more time with the smile on his face than without it.
And now it felt warm in here. Angela stood and walked to the sliding-glass patio door. She opened it and slid the screen door into its place, allowing a breeze to waft inside. Better.
Angela peeked at her phone once more. No texts or missed calls. “I tried calling Eva to see where she is but haven’t heard back. I hope we don’t have to wait long.”
“You and I can start now, and I’ll finish the interview once she arrives. Do you mind if I record?”
“No, of course not.” She took her seat again and folded her hands around her mug.
He clicked on the recorder. “I know the basics of why you’re here, but why don’t you tell me in your own words?”
She should have waited for Eva. Running this race was her idea in the first place. “I’m not quite sure where to start.”
“I’ve found the beginning works quite nicely.”
“Oh. Right. Of course.”
The twinkle in his dark brown eyes gave her pause. He was teasing her.
That earned him a tiny smirk. “You’re funny.” Angela took a sip of coffee. “Well, uh, a little over a year and a half ago, my husband, Wes Jamison, and his younger brother, Brent, went scuba diving, as they often did, but this was their first time exploring a shipwreck. It was off the East Coast of the United States. My husband’s foot went through some rotted boards and he got stuck.” Was she giving too much detail? “From what the authorities surmise, Brent tried to free him, he wasn’t able to, and both ran out of oxygen. And died.”
How many times had she had to say that—that her husband was dead?
Normally when she spoke the words out loud, they sounded so cold, so matter-of-fact. Today, though, her voice held a slight tremble. Strange. Although maybe not, considering how many emotions had started rising to the surface every time she ran. Every step was a painful one, slicing through her body—and it wasn’t just a physical pain, although, sure, that was there too.
No, this pain was deeper, something she felt in her bones. Something she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in a long time.
Simon cleared his throat. Oh. She’d quit talking.
“In September, Eva found out that our husbands and their friend Marc Cinelli had signed up to compete as a team in the New Zealand Ultimate Race Adventures’ ultra-marathon.” She laid out the rest of the events as simply as possible. “And that’s how we came to be here.”
“Amazing story. Tell me, why did you decide to come out here early?” Simon tapped his pen against the mug. The metallic plink, plink, plink blended with the whir of the dishwasher.
How much should she tell this stranger? “It’s complicated.”
Simon looked up from his notes, studied her, nodded. “Life always is, isn’t it?” He drained the rest of his coffee, seeming to consider his next words. “How old are your kids?”
Whew. Neutral territory—no emotions involved. “Lilly is seven, Zach is ten, and Kylee is fifteen.”
“I’ve got an eleven-year-old boy and a thirteen-year-old girl. Benjamin and Ella.”
“Does your daughter hate your guts too?” Angela covered her mouth with a hand. Oops. “Just kidding, of course.” Swigging her drink, Angela coughed as she caught some too quickly in her throat.
Simon chuckled. “Having a teenager in the house can be challenging.”
“That’s one word for it.” Ever since the incident with the ice-cream server in Arrowtown, Kylee had only spoken to Angela when absolutely necessary, which had made homeschooling oh so fun. Of course, at her age, Kylee usually did much of her work online up in her room, with Angela reviewing it at the end of the week.
“And single parenting is hard.”
“It sure is.” Wait, was he asking or stating the fact from experience? A fleeting look and she saw his ring finger was bare. Divorced? Widowed? Never married? But that was none of her business. She hardly knew this man, and she certainly didn’t need to know his life story—even if she was telling him hers. “But we do what we have to for our kids. I only pray that I don’t screw them up too badly on my own.”
Oy. It was true, but did she really want that ending up in a magazine article? Why was she being so loose with her speech? Sure, Simon was easy to talk to, with his relaxed mannerisms and relatable eyes and . . .