The way he said it, I somehow had the feeling he wasn’t talking only about running. I looked at him closely, but his expression was careful, opaque. We watched Rashid join his teammates, who immediately surrounded him with much head rubbing and backslapping. We said nothing more.

“So what’s it like teaching those preps, Mom?”

Sarah’s voice on the phone was cheerful, distant, and slightly amused, the way it always is when she talks to me. I think she adopted this tone shortly after her father and I separated so she wouldn’t have to let us know how angry she was. Not a typical girl way of dealing—no anorexia or carving herself up—but she’s not typical. I’d love to take credit for that, but I don’t really think I can. She’s always been her own person.

I laughed at her question. “These preps, as you so nicely put it, are pretty good kids for the most part. Some of them will probably end up at Amherst or UMass.” She made a gagging sound. “Oh, come on, that place is huge. There’s no decent people at UMass?”

“‘Zoo Mass,’ you mean.”

“Your father went there.”

“But that was a long time ago.” She paused. “And look how he treated you.” My Sarah. Always defending me. I don’t think Cal realized what it would cost him with her when he chose Caitlin over us. “Seriously, Mom. How are you?”

“I’m all right. I’ve met a few people that I like. It’s beautiful here. It’s good.”

She paused. “I talked to Daddy.”

“Oh?”

“He’s good. He says he and Caitlin like San Francisco.”

“Well, I’m sure it’s very nice for them.” Oh. Damn. There’s that edge. That edge I swore I would never have in my voice when I talked to Sarah about her father, no matter what she might say about him. Damn. I could imagine her face, the twist of sympathetic pain fluttering across. But she decided not to say anything. “How are you?” I said, trying to paper the moment over.

“I’m good. Beth and I have got a nice place this year. Not too far from campus. It’s nice to be out of the houses for this last year.”

“I’m glad. I always loved the houses, but you have to do what’s right for you.”

“Right. Well, I’ve gotta go. Class in a little while. Talk to you soon?”

“Always, sugar bear.”

“Mo-o-o-om. Bye.”

I stood, holding the phone for a long minute. I’ve always called her sugar bear, and she has objected since she was twelve. The apartment seemed very quiet. My daughter a woman, loving other women, leading a life without me. When does a parent get used to that?