Fly with Me: a novel by Andie Burke

chapter 8

Olive didn’t expect “running” a half-marathon to involve an hour of slow walking. Watching group after group start before you was infuriating. It became even less clear why anyone who was not a masochist would do this for fun.

She felt in her pocket for Jake’s medal, closing her eyes and imagining how it would’ve been if she’d come with him last year. He was a lot faster than she was, but he’d be back here anyway, bouncing around and making friends with everyone else in their corral. Basically, doing all the work socializing so Olive could stand back and marvel at his magnetism.

God, she missed the big, giant idiot.

It took only an eternity before her group arrived at the starting line. The music set them off running. Well, running might have been stretching the definition of what Olive was doing. She’d been given strict instructions by her running group to pace herself.

So she did.

Thirteen point one miles was a long way. So. Fucking. Long.

But she didn’t stop.

She didn’t take photos with characters.

She didn’t look at anyone around her.

She just ran.

Thinking of Jake. Thinking about all she’d accomplished in the last year and all the things he would almost certainly never see again.

Olive didn’t start crying until mile ten. That was when it got hard. Jake said he kept going the entire time when he ran last year. She would too. No matter how much it hurt. No matter how much she ached to sit down and give up. He didn’t give up, so she wouldn’t either. She closed her eyes, and found herself back on the last long run she’d done with her brother. She was whining like a five-year-old and practically limping down the last run of trail that would bring them back to Jake’s house.

He leaned over with his paw-like hand and mussed her hair.

She pushed him off and gave him a tiny, petulant shove.

He laughed once, but then his voice softened like he knew his words would echo in her brain months later. “Fight through it. If I can do it, Olive, you can.”

Fight.

Was she fighting through this stupid half-marathon because she’d lost the other battle that counted?

With every step closer to the end, she found herself wishing against all hope for the scene in Jake’s photo from last year. The proud Murphy family waiting to cheer him on at the end. The smiles and hugs. He’d been the essential piece that brought them all together.

Olive’s feet faltered in their rhythm against the pavement.

“Keep moving,” she said through gritted teeth.

Talking to her feet might be a new low for Olive. Jake would have teased her endlessly for that.

He had been on a long run the morning of the accident. The last picture in her phone from Jake was of the new running shoes he bought after coming back from Disney. What had happened to them after he was brought to the hospital?

Such a weird, stupid thought.

Olive’s own worn shoe treads scraped against the pavement. Every step was a battle. Blinking away a round of tears, Olive scanned the festive crowd on either side of the racecourse. All unfamiliar.

The dumb crying meant she’d missed seeing the last distance marker. She checked her watch to see how much farther she had to go before she could collapse into a blob. Twelve point nine miles done. Just a few more turns and she’d be at that finish line.