The Ex by John Lutz Page A

already run over three miles, was at a disadvantage. Each breath sent pain burning through her right side, as if a hot wire were probing between her ribs, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to run for much distance.
    If only she could get close enough to catch a glimpse of the woman’s face! About two hundred feet separated them now and Molly was still falling back.
    She decided to try getting the woman to turn around.
    “Hey!” she yelled, but not loud enough. It was difficult to muster a forceful expulsion of air, winded as she was and running fast. She deliberately broke stride, sucking in a long breath then tightening her muscles, tensing to hurl javelins of sound. “Hey! Wait up, you! Turn around, dammit!” Better. Louder.
    The woman seemed not to have heard and was running even faster, gaining ground. Soon she was almost out of sight around a curve in the trail, pulling away rapidly, a bright splash of red, her white soles still flashing, her arms swinging.
    Then she was beyond the trees and out of sight.
    Molly slowed down, kicked angrily at a pebble, then began to walk. Two men jogged past her, chatting casually but breathlessly about the economy, their voices wavering with each stride. A squirrel scurried across the trail ahead of her and scampered in a spiral up a tree to disappear among low branches.
    Molly walked slowly, listening to the low, oceanlike roar of traffic outside the park, and the sharper, closer chattering of a jay. The bird sounded frightened and furious, as if it might be protecting its young.
    When she neared the starting point of her run, she began jogging again to work off some of her frustration.
     
    Farther along the trail, the woman slowed her pace and fell into an easy jog that was barely faster than a walk. She peeled off the mirror-lens glasses and grinned. Ahead of her, leaning against the trunk of a huge oak tree, Deirdre stood waiting.
    Deirdre stood up straight, then began jogging toward her, but she stayed on the grass and at an angle to the trail, in case the winded Molly would begin running again and happen along and see them.
    Deirdre kept her eyes fixed on Darlene and smiled, then began to laugh out loud, uncontrollably, as she jogged. The laughter bubbled from her continuously like cold, clear water from a spring. Several people stared at her. A young man and a child stopped and gaped at her peculiar behavior. She didn’t care. They didn’t understand her. Even people who thought they knew her didn’t understand her.
    Weren’t they usually surprised?
    Deirdre slowed down. Darlene met her and walked beside her, breathing hard from her run but by no means exhausted. Even though Darlene had assured her she was up to the task, Deirdre was surprised that such a frail-looking woman could summon so much stamina.
    “I did what you said,” Darlene told her, “stayed ahead of her so she couldn’t quite catch up, played with her.”
    “You must be in terrific condition,” Deirdre said.
    “I am. I dance.”
    “Seriously?”
    “I’m in ballet. That’s as serious as dance gets. If I had to, I could run another five miles right now.” She crossed her slender arms as she walked and glanced over at Deirdre. “You think it was right, to play a joke like that on Molly?”
    “Why not? She’s married to David.”
    Darlene stared at her in a funny way, as if taking a fresh look. “That’s hardly a good reason, Deirdre.”
    “It’s reason enough for me.” Deirdre lowered her voice to make it clear that there was no room for argument. “I’d like to come see you dance sometime.”
    “Sure,” Darlene said. She sounded pleased. “I’ll let you know.”
    They were well away from the trail now. Deirdre slowed her pace. Darlene’s breathing was perfectly normal now, and the glisten of perspiration was gone from her long, tanned legs.
    A man who’d been feeding pigeons rose from a bench in the shade and wandered off. Deirdre walked toward the unoccupied bench, scattering