Now, she just wished she had a chance to run with her again. She could picture her mother ahead of her, pulling into the distance. Izzy might have called after her to wait, but her mother never waited for anyone. She followed her own agenda. If you couldn’t keep up you were left behind.

Now it was Izzy in the lead, and Flora was the one lagging in her wake. Izzy didn’t want her to catch up in case Flora saw the tears drying on her cheeks.

She pounded along the street, longing to stop and drag air into her heaving lungs but she could hear the rhythmic sounds of Flora’s feet close behind her.

Why had she suggested running together? Because she had thought Flora would say no.

Far from dragging her feet, Flora had been up before Izzy and had been waiting by the front door when Izzy had appeared downstairs. And although Izzy would have drowned herself in the East River before admitting it, Flora looked good. She was wearing the coolest pair of leggings Izzy had ever seen, a silvery gray leopard print that caught the light and sculpted her lower body. She’d actually apologized for them, telling Izzy they were her yoga pants and the only pair she owned, and Izzy had shrugged dismissively and hoped Flora couldn’t see envy seeping through her eye sockets and out of her pores. She was glad her dad wasn’t awake to see Flora dressed for running. She was pretty sure he would have tripped over his tongue, fallen down the stairs and then she and Molly would have been orphans.

With her bubbly long hair tied in a ponytail, Flora looked energetic and enthusiastic.

Izzy felt tired and testy and she hadn’t even run two steps.

And now, here they were, feet pounding in rhythm, synchronized.

Feeling irritable, Izzy increased her pace.

At this rate the last laugh was going to be Flora’s. That’s if either of them had the breath to laugh.

They reached the Brooklyn Bridge as the sun rose. In the distance she could see the Statue of Liberty and New York Harbor, and beneath them the sparkling expanse of the East River.

It had been her mother’s favorite run, and Becca had always insisted on going early before the route was crowded with pedestrians and cyclists.

The only place she’d ever stopped was on the bridge and then she would throw back her head, take a sip of water and smile a self-satisfied smile, allowing herself less than a minute of contemplation. We live in the greatest city in the world, Izzy. City of dreams.

Shaking off the image, Izzy glanced over her shoulder and saw Flora had stopped at the edge of the bridge. Her eyes were closed, her face was red and she was panting for breath.

Izzy stopped, too. Respect bloomed inside her. Grudging, but there.