Just got your text. Yep, I took it—surprised me as much as anyone. I want to come home tomorrow, but we’ll see how I feel after awards in the morning.

She picked up the phone and took it to the couch. She began to text.

Congratulations. Lin Su here—Charlie fell asleep but he was waiting to hear from you. I’ll tell him about your text in the morning.

She was barely finished when her cell phone began to ring and she answered in surprise. “Hello?”

“What’s a fourteen-year-old kid doing asleep at ten o’clock on a Saturday night?” Blake asked.

“I think following your race, the excitement of it and all, just wore him out. He’s sprawled on my bed, his training book under his head and his laptop... Wait a minute. What’s a triathlete who just completed a nine-hour race doing up?”

“Nine hours and fifteen minutes, thank you very much. I was a little too wired after the race. And there was a little celebrating to do. I’m winding down now. I should sleep well.”

“I’ll bet. Was it awful?”

“It was awful good. I never expected to win that one. In fact, I was planning on not winning, but I wanted to do well. Well enough so that when the front-runners for the Kona talk about contenders they’ll notice how well I did on the mountains and speculate on how that translates into the island race and fear me.” He laughed. “That’s what I was going for. I’ll have to remember that. Obviously good strategy.”

“Are you sore?”

“I had a rubdown, I’m all right. The morning after a race is always a little creaky, but I’m feeling good. And you? You’re all right?”

“Me?” she asked. “Oh, I’m fine. Very well, thank you. I got Winnie a walker and she’s now a speed demon. We’re going to have to keep an eye on that.”

“Charlie’s workouts are going well?” he asked.

“He’s very happy with his progress. You said six days a week, less than an hour each day, but I’m afraid he’s impossible to stop—he’s at it every day and has to be bribed off the equipment after an hour. I haven’t seen him this excited about anything since the day he inherited that laptop from one of my patients a few years ago.”

“No problems with his asthma?” Blake asked.

She was reminded that’s what their relationship was all about—Charlie’s training program. “No problems at all. Be sure to tell Gretchen he’s doing well. He was quite taken with her.”

“No doubt,” Blake said with a laugh in his voice. “I’ll try to remember if I talk to her.”

“But she’s there,” Lin Su said. “That’s her job, to be there while you race, isn’t it?”

“Gretchen decided to race in the women’s division. She finished very well. I haven’t seen her since the race. We all went in different directions. I had acquaintances here, and she had other clients and the support crew from her training facility. They’re all going back to Boulder together, probably tomorrow, but I didn’t ask. No worries, I’ll be talking to her this week—she runs statistics for me routinely.”

“Statistics?”

“Race times, winners, weather conditions, everything. Plus she keeps my personal statistics logged, just like what Charlie’s doing for his training, though for a slightly different reason.”

“Slightly,” she echoed.

“I haven’t talked to you too much since you moved into your loft. Gretchen was in residence and I was getting in that uncommunicative race mode. So, is it good? Your loft?”

“Grace’s loft,” she corrected. “When she was renovating the flower shop she finished off the upstairs, which had been used for storage. Now it’s a small apartment. It has as much of a kitchen as I had in that trailer but is so much more comfortable. And I guess I don’t have to tell you about the neighborhood...”

“Plus you’re close to your job,” he said.

“And school. Charlie seems to really like the school. He’s getting phone calls from girls about homework.”

“That always helps a guy settle into a new school, a little notice from the girls.”

“He says he took Frank’s advice and is offering to help the kids with their studies. Um, Frank... Frank’s a kid from town Charlie met last summer. He’s a genius, Charlie says—going to MIT on a scholarship. But as Charlie tells it, Frank was a nerd in glasses and kind of small when he was Charlie’s age, so they bonded.”

There was quiet for a long moment. “That kid,” Blake finally said. “Never underestimate that kid. He has great insight. His instincts are on target.”

“You’re right,” she said. “He amazes me. Um, I should hang up now. You should rest—you’ve had a very long day.”

“Yeah,” he laughed. “Yeah, I have. Hope I’ve unwound enough to sleep. These races—you either crash afterward or are too wired to sleep. Tell Charlie I’ll text him if I’m on my way tomorrow.”

“I will,” she said. “It was nice of you to text him. Thanks.”

“Of course I would. You’re friends of mine. Bye, then.”

Eleven

Grace was putting out her fall sidewalk displays, though the first holiday, Halloween, was weeks away. September was growing ripe, football season was in full swing, leaves on the surrounding hillsides were changing, fall rains were cold and unpredictable and people had begun to decorate their front doors with stalks of Indian corn and fall wreaths of colored leaves and pinecones.

Grace and Troy had each begun winter projects. Troy had hired a stonemason to finish the outdoor hearth. It wasn’t too complicated because the foundation and gas pipe were already installed. It was too complicated for Troy, however. Between Grace and Winnie they had convinced him not to play with gas or electricity. So the fireplace man was called.

Putting a metal frame over the base and building around it with the stone Grace and Winnie selected appeared to be a simple process, though time-consuming, and work stopped for rain because of the outdoor location of the fireplace. There seemed to be activity around that project every day.

During the construction of the fireplace, Grace couldn’t stay away. She closed the shop twice a day to check on the progress; Troy used his lunch hour to drive home and look things over. The mason was an older, seasoned man in his sixties who had told them to expect at least ten days for the construction, did not show up every day and was not open to suggestions. His name was Keebler, like the cookies. It was never clear whether that was a first name, last name or only name. And he was highly recommended and grumpy as all hell.