Purple Rings

Natles was everything developers had promised the nuclear family of 1989. Safe, green, homely, and most importantly, walkable. Every house had a car parked in the driveway of course, some with a second one on the way. Still, the sidewalks were freshly paved, wide enough to walk side by side without brushing shoulders, and flanked every street in the small suburb. No one took more advantage of this fact than the Jogger.

That’s not a real name, but the families of Natles found the title sufficient. Houses had only hit the market a couple months before the Jogger’s first appearance, and in a neighborhood where everyone was the new family on the block, his friendly demeanor and morning routine raised no alarms. Without consulting their neighbors, they had collectively assumed he was just amongst the constantly growing list of new faces whose names they hadn’t learned yet. 

A few residents worked to shorten that list quicker than it grew, but a different culture was emerging in Natles. One where the families and faces that didn’t belong to immediate neighbors were merely an extension of the suburb they had all bought into, an extra set of heads to exchange nothing more than friendly smiles with. 

The Halls weren’t as ready to accept a life surrounded by friendly strangers. The brochure that had attracted most of its inhabitants advertised the neighborhood with a happy family of four standing in front of their new home, with “Natles” in large yellow letters underneath. Had the developers behind the brochure opted for realism, the Halls would’ve been the face of Natles, not the four struggling actors they’d photographed instead.

Gabriel Hall was a handsome man, even with the small patch of exposed scalp on top of his head that glistened under thin black strands, promising balding in the coming years. His kids, Christopher and Jessica, both shared the same mess of tangled brown curls that made them look like twins even though Jessica was two years older. The color and curls were courtesy of their mother Pamela, who had learned to tame her own with age, a skill she had yet to pass down. To Gabe it felt like that was all she had yet to hand off to their kids. Since the day Jessica had been born, Gabe had been unsure he’d actually had anything to do with her creation. Red faced and crying, even then she’d been identical to Pam. It wasn’t until after the doctor explained punnett squares that he calmed down. 

“It’s all chance. I’m sure the next one will look just like you,” the doctor had beamed at him, giddy with the excitement of new life. There wasn’t any uncertainty about having another one at that time. The doctor couldn’t have known their second child would defy the odds when Pamela went ahead and gave birth to another clone two years later. Gabe wondered if his wife ever got scared seeing the two mirrors she had brought into this world. It scared him.

…

From the very first time Jess heard the words “nuclear family”, she had been sure it was a term made to label families like her own. Jess loved to read, just like Chris and just like Pam. Christopher preferred history and she preferred Vonnegut, but Gabe would only take them to the library once every Wednesday, so one time when she finished her weekly stack too quickly, she’d swiped a book from Chris’ nightstand. World War II: Volume IV: Surrender. She learned then what nuclear meant and concluded her father was as close as a human could get. When she told Chris their father was nuclear, he had been confused.

“He’s not really a Fat Man and he’s definitely not a Little Boy,” he chuckled, amused by his own joke. It was then she decided it was something best kept to herself. But when Gabe left purple rings around her wrist after tripping over one of her books in the hallway or when he’d scream at Pamela for spending too long on her hair in the morning, she’d silently wish for someone who’d understand her theory.

She’d gone to Pam the first time Gabe had left her with bruises because her mother was Wonder Woman and if anyone could help, it was her. The only help that Pamela had to offer though came in the form of purple hair ties she’d handed to her daughter. “Wear them to school,” she’d instructed, praying Jess wouldn’t notice the tears that glistened in her eyes as she spoke. “And if anyone asks, say the coloring left stains.” Jess didn’t notice the tears then, but maybe it was because she could hardly see through her own. She’d accepted the ties and wore one ever since, and everytime she glanced at her wrist, she was reminded that her mother wasn’t actually Wonder Woman and that her father definitely wasn’t Superman.

It was a Sunday when she first met the Jogger. She knew it was a Sunday because she and Chris had stood outside the house in their church clothes. She wore a green dress her grandmother had gifted her the past Christmas and for Chris, a starched button up whose collar posed the constant threat of asphyxiation. Their mother was still upstairs in the bathroom negotiating with the stubborn mess of a mane she’d woken up with that morning. 

Gabe had been waiting with them outside, but disappeared back inside hoping his words would speed up the process. Jess closed the front door after him, grateful that the oak would stop his voice from spilling out into the street. The embarrassment would kill her before the collar could get Chris. 

Restless, Jess produced a few hair ties from her braids and the special one from her wrist too, since there were no stains to explain away that day. Together she and Chris took turns slingshotting them across the lawn. Chris kept winning and told her it was because she was too scared to pull them as far back as he did. She told him it was the wind blowing against her. They were facing the same direction.

After a few rounds, Chris grew bored with beating Jess and began to compete with the only other competition available; his previous attempt. He stretched the tie so far back, Jess was sure it’d snap in his face, but when he let it go, it sailed past the lawn and landed squarely on the sidewalk. Purple against the fresh white pavement. 

