Chapter 2

Three and a half years later.

Books crowded the shelves in Zeke’s academic advisor’s office. Three walls held framed degrees against the eggshell paint. But he knew that from memory. He was too busy staring at stains in the decades-worn carpet on this visit.

“Zeke, you’ve got to get your head back in the game.” Mr. William Gerthworth leaned away from his desk, his elbows rested on his knees. Concern filled his face.

“I know.” Zeke swallowed, trying to get rid of the dry feeling in his mouth.

Mr. Gerthworth sat back and interlaced his fingers over his round middle. “Son, I know your dad’s passing has been hard on you, but it seems like since you turned twenty-one—”

Heat flushed Zeke’s face. “No, No. I’m okay about that. It’s just—I’ve been working doubles.”

The professor lifted some papers from his heavily littered desk. “You haven’t attended all of your clinicals this semester, either. It’s almost spring break, and I’m afraid you are just too far behind to catch up. It’s such a shame, too. Your GPA was superior, and this would have been your last semester.”

Zeke’s heart sunk.

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do. And this is really all I can do at this time.”

Zeke’s eyebrows lifted with hope. He sat up straighter.

“I’m going to suggest you drop out this semester.”

“Oh.” His shoulders rounded.

“But,” Mr. Gerthworth held up his hand, “I’m going to personally recommend you be accepted back next spring. You will be able to finish this last semester and graduate with your Emergency Medical Technician certification next May.”

Zeke pursed his lips. He’d screwed up, big time. Angela should be happy, though. Now he could spend more time with her, instead of studying all the time—when he wasn’t working. But if he didn’t work double shifts, how did she expect him to bring in enough money to support them? They fought about it all the time. All he wanted was for her to be happy. But now, it had cost him his education. In a few months, he would have had a decent paying job as an EMT. He could have provided much better for her. Maybe even ask her to marry him.

He shook his head and squeezed his eyes.

“Zeke?”

“Okay. Thank you Mr. Gerthworth.”

“Well, good luck to you, son.”

Son? Zeke stepped out of the small office.

“I’ll see you next spring, all right?” Gerthworth leaned out the door.

“Sure,” Zeke said, although he doubted the Professor heard him.

He crossed the campus to the Registrar’s Office and dropped all his classes. Sure, he could take the summer and fall semesters off, start back in spring. Okay. Work at Bob’s in the meantime. Pick up extra shifts. Angela would have to understand.

Oh, God. He’d failed out in his last semester. Who was he kidding? As long as he was trying to please Angela, he’d never finish college.

He threw his full backpack in a fifty-five gallon trash barrel at the edge of the parking lot. He yanked his 2001 Suzuki Swift’s door open and threw himself into the seat. The transmission protested and ground as he shoved the stick-shift into reverse, and peeled out. It took all he had to resist the urge to give the school the ol’ one-finger salute.

He drove east toward IH-35. With a right turn and a left jog onto the ramp, he accelerated with the traffic. He was heading south, toward Town Lake. It was actually the Colorado River. Within the city limits of Austin, it was referred to as Town Lake.

Just a quick run, and then he’d go home to tell Angela he’d screwed up. An involuntary cringe drew his shoulders up close to his ears. He exhaled as long as he could push air.

The exit sign came into view and he signaled to turn right. The parking lot for Town Lake Hike and Bike Park was a sharp right after the exit ramp.

A couple sat on the ground at the tree line, oblivious to the world around them. Runners, dog-walkers, bicyclists all paraded past them without turning to gawk at the public display. Zeke sat on the tailgate under the opened hatch of his Suzuki and changed into his running shoes. His cargo shorts and t-shirt were fine for the run, but he emptied his pockets and dropped the items in his gym bag. All he kept was the key fob.

He slammed the hatch closed and locked the car. Bending over to touch his toes, he warmed up, and then jogged toward the H&B trail. He could go to the right, over the bridge, or left, into the woods. He preferred the woods. He nodded at an elderly woman walking her dachshund.

Mr. Gerthworth’s words drifted into his mind. You’ve got to get your head back in the game ... Only had one semester to go ... Would have graduated this May. He shook his head. This wasn’t helping.

Zeke glanced over at the couple getting pretty hot and heavy on a blanket, as he ran by. Get a room.

Wait. He looked again. Angela? Zeke’s heart slammed against his chest. He stopped dead in his tracks. A jogger ran into him. “Umph.”

“Watch it, man.” The guy darted around Zeke.

“Sorry,” he said, barely above a whisper. He stepped off the trail and up to the enamored couple. “Uh, what’s going on?”

Angela’s head jerked up. She scrambled off her companion. “Zeke, I—what are you doing here?”

The man glared at Zeke. His red swollen lips curled into a slight smile. He leaned forward to touch Angela’s back.

She brushed his hand off and stood up, buttoning her blouse. “Zeke. I’m sorry. I—”

Zeke glanced at the dude, then back at her. “You’re sorry? Sorry for what, Angela? What exactly is this?”

“I think you know what this is,” she said with a small voice. Tears filled her eyes. “I—I was going to tell you tonight.”

“Tell me what?” He swallowed hard and glanced around at the people slowing down behind him. What a spectacle they had become.

“I—I’m leaving you Zeke.” Her chin rose slightly.

He knew that look. She was faking the bravado, but she meant what she said.

“This is John. John Martin.” She gestured toward him.

Zeke glared at the man.

The guy tipped his head back as a gesture of “hey.”

“You think I give a rat’s—” Zeke closed his mouth and eyes. “I don’t care what his name is. How could you do this?”

He rolled up on the balls of his feet and clinched his fist. He didn’t care who heard him shouting.

“I...” Black mascara streaked her usually perfect face. She looked like a Munch painting. “I don’t love you anymore.”

Seriously? He pressed his back teeth together, and fought like hell to control his own need for tears. He’d screwed up his college education trying to make her happy, and she wasn’t in love with him anymore? What a B—He let the word go. His mother had never allowed him to say it. He wouldn’t start because of one stupid girl.

A security officer on a bicycle stopped behind Zeke. “Is there a problem here?”

Angela collapsed on the blanket and buried her face in her hands. John touched her back and whispered something in her ear.

Zeke turned to the officer. “Not any more, there’s not.”

He strode to his car. His jaw hurt. When had he clenched it down so tight? He clicked the key fob and leapt into the driver’s seat. How could he have been so blind? What did John Martin have, that—He shook his head and pressed his incisors together, forcing the tears to stop. He pushed the hatch release. His keys were in the gym bag. Once again he entered the swift moving traffic of IH-35, south, away from the river, and toward their Highland Park apartment.

He turned onto Martin Luther King, Jr. Highway and flew through two intersections.

Whoop-whoop, a siren blared behind him.

His eyes darted to the rearview mirror. Red and blue lights pulsed on top of a white pickup. He glanced at his speedometer. Super. He pulled over to the shoulder.

“What next?” he whispered. Obviously, God hated him right now.

Twenty minutes later, he pitched the pink speeding ticket on the dash—60 in a 45 mile zone. Great.

Okay. Think, Clay. He yanked the old duffle bag from the top of the closet, and threw it on the bed with a stream of curse words. Jerking out the only dresser drawer to his name, he turned it upside down over the bag. He shook the drawer for good measure. Underwear, socks, keepsakes, and lint spilled haphazardly into, and over, the sides of the bag. He threw the excess back into the pile and cursed as the zipper resisted—he pushed down the bulk and yanked the zipper closed.