There were three runners ahead of him. He nudged his pace up a notch, then another. He passed an Austrian he’d raced before, then an Italian whose legs were too short for the trek, so he was moving them like mad at the end, pumping his arms and panting like bloody hell. The finish line came into view, three-quarters of a mile down the track, and he thought he could hear those pimps and gangbangers on his heels and he pressed into a solid canter, stretching out his stride, flowing over the ground. He wondered where he was in the pack; he wondered how many had crossed the finish line. Then he heard the screams, the shouting, the chanting, the cheering. He stretched it out, pushed into the nearest thing to a sprint he had in him and, arms over his head, he crossed the line and tore through the tape.

Holy Jesus, he wasn’t supposed to win this one; he was just supposed to scare the living shit out of the rest of them. But what happened?

“Nine-fifteen!” Nigel bellowed. “Nine-fifteen! On a fucking mountain!”

He braced his hands on his knees and leaned down for a second, concentrating on not puking, and when he was sure he wasn’t going to, he slowly stood and began pacing, walking it off, pushing his way through an encroaching crowd.

He had a towel around his neck, a bottle of electrolyte-laced water in his hand, Nigel in his head telling him how close he’d come to a Tahoe record, people crowding him with congratulations. He’d done that? Someone said Griffin had come in fifth; Abraham Cadu, a well-known African athlete who was the favorite for this race, was behind him by a minute and a half, which meant had he not trimmed two minutes from the bike he wouldn’t have won.

Which meant watching Charlie and Lin Su in his head had been like holding a carrot in front of a stampeding horse.

Someday he might tell them.

* * *

Charlie was sitting at Winnie’s dining room table with his laptop open. He had it plugged in because it was going to be a long day. It was Saturday and he’d been there on and off all day. It wasn’t easy to follow the race via computer because it wasn’t live, but there were regular updates complete with pictures and some video streaming that was pretty reliable. Finally, while Lin Su was in the kitchen trying to put together a chicken divan recipe that Winnie wanted her to try, Charlie erupted.

“You are not going to believe this! He won! At least, I think he won! They’re doing the awards tomorrow, but there’s a live video stream of... Yeah! That’s him! That’s Blake! First one over the finish line. Nine hours! He raced for over nine hours!”

“Dear God,” Winnie said. “Who does something like that?”

Lin Su was just making her way around the breakfast bar when she noticed that Winnie was reaching for her walker and struggling to stand. Before Lin Su could rush to her to help, Mikhail was beside her.

“You worked very hard when you were competing,” he reminded her.

“I practiced, and yes, it was hard, but in competition I skated a two-minute program,” she said. “Let me be! Let me do this!” She wrestled the walker away from him and moved steadily toward Charlie. “I hate this god-awful thing, but at least I can get around without always needing help!”

“If you don’t go slowly you will need help getting off floor,” Mikhail said. “But do as you please. You can always get new nose after you fall on your face.”

“Charlie, push out that chair for me,” she said. She sat down beside him. “Let me see what you see there,” she said, leaning toward the laptop.

“Yep, that’s it, he has the best time,” Charlie said. “When’s the news come on? This should be on the news, right? Or ESPN? Let me look it up? Where are Ironman triathlon results reported? Aw, come on,” he said impatiently to the computer. “When did he say he’s coming home?”

“Certainly not immediately,” Lin Su said. “Charlie, he can’t be in any shape to drive from Lake Tahoe tomorrow! It’s a long drive. Maybe eight hours.”

“Eureka is only four hours away but he’ll go straight up 5,” Charlie insisted. “But Tahoe... I’m going to text him.”

“Honey, don’t bother Mr. Smiley,” Lin Su said. “He just raced for over nine hours! And you know he doesn’t have his phone with him!”

“Text him,” Winnie said. “He’ll catch up with his phone.”

Lin Su sighed heavily. “Did it ever occur to you to be a good influence?”

“I am. I’m training Charlie to trust his instincts. He should text. After all, the rooting section is right here and we’ve been waiting all day.”

Charlie’s thumbs started clicking away wildly. Lin Su found herself thinking that if he learned to do his homework as rapidly, he would be president one day. But the clicking went on...and on...and on...

“Charlie, what are you saying to him? For heaven’s sake, don’t you think he’ll be a little tired after today?”

“I think he won’t look at his texts until he’s recovered a little,” Winnie answered for Charlie. “What did you text?” she then asked Charlie.

“Asking if he really won, saying we’re all watching and tracking the race, waiting to hear the official results, that we hope he feels okay and was it a good race and when is he coming home and does he want me to fly down to Tahoe and drive him so he can rest.” And at that last, he grinned his best boyish grin.

* * *

Lin Su finally coaxed Charlie home just before eight. She suggested a movie and popcorn, but he wasn’t interested. He wanted to read one of his training books and keep his phone and laptop open in case there was any news from Blake. Feeling like a movie for herself, she told Charlie to go to her bed with his book and electronics and she would keep the volume down.

Grace had introduced Lin Su to her stash of chick flicks and she had selected two. Troy had added two DVDs that Charlie might find tolerable—one action, one spy drama. Since Charlie was into his training program, Lin Su popped in The Holiday and pretended to be Cameron Diaz falling in love with Jude Law. At about the time she was going to make a commitment to Jude, she heard Charlie’s phone chime with an incoming text. She waited and listened but didn’t hear anything. Then the phone, in the other room, chimed again. She put the movie on pause and got off the couch.

Poor Charlie. He was sprawled over his book, his glasses all wonky, his laptop sleeping as soundly as he. So she picked up the phone and read the text.