The Jogger was making his daily round, one that invariably took him past the Hall’s house every morning. Besides a few nods to their father as he pulled out of the driveway, they were strangers. The children were outside now though, and they stared at him as he approached their short stretch of sidewalk. He put two fingers to his brow in salute when the girl spoke. 

“Could you grab that for us sir?” she said pointing at his feet. The Jogger looked down in confusion, hoping she wasn’t expecting the shoes off his feet, but instead saw the purple circle positioned perfectly between his toes. He bent down to pick it up, holding it between his thumb and forefinger, examining the tie.

“And if I want to keep it?” he asked, finding game in his difficulty.

“That’s fine. I have more in my room,” she said, making no move to turn towards the door behind her.

“No worries. So do I,” the Jogger smiled, taking off his cap, revealing a bun secured underneath, stray strands spilling out in every direction. He strode across the perfectly kept lawn and dropped it in the girl’s waiting hand. Jess was still staring at his hair when he took off again.

…

She didn’t have to wait long to see him again, mostly due to the fact that their second encounter was no longer random. She’d decided she needed to give him an extra tie to secure the unruly mess that threatened to come undone and ruin his poor excuse of bun. She was making excuses to herself, but they’re easy to make when you’re the only one who has to believe them.

In truth, she was fascinated by him. A man who’d grown his hair long and insisted on exercising publicly instead of in his home or the commercial gyms that had been popping up everywhere. She’d been around other adult men before, her third grade teacher Mr. Ferris, but in all of them she’d only ever been able to see her father. Or more specifically, his alter ego. The charming kind man that drove their family to church, the one that dropped larger bills in collection than the rest thinking it absolved him of all sin, and the one that other women wished their husbands were more like. She’d seen enough of the Supermans of the world. The Clark Kent that came home to her family every night was enough to convince her they all should’ve stayed away from Earth.

That week she’d woken up early each morning, throwing on whatever Pam had picked out for her the night before, grabbed a book, and watched the street from their living room couch waiting for the Jogger to show himself again. And every day she’d be ushered into Gabe’s Accord and in school by the time the Jogger made his round. 

When Saturday came around, she woke up early again, determined to not let her opportunity slip away in case the Jogger decided to move his schedule up that day. She sat backwards on the couch, knees on the cushion, elbows propped against the backrest as she watched the sidewalk over her book. His routine remained the same though, and Jess’ eyes were drooping when she finally saw the Jogger’s slender figure come into view. She leapt off the couch and sprinted to the door. She threw it open and scampered down the single concrete step of their porch. “Mister!” she called, holding the hair tie in her hand above her head. The Jogger looked at her with the same confused expression he’d worn the week before. Does this guy ever know what’s going on? Jess thought. 

“Hello!” he called back cheerfully. She came to meet him on the sidewalk.

“I wanted you to have this,” she said, her haste making her words come out more breathily than she would’ve liked. Her eye line only went up to his chest, but she extended the tie, one of her purple ones, a choice she hadn’t made by accident.

“That’s awful nice of you,” he began, “but I already have one.” He took off his hat for the second time in as many meetings. 

“I know. I just thought you might need a second one with all the…” she trailed off, gesturing at his hair. 

“Oh,” he said, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind his ear. “The cap usually keeps it all under control,” he chuckled. The already small girl in front of him shrunk even further at his words and he felt a pang of hurt in his chest. He’d never considered kids of his own, but looking down at the crown of her head and outstretched hand, he wondered if he’d be a good father. He maintained that it was too early to think about starting a family, a sentiment his parents did not share. “How about this?” he said hurriedly, yanking his own hair free, “I don’t need two. Why don’t we trade?”

Jess looked him in the face for the first time, surprised to find them mirroring each other, hair tie outstretched, neither wanting to be the first one to take the other’s. “That works,” she smiled, exchanging the ties. The Jogger didn’t know it yet, but that hurt in his chest would follow him for years.

…

Stranger danger was taught in every classroom around the nation at this point and Jess was aware she should know better than to be talking to an adult whose name she didn’t know. But her mother had known her father for months before marrying him and all that extra time hadn’t done her any good. Besides, Jess would ask his name the next time she saw him. The Jogger wouldn’t really be a stranger then.

It was the following day, church day, when he came by. Like the last time, the door was shut, Gabe was upstairs crowding the bathroom, and Chris and Jess were flinging ties across the lawn. The Jogger slowed as he approached, his smile a little wider than usual. Chris had just overshot the sidewalk and ran into the street after it. “Be careful,” the Jogger warned and Chris nodded in acknowledgement.

Jess met him on the sidewalk, holding the one braid that was still intact away from her head, proudly displaying his gift. In response, he removed his hat, the purple ring circling the base of his bun. “My teacher says I shouldn’t talk to strangers,” she said suddenly, dropping the braid. The matter-of-factness of her statement caught the Jogger by surprise. Abrupt and definitive. He supposed this was another reason he didn’t want kids of his own, not yet trained in the act of diplomacy, their honesty bordered on cruelty. He wasn’t sure what he was to this little girl yet, but it seemed like he wouldn’t be anything at all now.

