleeved shirt from a cross-country meet that took place three years before.

He ran his hands over the sleeves like he was wearing a mink coat and said, "All the meets I ran in school, I never got a shirt. My parents could never afford it. "

Looking up at Nick, he said, "You have no idea what this means to me. Thanks."

Nick couldn't help but marvel at the affect one small act of kindness had on someone. While his own parents were by no means well off, they always made sure they had enough to get him a race shirt from every single meet he ever ran in.

He patted John's shoulder and smiled. "It's nothing. How's the job hunt going?"

John slipped a sweatshirt over his head, nodded, and said, "Good. It's going good. I've only been hitting running shoe stores, though. They don't seem to care what I look like. They just care that I know about running."

That was music to Nick's ears. He hated seeing kids down and out with no direction, no plan, and no future.

Nick fist-bumped him. He seemed like a new man, holding his head high. "Awesome. I'd be happy to put in a good word for you. Just let me know."

"Thanks, man, but I gotta do this on my own. No offense."

With a wink, Nick responded, "None taken."

"So how far are we going today?"

"You're the captain. What do you think?"

John addressed his team with a clear, confident voice Nick hadn't heard him use before. "I think six miles. Who's with me?"

A few of the men held up their hands. A few more shook their heads and groaned.

Laughing, Nick told him, "Looks like you've got yourself an 'A' team and a 'B' team. Take 'em out, Cap'n."

John smiled and gave Nick a mock salute, "Ay-ay."

Turning toward the men, he instructed, "Team A, follow me. Team B, follow Fitz. We'll meet back here for a cool down."

Nick watched as they took off down the street. With a surprising tug in his gut, he realized he missed Mattie and was sorry he wouldn't be seeing her until the next day.

Ducking inside, he dropped by to see Scott about obtaining a grant that would enable him to develop a formal running program at the shelter.

"I've got most of the paperwork already filled out. I just need your signature in a couple of spots," Scott told him as they sat in his cracker box-sized office. "If we can get it submitted by the deadline, I think you've got a pretty good shot at getting it approved."

Nick tried stretching his legs out before him but gave up when they kept hitting the edge of Scott's desk. "I really appreciate your help with this."

Looking up from his paperwork, Scott laughed. "Are you kidding? If it wasn't for cross-country, there's no doubt in my mind, I would've ended up in juvie. Running saved my life. I can only imagine what it might do for these guys."

Scott's recollection of what running did for him was not that far off the mark. Always in trouble with the high school administration, Nick remembered when the coach had misgivings about accepting him on the team. A known troublemaker, Scott smoked, swore, had gotten caught shoplifting and joy riding, and was as selfish as the day is long. But, man oh man, when he got on that course, there was no stopping him. It was as if Scott was chasing away his demons. Or running from them. Nick could never tell. All he did know was that Scott grew to become a strong, fast varsity runner and top student. During their senior year, the two sat side-by-side on signing day—Nick for Oregon and Scott for Illinois. And they never lost touch. More importantly, besides his parents, Scott was the only friend who ever came to visit him in jail.

Checking his watch, Nick asked, "So, until it gets approved, any ideas on how we can scratch up some cash for registration fees and maybe some new shoes?"

Scott looked up from the paperwork. "You think these guys will be ready to run the Chicago Marathon?"

Nick leaned forward and drummed his fingers on Scott's cluttered desk.

"Yeah, why not? Mattie said we had the power to change the world. I have to admit, I'm starting to believe her."

Scott turned the grant application around so it was facing Nick and handed him a pen. "You two are like the opposite of Bonnie and Clyde, you know that?"

Ignoring him, Nick asked, "So where do I sign?"

*  *  *

A few weeks later, Dianne held an impromptu staff meeting in her office.

"Skinny comfort food? Talk about an oxymoron." She looked over to the food critic seated across from her and asked, "Am I right?"

David Morse, the man who had the power to make or break any dining establishment in the entire Chicago metropolitan area, chuckled.

"You're right. It's a hot trend, though. People want to devour grandma's homemade macaroni and cheese but not suffer the consequences."

Dianne stood up and leaned against her desk, twirling a pencil between her fingers like it was a mini baton. "I'm thinking videos of Mattie remaking old favorites in the test kitchen. Posting them next to her column and linking it to the food section."

Mattie offered, "I've already gotten a couple from my readers." She looked around at the others as she listed them off. "Turkey meatloaf, sweet potato and quinoa chili, cauliflower mac and cheese."

