Page 50 of The Comeback Summer

THIRTY MINUTES LATER,Hannah and I are walking across the bridge near Lincoln Park that arches over Lakeshore Drive. I’ve never gotten to the lake path this way, and it’s exhilarating, having the traffic speed by beneath our feet.

Once we’re safely on the other side, I spot none other than Josh Goddamn Jacobson, stretching like a tall Adonis.

As much as I hate to admit it, time has been good to Josh—he’s got the dark-hair-and-blue-eyes combination that is always striking. Not to mention those damn dimples. If he was less good-looking, I bet Hannah wouldn’t have let him back in her life so easily. But attractive men can get away with anything.

After an awkward hello—they hug, he and I nod—our little trio gets started on the path, heading north toward Evanston.

“Let’s start with a warm-up,” Hannah says, for my benefit, I’m sure.

It doesn’t take long for the three of us to drop into a triangle formation, with Josh and Hannah speed walking neck and neck, and me trailing behind in more of a walk-run. My breaths are ragged, my feet moving so fast I’m worried I might trip. For the first time in weeks, my old fear about the ambulance not being able to reach me resurfaces.

Every once in a while, Hannah looks back to check on me,and I give her what hopefully looks more like a smile than a grimace. I can’t hear what they’re talking about, but Hannah sure seems to be laughing a lot. I don’t remember Josh beingthatfunny.

He’s nowhere near as funny as Adam, that’s for sure. The other day Adam made me literally laugh out loud when he told me—HannahF—about one of his regular customers. Harvey, a widower in his eighties, recently scheduled three different dates at the diner—one for breakfast, another for lunch, and a third for dinner. When he realized the diner wasn’t open for dinner, he got visibly upset—so Adam agreed to stay open late and cook them something special.

I cackled when Adam told me that after all that, the man only left him a two-dollar tip.

Hannah laughs again, and she and Josh pick up their pace. I try to do the same so I can eavesdrop, but it’s futile. My legs feel like rubber and I’m terrified my heart is going to beat out of my chest.

The stretch of lake path between us gets wider and wider, until there’s a gap the length of a city bus between us. They’re still walking, but it’s faster than the speed of my running, and Hannah’s barely breaking a sweat.

In this moment, it’s glaringly obvious just how much she’s been slowing down for our walks. We aren’t working out together like she said. It’s more like she’s babysitting her out-of-shape big sister.

The path starts to rise into a slight hill, and I’m doing my best to keep up, but my lungs are burning, the arches of my feet are throbbing, and—ow!—a cramp in my side finally stops me.

I bend over in pain, my breaths erratic. This is ridiculous.I shouldn’t be here. I am not an athlete. I was crazy for thinking I could handle this.

The drops of sweat sliding down my face are about to get joined by tears when I see a pair of men’s orange-and-blue Brooks running shoes in my field of vision.

“You okay?” Josh asks.

“Just dandy,” I reply between shallow breaths.

“Wait here,” Josh says. As if I’m in any condition to move.

Moments later, he’s back. “Here,” he says, handing me an ice-cold water bottle.

I use the last ounce of energy I have to wave his hand away. I’m not desperate enough to accept help from him.

To prove that I’m okay, I stand back up. Too quickly, it seems, because the earth wobbles beneath my feet.

“Careful,” Josh says, reaching out his stupid muscular arm to steady me.

It takes a beat for my equilibrium to return. As soon as it does, I shrug away from his touch, walking to the side of the path so we aren’t in the way of other runners, athletes who don’t practically faint twenty minutes into their workout. Luckily there’s a bench, and I collapse onto it—right in the middle, so Josh doesn’t think about sitting next to me.

“Where’s my sister?” I ask, looking back up the hill at the path ahead of us.

“I told her we’d catch up,” Josh says.

I narrow my eyes at him. Hannah wouldn’t leave me. Plus, she’d never run off alone when she’s wearing a ponytail. If she gets kidnapped, I’ll...

“Here,” Josh says, pushing the water bottle toward me again. “You’ll feel better.”

I shake my head, not sure what makes me angrier: that Josh is being nice or that I don’t have the energy to tell him to fuck off.

Reluctantly, I take the bottle. The water feels like cool relief sliding down my throat, and I realize that, unfortunately, Josh was right. I do feel better. I take another greedy sip, then wipe the back of my hand over my lips before putting the lid back on the bottle.

“You’re welcome,” he says with a know-it-all smile on his stupid face.

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