At the one-mile marker, his face felt tight and fiery. Why was this so hard? He should be able to do three miles in his sleep. He ran five almost every day.

Ah. He hadn’t eaten today. Or last night, now that he thought of it. Had he had anything to drink other than coffee this morning?

No. “You guys go ahead,” he called. “I’ll catch up.”

Sarah didn’t pause, her braids swinging as she continued.

“You okay?” Jen asked over her shoulder.

“I didn’t drink enough this morning. See you at the finish line.”

“I’ll slow down for you, Josh,” Darius said.

“No, Daddy! Run faster!” Sebastian demanded.

“It’s okay,” Josh said. “You go ahead. Pebbles needs a drink, too.” Yes. Blame the dog.

He swerved to a water station, accepted a water bottle and drank it, watching them get farther and farther ahead. That was fine. He’d never mastered talking and running at the same time anyway.

He gave Pebbles the rest of the water, then continued running. The heat, the thickness of the air . . . ugh. He hadn’t thought to put on sunscreen, either. No baseball cap to cut the ruthless glare of the sun.

A woman was running at about the same pace. She was pushing a tiny stroller that could only fit a newborn. Should she be out so soon after giving birth? Josh wondered. Scientific curiosity got the best of him, and he angled over to look at her child, peered in, then flinched.

Not a baby. A very ugly dog with a bald, fat stomach and scraggly, grayish-white fur.

“Hi!” said the owner.

“I thought your dog was a baby.”

“Oh, he is. My fur baby! Hey! I know you! Don’t I? Have we met?”

It was the woman from the vet’s. Rather a shock that her dog was still alive.

“We both use Dr. Kumar.”

“Right!”

Also, he’d seen her spill a tray of drinks on someone. The night he’d met Radley, and punched the rude man.

“So this is . . . ?”

“Duffy, remember? Duffy, say hi!” Duffy didn’t move, lying on his side, his tongue hanging out. Josh was tempted to ask if he might have died, but then again, the poor woman would find out soon enough. “What’s your dog’s name again?” she asked.

“Pebbles.”

“Oh, right. Like Pebbles and Bamm-Bamm?”

Josh had no idea. “Yeah.”

“This is a great cause, isn’t it?”

“Sure.” Again, the running-and-talking thing . . . difficult.

“My brother has Ehlers-Danlos syndrome. You know . . . the one where your joints are loose and they dislocate all the time?”

“Uh-huh.” The rhythm of his feet on the pavement was hypnotic, echoing a little, almost soothing.

“So he’s doing okay, but there’s no cure. Yet. He needs pain relief, mostly. He doesn’t seem to have the vascular part. Thank God.”