Race Across the Sky (22 page)

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“T
here are two ways we can do this,” Doctor Frank said carefully.

Caleb sat on the edge of a long metal table and glanced around the tiny clinic. The room carried the scent of cough drops; the walls held paintings of birds.

The old doctor lifted one of Caleb's battered feet. Caleb noticed him shake his head at this willful mangling of the human form.

“First way is, we put you to sleep. Other way”—he coughed—“is we don't.”

The old doctor had run this two-room clinic in Arvada for decades. He employed an overweight middle-aged nurse named Sue, who sometimes smelled of alcohol. He was the only doctor Mack trusted with procedures of this sort, which energy healing did not affect.

“How long until I can run?”

“Depends on how your body heals. It's usually three weeks.” He hesitated. “With you guys, I'd say one.”

Caleb sighed.

“Are we doing all of them?”

“Please.”

Sue entered the room, smiling cheerily. “Hello, Mister Oberest!”

Doctor Frank explained, “When we put you out, there's always some risk. And you'll be groggy for a day.”

“I don't want to be put out.”

“Well, I can use a local, but it won't be comfortable. The shots hurt. You won't feel pain when we do it, but it can be kind of, disconcerting.”

“I'm fine.”

Sue opened a metal drawer, and her hand emerged holding an alarmingly long hypodermic, glistening in the sunlight. Caleb lay down on the table. He noticed a long line of water damage running across the ceiling.

He felt Sue take hold of his right heel and balance it in her palm. Then he felt a sharp plunging into the tender skin just under the nail of his little toe. The pain was of a dental quality, sublime and unbearable. A burn flooded into his mangled toe, and Caleb cried out.

Sue said, “Sorry, honey. It'll get numb in a second.”

She proved correct. The pain quieted almost instantly. He felt her take up his second toe. Blend with the air, he whispered to himself. He tried to force on his Happy Trails smile, but when the needle slipped deeply under his toenail, he jolted and ground his teeth.

“I think we should put him out,” Sue said to Doctor Frank.

Caleb shook his head. “No risks.”

The third toe was no better. He gripped the metal table so hard that his fingertips went red and numb. As the needle went under his big toe he gasped so audibly that Doctor Frank looked down at him and stopped. Their eyes met. When he could, Caleb nodded for him to continue.

But as with all pain, the second it diminished, so did its memory. With all ten toes numb, he felt relaxed, and breathed deeply. Doctor Frank bent over Caleb's feet. The instrument at hand, Caleb saw from his prone position, was a jagged chrome tool shaped like the beak of an eagle.

Sue held a small tray aloft filled with plenty of gauze and a small plastic bowl. Caleb shut his eyes. A vision of the stunning sublimity of Yosemite Valley spread out before him; amazing things would happen to him there, experiences beyond contemplation. It would challenge him, and he would challenge it; he had the sense that there would be some finality either way. He placed himself in the middle of its fields, near wildflowers and waterfalls. But an odd tugging at his feet interrupted his meditation.

He opened his eyes and saw Doctor Frank's gloved hand twisting sharply in an unnatural circular motion. Caleb could feel a strange gravitational pull as the web of tendons holding his toenails to his skin began to tear.

Some of the nails came off easily, a sudden muscular twist, and then the sound of it falling into the tray. Others proved more difficult. He heard the doctor's tired breath after a third attack on the stubborn second toe of his left foot. His body screamed that this was not right, that he should do something.

When Doctor Frank was finished, Caleb risked a glance downward. His feet were both covered in thick black blood. Sue was bent over them with a needle and thread.

“Seven of these need stitches. All of them need to be taped for a week.”

Caleb let his head drop back against the table.

“When the anesthetic wears off, maybe two hours, it's going to hurt. You won't want anything near your feet. No socks, blankets, or even sheets. Take some turmeric for the swelling. If that doesn't work take ibuprofen, or you won't run for a month.”

Caleb's eyes widened.

“I know you guys don't like antibiotics. Sue's going to give you a tube of ointment, it's holistic. For swelling and pain and cleaning. But if you see any green fluid through the bandage, then you get this filled and take it for ten days. She'll make you an appointment to get the stitches out next week.”

