I let Wilson outside to pee and inspect the flower beds before he runs back inside for a bowl of kibble. Cute little doggo—his earnestness makes me smile. Then I look at all the paper stacks around Ethan’s house and feel the smile slip off my face. Not enough coffee in the world to make me want to face this right now. Instead, I elect to go for a short run in the neighborhood. After I change into running clothes, I give Wilson a treat from a jar on the kitchen counter and leave him happily munching while I head out the back door and down the driveway. There’s a crew of workmen at the construction site across the street, and I smile and wave as I run past, getting a wave and a whistle in reply.

I push hard, going eighty percent the whole two-mile run around a few blocks in the neighborhood. I hit Roswell Road and manage to weave around the few people on the sidewalk, still pushing hard and managing to suck in a lungful of exhaust. When I turn onto Ethan’s street I kick into a flat-out sprint, legs pumping, arms slicing the air, sweat pouring down my face and chest. I run like I’m trying to escape time itself, like I can break through the barrier separating us from the past so I’ll see Dad one more time and warn him what’s ahead, tell him to take Mom and me and Ethan and go away somewhere so we aren’t home when Donny Wharton shows up, a gun in his hand and a grin on his face.

I stumble into Ethan’s driveway and nearly pitch onto my hands and knees but manage to stay upright. My lungs are sucking in as much air as possible, and I’m so sweaty I feel like I just stepped out of a pool. My palms flat against my kidneys, I walk up the driveway, trying to slow down my breathing and my heart rate. I might puke, but behind that I feel good, my body responding to the exercise by dumping endorphins into my nervous system. I’m lucky my nervous system still works relatively well. But I’m still a tiny bit disappointed when I reach Ethan’s front yard and don’t see a portal to the past anywhere, a shimmering doorway hanging in midair, waiting for me to walk through it. There’s a doorway like that somewhere, one I’ll have to walk through eventually, but that one leads to the same future that waits for all of us, and for the moment I prefer that door to stay shut and hidden.

Right now, the run has cleared my mind and given me an idea—another, different doorway to open. I head inside for a shower, and then to arrange a meeting.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN