Free Last Run by Hilary Norman Page A

guessed that if her new friend broke
the finish tape, she’d be the first to point that out.
    Which didn’t stop Cathy yelling her support,
shrieking
as Kez crossed the line.
    ‘Pal of yours?’ the man next to her asked. ‘She’s not bad.’
    ‘Not bad?’ Cathy told him. ‘She’s
amazing
.’
     
‘Yeah.’ The man shrugged and smiled. ‘Good for her.’
    There was no victory in the 1500, but Cathy was yelling just as wildly, and sure, she was used to cheering on the Tornadoes, but she knew that she’d never shouted this loudly before. Had
never
felt
like this before. Watching Kez running in this race, the distance so much tougher than the 800, physically and psychologically; watching her giving her all and
then
some,
observing the fiercely working muscles on those tanned legs, the intensity of her focus, the obvious pain on her face from the pounding punishment, the pace and sheer speed of the sprint. Noting
her grimace, the moment when fatigue took control, mastered her, then, finally, wiped her out.
    ‘I’m fine,’ Kez told her later, shrugging off defeat as she had victory.
    She was starved, she said, knew exactly what she wanted – and no, the coach didn’t know and would not approve, but she hardly ever broke diet rules and right now, at least sometime
in the next hour or two, she wanted
steak.
    They left West Palm Beach and Cathy drove them – Kez had come up in Mike Delaney’s car – to Fort Lauderdale and found Ruth’s Chris Steak House, because
most people agreed their sizzling broiled steaks were the best around.
    ‘You’ve told me,’ Kez said a while later, eating Gulf shrimp, ‘why you run, but I haven’t told you why I do.’
    ‘Because you’re so talented.’ Cathy speared a heart of lettuce from her salad. ‘Because, I guess, you have no choice?’
    ‘I started out running,’ Kez said, ‘because I could, went on because I seemed pretty good at it and then, like you, I got hooked.’ She finished a shrimp, licked her
fingers, met Cathy’s eyes. ‘But you run partly to get away from things, and I run because I’m afraid that if I stop I’ll get ugly again.’
    ‘Ugly?’ Cathy could not keep the astonishment out of her voice.
    ‘Oh, yeah,’ Kez said. ‘I was a real ugly teenager.’
    ‘You can’t have been,’ Cathy said.
    ‘I’m no oil painting now.’ Kez held out her hands, palms down, fingers splayed. ‘That’s why I do stuff like paint my nails this way.’
    ‘I figured it was a tribute to Flo-Jo,’ Cathy said.
    ‘Sure,’ Kez allowed. ‘I admired the hell out of her – who didn’t?’ She paused. ‘But I also do it because they distract people from the rest of
me.’
    ‘That’s crazy,’ Cathy said. ‘You’re wonderful to look at.’
    ‘You’re very kind,’ Kez said.
    ‘No,’ Cathy insisted. ‘Your face, your body, it’s all marvellous.’
    Kez shook her head. ‘You’re too beautiful to understand.’
    Cathy laughed.
    ‘What’s funny?’ Kez asked sharply.
    Cathy looked at her in surprise and saw what looked like hurt in her eyes, perhaps a hint of anger too, realized suddenly that Kez might think she was laughing at her.
    ‘I guess I’m embarrassed.’ She paused. ‘I’ve never seen myself as beautiful.’
    The hurt and anger had already left Kez’s eyes.
    ‘Then you’re the one who’s crazy,’ she said.
    She was looking at Cathy now with warmth. Making her feel special.
    There was no doubting one thing.
    Cathy had never met a guy who’d made her feel like that.
    ‘Did you see how she looked?’ Grace asked Sam softly.
    Cathy had come in a while back and found them settled in the den watching one of the old British sitcoms they enjoyed; Woody on the sofa between them, sharing the popcorn Grace had developed a
liking for during the pregnancy. She hadn’t said much about her day, just that she’d had a great dinner and was tired and going straight to bed, and then she’d gone upstairs.
    ‘Happy,’ Sam said. ‘Like