Caleb nodded, reaching for the prescription that he knew Mack would toss away. Sue helped him into open-toed sandals and slowly eased him onto his feet.

“Don't walk, just glide,” she cautioned him. “Like you're skating.”

Outside, Kevin Yu was waiting in an old T-shirt and sunglasses.

“I got you, dude,” he said, slipping a surprisingly strong arm under Caleb's shoulders. He glimpsed Caleb's red feet, swelling madly at each end. They looked as though someone had held them over fire. The two of them shuffled slowly over to Mack's Jeep, and Kevin eased him into the passenger seat.

“You're shaking, Caley.”

Caleb leaned his head back. By the time they drove over the dirt driveway, and Mack opened the front door smiling, his feet looked no stranger to him than they had the day before.

•   •   •   •   •   •   •

June saw Mack across the street, in the doorway of Pedestrian Shoes.

Spring seemed to have announced its intentions. The mid-March mornings were cold but full of promise. A clarity had developed in the light.

She wore a long sundress in a floral print, a head scarf, and old sneakers Alice had given her. She held a yellow bucket of cleaning supplies in her hand and carried Lily in her purple Kelty Kids backpack. June was on her way back from her day's second apartment; she had cleaned it for two hours while Lily napped in a queen-size bed. The African-American student who lived there had arrived home early. She had stared at Lily, and then back to June, as June had scrambled to leave.

Lily was wide awake now, excited to be out in the fresh air after a morning of cleaning fluids and rousted dust. She loved the energy of the street. The colors, people, and music never failed to elicit squeaks and excited arm-waving. From her perch just above June's head, she looked out at the world like a welcoming beacon. Students on the sidewalks sometimes reached for her fingers. Mother and daughter stood on the mall and focused their large pale eyes on John McConnell.

He was stepping onto the Mall with the March sun in his face, carrying six green boxes of sneakers stacked in his thin arms. The Yosemite Slam, just eight weeks away, was the sole focus of his life. He had stopped the house parties, Thursdays at the Rocking Horse, even accompanying the house on their daily runs. These final weeks required group focus, and no outsiders, he explained. Everyone had gotten into it.

From across the street, June noticed that he looked older. The crevices running from the sides of his eyes to the corners of his small mouth seemed deeper, his legs bony in their blue running shorts, covered with tufts of black hair; even his beard seemed coarser. Maybe it was just the strong sunlight.

June watched him fumble with the Jeep's back door and toss the boxes inside, many of which fell open and emptied onto the seats. When he walked back inside the store, June stayed where she was, letting people walk around her. A moment later Mack reappeared carrying another stack of boxes. From above her, Lily let loose a squeal of recognition, as if she were sighting land.

Mack heard it and looked suddenly across the street. He focused on them for a moment; then he waved. He placed his boxes in the Jeep, walked across the Mall, and reached up to the purple backpack for Lily's soft hand.

“How's the day?” he asked June, smiling at the baby.

“I cleaned two places. One of them gave me a five-dollar tip. She said to buy something for Lily.”

“Cool beans.”

“I have it here for you.” She patted her pocket.

“See those shoes?” Mack gestured back at Pedestrian. “Montrail just released the new line. Their bottoms are just solid. Incredible. The guys gave us a good deal. So, everyone gets a present for Yosemite. Hey, Michael Jordan wore a new pair of Nikes every game, why not you guys? The Michael Jordans of running.” He winked at her.

She smiled. “I'm more of a bench player.”

“You've been nailing fifties all year. I know you can take a hundred, Junebug. It will be great for you.” He looked up at Lily. “And the trip will be real good for our special lady here.”

June started hopefully. “You think so?”

“For sure. Different air. Less dry. New input.”

“Because it's been harder this week. The winter was hard for her breathing, but the spring, I'm worried about the pollen and . . .” she waved her arms around, unsure what to say.

Mack nodded sympathetically. “Some local honey will help. I'll pick us up some.”

