Sand flew up behind her, sticking to her
legs as she ran on the hard-packed sand at the edge where the water was just
out of reach. Her heart pounded, keeping
tempo with the pounding of her feet.
When her app indicated she had hit the two mile mark, she pushed for
another mile. Running had become her
alone time, her clear-her-head-and-keep-her-sane time, her escape from
everything. Her pace wouldn’t win her
any races, but that didn’t matter. Slow
and steady was her mantra most days, and there was nothing quite like an early
morning run on a nearly deserted southern California beach to start her
day.
At the three-mile mark she turned,
heading back the way she came, moving slightly higher on the sand, where the
tide wouldn’t roll over the tops of her shoes.
Trying to outrun the last few weeks, she pushed harder before finally
slowing down, easing into a walk the closer she got to her starting point. When
she got to where she had left her blanket, towel and water bottle she stopped,
bending forward to rest her hands on her knees.
She drew in a deep breath and let it out. She did it again. Reaching for the blanket she spread it out
and dropped to sit, her legs spread wide as she bent over one then the other,
stretching out her rapidly cooling muscles.
Drawing her legs into the butterfly
position, she pressed on her knees and leaned forward before moving into
child’s pose for a final stretch.
Sitting up she found her water bottle and drank down half of it as she
stared out at endless expanse of the Pacific Ocean.
The ocean breeze ruffled her ponytail and
she picked up the towel and wiped the sweat off the back of her neck and her
chest. The weeks since they’d been back
from Kentucky had been beyond crazy. She
had been working on three different habitat projects and Richie was working non-stop it
seemed. He had even instituted a new
“open door” policy at the house. She
never knew just who was going to be coming or going at any given time of the
day. Or night for that matter. There was always someone in their house, be
it musician, producer, songwriter or the delivery guy from whatever take out
place they ordered from.
A car door slammed somewhere behind
her.
And it felt like she and Richie hadn’t
spent any significant time together since the weekend at the Derby. He hadn’t even made it to bed in the last few
nights. They were like two ships passing
in the hallways. She frowned and
finished her water, dropping the bottle to the blanket. It wasn’t the first time she had dealt with
this. When Mark had been alive, they had
worked different shifts, her days, him evenings. It worked out when Ben had been a baby, but
it took a toll on their marriage. After
a lot of hard work and long talks, she and Mark had found their footing again,
and then...
And now Richie was working all kinds of
crazy hours and she had heard talk of possibly touring, taking the music to the
fans after they released the EP.
Realistically she knew he wasn’t ignoring
her, not on purpose anyway. But when he
didn’t come to bed at night, when they didn’t have a real conversation beyond
“good morning” and/or “good night” she had to wonder if she was really enough
for him. She had nothing to offer him
musically except for her ears. She knew
what sounded good to her and knew what she liked, but other than that, she had
nothing. She didn’t play an instrument, definitely did not sing unless she was
alone in the car and she didn’t write unless it was the grocery list, so how
could she be what he needed?
And what about Orianthi? She had seen them together, laughing,
writing, singing. Their heads together
working out the finer details of different songs. She hated that she was jealous of the time that
woman was getting with Richie. She wasn’t
a jealous person by nature. But there
was just something in the way the two of them were when they were together that
continued to rub her the wrong way.
She huffed out a breath, hating the turn
her thoughts had taken. But the doubts
that had only been niggling whispers early on in their relationship had become
full-blown worries in the last few weeks.
She had been able to tune out the whispers, but as much as she had
tried, she hadn’t been able to outrun the worry. Dragging in a deep breath she held it for a
brief count of three and released it on a resolution.
She sat up straighter, the hair at the
back of her neck bristled. She could
feel eyes on her. Standing, she shook
out the blanket and haphazardly folded it before grabbing the towel and empty
bottle. When she straightened she found
Richie watching her from the opening in the concrete barricade. She didn’t say anything, just watched him
watching her.
He moved through the opening, moving
toward her, not stopping until the tips of his shoes touched the toes of her
sneakers. “I thought I might find you
here.” When he hadn’t found her in their
room or in their exercise room, he hadn’t hesitated in driving here to find
her. She was a creature of habit about
certain things.
It wasn’t like she had been hiding from
him. “Yep, you found me.” She was kind of surprised he had come looking
for her. They had been doing their own thing so much
lately she wasn’t sure he even knew she had left the house that morning.
With his thumb and forefinger he lifted
her chin, bringing her eyes up to meet his.
Seeing her witchy eyes more brown than green unnerved him. He knew what that meant and he didn’t like it. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
She was tempted to say nothing, to keep
things on an even keel for him, but she was tired. Tired of feeling like this. “I miss you.”
She felt her eyes mist and damned herself for letting her emotions get
that close to the surface.
