Today's Reading
INDIANA
1995
That second August on the road, not long after they'd made their way out of Michigan, Roddy had strained forward against his seatbelt to squint at the semi-mysterious figure behind the wheel of the car.
"Where are we going this time?" he asked, and from the front seat, their mom's eyes flashed at him in the rearview mirror. She had dark brown hair, so different from their own, and one of her front teeth was chipped, just barely, but enough to make the memory of her smile feel precise when they tried to picture it the other eleven months of the year.
"You'll see," she said, pressing harder on the gas.
Roddy looked past Connor to the window, the highway markers whipping by. He was eight years old that summer, and instead of becoming clearer, the world felt more and more like a mystery to him. "Have you seen it all?" he asked his mom, and though he was talking about the country, the flat land unspooling around them, it made her laugh that deep, jangly laugh of hers.
"I've seen it all twice," she said.
RODDY
Washington, D.C.
2025
Roddy in motion: breathless and joyful. He runs through the cobbled streets of Georgetown, his muscles burning, his bad knee sending up the occasional flare. His lungs are full of the springlike breeze, his heart thumping hard in his chest, his mind blissfully calm. He is simply running, as he's been trained to do, as he's done his whole life, moving fast through the streets of the city he loves, the city that's given him so much, not just his home and his career, but his fiancé too—all of which he might be leaving in the next few weeks.
Somewhere behind him, a distant voice: "Oi!"
Roddy glances over his shoulder, then turns, still jogging in place, to wait for Winston, who looks like he's limping through the final mile of a marathon, though they've only been running for twenty minutes. He's gasping for breath, his dark brown skin dripping with sweat, and when he reaches a mailbox, he drapes an arm over it with a groan.
"You okay?" Roddy asks, loping over to him.
Winston lifts his head and glares. "This is madness," he says, his English accent—usually so clipped and precise—punctuated by jagged breaths. "Can we not just go for brunch like a normal couple?"
Roddy grins, resuming his standstill jog. "This is more fun."
"Maybe if you're a professional athlete," Winston says, grimacing
as he braces a foot against the mailbox to stretch his calf. Even sweaty and exhausted, he still manages to look handsome—'dashing,' Roddy had once called him, which made Winston laugh. But it's true.
"Come on. You're the one who got second place in that 5K for Parkinson's research!"
Winston straightens up. "Oh. Right. You should know that I lied about that."
"You did?" Roddy asks, surprised. "Why?"
"I was trying to impress you," Winston says, as if this should be obvious. "I hadn't met very many footballers."
Roddy grins at him. "And I hadn't met very many scientists," he says, leaning to give him a kiss, a hand on the small of his back, which is slightly damp.
"Well, this one needs some coffee," Winston says when they break apart again. "Will we call it?"
"I can't," Roddy says. "I need to be training in case—"
"In case of Orlando." Winston runs a hand over his close-cropped hair. '"Orlando."' He says it very slowly. "It doesn't even sound like a real place, does it?"
"Well, it is," Roddy assures him. "And assuming I get the offer, they're probably going to expect me to be able to run for more than a few miles."
Winston sighs. "Fine. How about we do one more?"
"How about three?"
"How about you do that," Winston says, pointing across the street, "while I work on the crossword from that bench over there?"
Roddy laughs. "You've got yourself a deal."
"See, this is why we're going to ace this whole marriage thing."
"Only ten more days," Roddy says over his shoulder as he jogs off. "Only if you bring me back a coffee!" Winston calls after him.
This excerpt is from the ebook edition.
Monday we begin the book THE STRANGE CASE OF JANE O. by Karen Thompson Walker.
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