They stepped aside to let some skateboarders explode past. There was a space afterward in which June could hear her heart pounding.

“She gets better when she works with you,” she explained, “but then it comes back.”

“Well, my energy levels have been low.” Mack became agitated. “I know that. I've been pouring everything into logistics, insurance, permits, press. It's hard not being out there in California, doing this from our house. I'm talking with running blogs and magazines and the ABC folks, right? But Barry Strong's guys are meeting with the park people, local police, hospital reps in person. I should be out there. I mean, I'm needed.”

“We need you too,” June smiled, wanting to soothe him.

“And it's sapping me. I'm only running four hours a day. I'm fighting mental stress. When I work with Lily at night, I have less kinetic energy to give to her. I need to get my energy up.” He looked at her. “Swing by my room with her this afternoon. Bring me some green tea, yeah?” He looked up, smiling, the rivers around his mouth and nose deepening into oceans. “See you later, little Lily!”

She thought for a second that Mack would offer her a ride down to the house, but he drove off. So she stopped at Dushanbe and spent some of her cleaning cash on a pound of sencha and chamomile-lavender blend. While the barista measured the bags, June stared at the muffins and scones behind the glass. It had been a year since she had eaten anything like them, and she felt hungry in a way she had not in months. Her desire for one of them was dizzying. But she swallowed it back. The kinetic energy her body produced on the trails this morning would be wasted trying to process the sugars and additives, and not be available to help Lily during the reiki treatment Mack seemed to have promised. It did not seem worth Lily's health to sample a scone.

She sang a little made-up tune as she walked with her daughter down Arapahoe into the darkening valley.

“I'm going to give you an amazing life,” she promised in song. “We're getting you better. We're getting you better.”

At the house, June changed Lily's diaper, kissed her soft belly, and brought her to Mack's closed door. She knocked.

Mack's nasal voice called out, “What?”

“It's June and Lily. And tea.”

“Come on in.”

Inside, a thick musk washed over her. The window in here should be thrown open, she thought. Mack sat on his futon mattress, on the floor.

“Hey, princess,” he waved to Lily.

June set her down, and immediately she began a fast crawl to him, eyes wide, clear drool hanging from her smiling mouth. By the time she reached him, of course, she was out of breath and coughing, her tiny chest heaving.

Mack's eyes drooped, and his voice was lower than usual. “She'll be walking soon, you know.”

“Oh God, I hope.”

Mack stared intensely at her. “I think she should start on the program when she does.”

“The program?”

“Multigrain in the morning, as much walking as she can do on those red feet, root stew at five.”

“What about her milk?”

“No dairy, of course. We're not meant to process cow lactose, that's barbaric bullshit leftover from the times of leeches. No naps, no stasis. That's what's wrong, that's why she hasn't been able to build her own kinetic energy yet. She needs movement. Her body needs to work like ours. When she's six, she'll be running marathons. Right, little Lily?”

Almost on cue, the short and sharp inhales of Lily's breathing became audible. “When she gets excited, it gets louder,” June explained.

“She's excited because she understands what I'm saying to you.”

“Of course, Mack.”

Mack drank his tea and lifted Lily onto his mattress. She seemed to anticipate the great healing heat that came from him and lay right on her back to meet it. Spreading his left hand out, his palm hovering an inch over the gentle skin of her chest, shutting his eyes, he began to fix her. When June held her daughter's hand, she could feel the hot energy shooting through her as she was entrained.

“Now you,” Mack instructed her.

So June rubbed her palms together and held each over Lily's abdomen, her fingertips grazing Mack's. She closed her eyes to focus on willing her energy into her baby. And yet June felt uneasy. Limiting Lily to just two meals a day and no naps? Of course she would try it, she would try anything for her daughter. But it felt wrong. She glanced at Mack awkwardly; the smell of him was so raw.

As usual, Lily had fallen asleep under his touch. Her wheezing was still pronounced as she was unable to breathe deeply even in sleep. A cloud shifted and sent the room into shadow, and then Mack broke out of his meditation and looked directly into June.