She passed her a sheet from a monogrammed notepad. Break a leg. Or is that what you say to a marathon runner? Emory smiled as she folded the note and put it in her lab coat pocket.
The receptionist said, “Dr. James asked me to tell you to watch out for bears.”
Emory laughed. “Do their patients know they’re a couple of clowns? Tell them I said good-bye.”
“Will do. Have a good run.”
“Thanks. See you Monday.”
“Oh, I almost forgot. Your husband called and said he was leaving work and would be at home to see you off.”
* * *
“Emory?”
“In here.” As Jeff walked into the bedroom she zipped up her duffel bag and, with a motion that was intentionally defiant, pulled it off the bed and slid the strap onto her shoulder.
“You got my message? I didn’t want you to leave before I got here to say good-bye.”
“I want to get ahead of Friday afternoon traffic.”
“Good idea.” He looked at her for a moment, then said, “You’re still mad.”
“Aren’t you?”
“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t.”
Last night’s argument was still fresh. Words shouted in anger and resentment seemed to be reverberating off the bedroom walls even now, hours after they’d gone to bed, lying back to back, each nursing hostility that had been simmering for months and had finally come to a boil.
He said, “Do I at least get points for wanting to see you off?”
“That depends.”
“On?”
“On whether or not you’re hoping to talk me out of going.” He sighed and looked away, and she said, “That’s what I thought.”
“Emory—”
“You should have stayed and finished out your day at the office. Because I’m going, Jeff. In fact, even if I hadn’t planned this distance run for tomorrow, I’d still want to take some time for myself. A night spent away from each other will give us a chance to cool off. If the run wears me out, I may stay up there tomorrow night, too.”
“One night or two won’t change my mind. This compulsion of yours—”
“This is where we started last night. I’m not going to rehash the quarrel now.”
Her training schedule for an upcoming marathon had been the subject that sparked the argument, but she feared that more substantive issues had been the underlying basis for it. The marathon wasn’t their problem; the marriage was.
Which is why she wanted so badly to get away and think. “I wrote down the name of the motel where I’ll be tonight.” As they walked past the kitchen bar, she tipped her head down toward the sheet of paper lying on it.
“Call me when you get there. I’ll want to know you made it safely.”
“All right.” She slid on her sunglasses and opened the back door. “Good-bye.”
“Emory?”
Poised on the threshold, she turned. He leaned down and brushed his lips across hers. “Be careful.”
* * *