“Yeah, I’d say we’ve both had lives that had a few bumps.”

Hollis nodded. “Here’s to trying to live a better life,” he said, and we bumped glasses.

We went to his small house later, gaining a little comfort and warmth from each other. But I wouldn’t spend the night, though he wanted me to stay. About three in the morning, I kissed him goodbye at the door to my motel room, and we held each other for a long minute. I went inside by myself, cold to my bones.

seven

IT was a good morning for running: the third clear day in a row, chilly, with the promise of brilliance in the early sky. I ran a brush through my hair and put on my dogtag engraved with my name and Tolliver’s cell phone number. I dressed in a sports bra and three-quarter length Lycra running pants. An old “Race for the Cure” T-shirt covered the little canister of pepper spray clipped to my pants. I’d found a plastic slotted cover with a hole punched in one end, and I slipped my room key in it and put it on the same chain with my dogtag.

After some warm-up stretches, I decided I’d run from the motel until I’d reached the Kroger that was at the other end of town. I didn’t want to follow the main drag; even in Sarne, there’d be traffic, and I hated inhaling truck exhaust fumes. I had picked out a route that involved backstreets lined with small businesses and homes. With an inner feeling of release, I began running.

When I was able to pick up my pace, it was possible to think of something other than the act of running. A little to my surprise, I felt better than I had expected: relaxed, not guilty. Though I was fairly inexperienced, Hollis had seemed a tender and considerate lover. He’d also seemed to need the contact, the basic act of joining flesh, as much as I had. So, I told myself, that was actually an okay thing to do.