Page 5 of Get Me to the Starting Line
“Love you, Lee,” she whispers.
A lump builds in my throat.
“Love you too, Paige.”
Her smile is so big as she runs back to Adam, throwing her arms around his neck. He pulls her in by the waist and is kissing her before my door even closes.
Her long, tan legs and curvy ass are the last thing I see before they disappear into their little love bubble. I look down at my own legs and sigh, poking around my body.
It’s not that I’m necessarily unhappy with my appearance. But I’ve always felt a little like I drew the short straw on our genetics.It’s a good thing I love my sister, because that happiness percentage would be so much lower if I was the jealous type.
I know how much work she puts into exercising and training. She deserves every ounce of muscle and physical prowess she has.
She’s all our dad: tall and lean, with dark brown hair and a penchant for adventure and risk. I take after our mom: shorter than average without being short, curvy because of my affinity for desserts, with chin-length caramel-brown hair and a penchant to overthink and worry. Now I have all these scars from my baby and my accident last year. The biggest one is the exploratory laparotomy scar which travels from beneath my sternum all the way down to just above my pelvic bone. Right through my stomach.
The surgeon did a fine job—it’s fairly straight and it only puckers a little—but I still try to avoid looking at it. I may be softer and have a little more cushioning than my sister, but I still thought my body looked good, desirable even, until this scar split me open.
I remind myself I’d rather have a scar than be dead, so there’s that. Doesn’t mean I’m fond of it.
My heart still races when the memories wash over me, when we drive by a crash and I’m reminded of what could have happened. Whenever my mind drifts back to the accident, I’m bombarded with thoughts of “What if?” What if I had taken a different route home? What if I hadn’t strapped Levi into his car seat properly? What if he’d been hurt ... or worse? What if I had died?
The what-ifs haunt me, and the racing thoughts do nothing to calm my nerves. They got so bad a few months ago I almost opened up to Paige. Almost. But I’m her big sister. She shouldn’t have totake care of me. I know she’d be happy to help, but it felt like going against the grain. Like I was failing.
How could I be a single mom if I had to go to my little sister for help? She was going through enough at the time, what with being disqualified from the ultra and our mom passing away. Not to mention being fired from her job. How could I possibly be more of an inconvenience? I was already using her for babysitting services. I couldn’t put more on her.
Besides, her answer to everything is running. Which is always a hard no.
I’ll go to her events and cheer her on, but it will be a cold day in hell before she gets me to run any kind of race.
MychesttightensasI peer over the railing and into the depths of the canyon. Our flight leaves later today, but I had to come here one last time.
Bryce Canyon is a tourist trap for a reason. It’s beautiful. I can’t fault people for flocking here to take selfies with all the rock spires. I remember when our parents brought us for the first time once we were old enough. Mom told us the spires were called hoodoos. Paige and I both thought that was the funniest word and it became an insult in our family.
If we were being particularly terrible as teenagers, Mom would say, “get the hoodoo out of your ass,” and it would send me and Paige into fits of laughter.
These hoodoos are a marvel, and it’s one of the only outdoor places that’s ever given me any sort of peace. When everything feels too big, when I can’t seem to get a hold on my problems, I come here and feel insignificant. It helps me find perspective.
There’s a solid path with railings and a close parking lot. I don’t have to achieve a feat of supernatural physical strength to be able to enjoy it. I can just park my car, and the only physical activity required is wrestling with the stroller and toddler, which is plenty for me.
A small thrill runs through me as I lean over the railing. That’s about as far as I’ll let myself adventure. I’ve never even walked around or down into the canyon. I’ve just come to stand and admire the view from the top. Walking up the wide brick pathway, dodging tourists who aren’t paying attention to me and my stroller, I try to find a more secluded spot. It’s mid-October though. The weather is perfect for tourists, so it’s busy.
But I had to come.
Luckily, I find a small, unoccupied corner of the railing and park the stroller, cutting off anyone’s access to sneak in beside me. The wind whips over my face as I peer out into the depths of the canyon.
The sheer size and otherworldliness of it all calms my racing heart.
Closing my eyes, I breathe in and try to feel my mom’s presence. Paige said that’s how she feels her—when she’s connected to nature in a quiet, peaceful way. I was hoping this would help me connect.
But all I feel is the wind.
Adamsmacksmeonthe back as I choke on my drink.
“Groomsman?” I mutter between coughs.
“You can’t honestly be surprised?” He sizes me up with his giant blue eyes.
But I am. I feel close to him, but I typically have a different definition of “close” than other people do.