"Yeah, but how do they taste? Do your kids eat them?" asked a skeptical Nancy Braley, assistant food editor.

Unable to recall if she had shared any with her sister to conduct a taste test with actual children, she evaded the question by asking another. "What's not to like?"

Nancy, a perky single middle-aged woman directed her attention to Dianne. "Well, if you're going the video route, you really ought to have Nick in them. I'm sorry, but that man is
hot
."

A loud, awkward laugh burst out of Mattie. "No, he's not."

All eyes turned toward her. "He's not," she muttered to herself.

"Well, of course a happily married woman wouldn't think so," Dianne replied. Addressing Nancy, she said, "That's not a bad idea. We'll float the idea past him. If that flies, we can move on to healthy brown bag options for kids, quick and easy dinner options, tips for feeding your child athletes. The list goes on."

Mattie, worried the ten extra pounds added by the camera would belie all of her hard work, nodded at Dianne. "I'll ask him."

"Good. All right. That's all for now. Thanks everybody. Mattie, I need you to hang back a second."

When they had the office to themselves, Dianne pulled an envelope out from under her desk calendar.

"What's this?"

"Just a little something to tide you over."

Mattie ripped open the envelope to reveal a check that was big enough to cover a month's rent. She looked at Dianne with her mouth hanging open.

"Lester put in for it after I convinced him that absolutely nothing untoward was brewing between you and your coach. The way he explained it, he'll cut you a check—an advance on your bonus, if you will—each time you finish one of your races. The longer the race, the bigger the check."

"Hang on. Are you saying that if Lester thinks something is going on between me and Nick, he'd withhold my bonus? A morality clause? In this day and age? Is that ethical?"

"Sweetie, you, of all people, are in no position to be asking if something is ethical."

Mattie knew Dianne was right, but she had one last question for her.

"Does the same hold true for Nick?"

Dianne smirked. "I'd assume so. I hear it was his idea."

*  *  *

By April, Mattie's everyday lexicon included phrases like, "hill work," "mile repeats," and, her personal favorite, "fartleks."

Motivated by money, she figured finishing the upcoming 10k race would net her double what she got for completing the 5k. That she felt herself transforming into a healthier, slimmer, more confident person with each workout completed helped. But, her biggest motivator of all was Team Plate Spinner. At last count, it had over two thousand enthusiastic members, not including the satellite teams that were sprouting up in Chicago's collar counties.

Since the new feature kicked off, Mattie highlighted a "Plate Spinner of the Month." By sharing their personal struggles and how they overcame them, entrants contributed to the valuable forum in which working parents shared ideas on getting fit. After tallying readers' votes, Mattie sent the winners a goody bag filled with certificates to spas, organic grocers, and athletic apparel stores. She had never expected to feel so fulfilled professionally and personally by this assignment.

With those very readers in mind, she was determined to finish another punishing hill workout on the steps of the Knollwood High School football field bleachers. After reaching the top one last time, she started her final descent and noticed Nick talking on his cell phone while he paced back and forth on the sidelines.

Another client? He must have a dozen by now.

Curious, she hopped down the steps, watching as he ended his call and jotted something on his clipboard. When he looked up at her mid-scribble, she asked, "Ordering a pizza? I'd like black olives and red onions on mine."

In reply, he nodded toward a grassy spot in the middle of the field and said, "Core work. Come on, you know the drill."

Making no attempt to hide her disappointment, she muttered under her breath, "Yes, I do. I was just trying to make conversation."

Since the 5k, their verbal exchanges had gone from friendly banter to curt one-sided directives with Nick issuing orders and Mattie obeying.

In short, he was being everything Eddie always told her he was—domineering and egotistical. After nearly two months of being at the receiving end, she had half a mind to storm Lester's office and tell him what he could do with his morality clause.

She wiped her face with a towel from her duffle bag and pulled out a bottle of water. After a couple of swigs, she spread her towel on the dewy grass and lay on top of it. Enjoying the damp coolness of the grass, she clasped her hands behind her head, raised her feet in the air, crossed her ankles, and began a set of crunches. After completing forty-five, she started lowering her legs.

"Feet up. Elbows out. Ten more," Nick said as he circled her like a hawk, inspecting her form.

When she was done, she started bicycle rotations, touching her right elbow to her left knee and alternating until he told her to stop.

At the end of the workout, she zipped her jacked and asked, "Where to tomorrow, coach?"

"Nowhere. Nothing now until the race on Saturday."