“Your teacher’s right,” he said, trying to hide his disappointment. “Here,” he reached for the top of his head, “I gue-”

“What’s your name?” she interrupted. His hand paused. After a second he stooped down, motioning for her to come closer. He cupped his hand and whispered it in her ear like it was a secret, even though it wasn’t. He leaned away, but she cupped her hand and whispered her own. 

“That’s a nice name,” he said.

“I like it too,” she grinned. Chris had retrieved the band and stood a respectable distance, waiting for Jess so the game could resume. The Jogger glanced over his shoulder, noticing the boy and gave him a small smile. Before Chris could return one of his own, the Jogger tugged his cap back on and took off down the street. Jess smiled to herself, glad she’d outsmarted her teacher.

…

Jess was surprised to learn the Jogger’s schedule wasn’t as rigid as she’d once thought. It was the next weekend when she brought up his odd timings. “Why are you always jogging so late?” she’d asked him on the sidewalk Saturday morning. 

“What do you mean?” he said.

“I only see you after nine,” Jess explained. “My dad’s usually going to or at work by then. Don’t you have a proper job or something?”

The Jogger shifted uncomfortably at the question, his hand scratching underneath his hat’s band. “I do,” he said uncertainly.

“And what kind of job is that?” Jess pressed.

“The kind of job that lets me go jogging at nine in the morning,” he responded with a smile, his confidence returning. “Would you prefer if I went earlier? Like a man with a proper job.” He said it teasingly and Jess couldn’t help but snort.

“If you had a proper job,” she began, “then maybe I’d see you before school too. But a man with a proper job probably wouldn’t be friends with an eight year old girl,” she jested. The Jogger was still smiling, but he wasn’t focused on her humor.

“We’re friends?” he asked with a shyness that didn’t suit a man of his size. When she looked at the man, in his late twenties by the looks of him, she wondered if she was mature to befriend him, or if he was just a boy, playing the part of a man.

“We’re friendly right? So we’re friends,” Jess said so plainly it was the Jogger’s turn to wonder if she wasn’t the more mature one. 

…

The Jogger came around earlier after that, before Jess left for school. In those short conversations on the sidewalk outside the house, Jess learned a lot. She learned about something called ‘freelancing’ which basically meant the Jogger didn’t have a job, most of the time at least. He was a photographer and he hadn’t gone to college. Or he had, but he hadn’t finished, so he was still living with his parents.

She saw him for no more than five minutes at a time, but it was an everyday occurrence, and aside from the few others that she shared a last name with, she saw no one every day. She liked how he always looked like he was glad to see her. In those five minutes she could say anything and he could too because they were entirely separate. The Jogger existed almost completely outside of Jess’ real life and she existed in the same capacity in his.

She’d told him of this girl in her class, who’d snapped her colored pencil when she’d refused to share it. She’d told him she wanted to snap her neck. He’d told her he didn’t think his parents loved him anymore, ever since he’d dropped out. They weren’t exactly sharing secrets. That would imply that the other person had to keep it to themselves. They both could’ve told every person they knew and it wouldn’t have made any difference. They weren’t each other’s lock keepers, they were more like sounding boards. Jess knew this, but couldn’t help hoping the things she heard were for her ears only. The Jogger hoped for the same.

…

A couple months later, at seven thirty on a Saturday morning, Jess emerged from her house wearing the new cleats her parents had bought her for her ninth birthday. She’d joined the church softball team the past week, and her mother had correctly predicted she’d love her gift. It was the first pair of athletic shoes Jess had ever owned and she didn’t know how to act with this new found power. Her and Chris each got a pair of sneakers when their old ones no longer fit, but it was only Jess who was required to wear her ballet flats to church, so as to not embarrass her father. Chris only had the one pair he wore everywhere.

The Jogger was waiting on the sidewalk where he always stood as Jess came down the front step, the metal spikes giving her an extra inch as she stepped on the concrete. “I’m ready,” she declared once past the porch.

“For what exactly?” the Jogger asked, his eyes on her shoes. They were blindingly white, a poor choice for a sport played in the dirt the Jogger thought.

“Jogging,” she replied. The Jogger waited for more, the punchline, but nothing followed. Realizing she was serious he protested.

“You can’t jog in those, you’ll trip. Besides, what would your parents say?”

“Why can’t I jog in these? My parents said these are athletic shoes. Isn’t jogging athletic?”

“Those are cleats,” he sighed. “Meant for baseball or soccer or something on a field. I jog on concrete,” he said pointing to the pavement below them as if to make his point.

“Fine,” Jess said, spinning on her spikes and stomping back into the house. The Jogger waited, unsure if she meant to come back out. Right as he was about to leave, she appeared again, this time with the same sneakers he’d always seen her in. “Do these work?” she demanded.

He hesitated, not wanting to encourage her. “They’re better I guess.”

“Good. We should go before my parents wake up.” With that she took off down the sidewalk in a sprint. 

“Wait!” he called after her, “Your parents are gonna think I kidnapped you or something.” Jess’ stamina failed her fast, and she’d slowed to a walk just a couple dozen yards away. When he caught up with her, she took a second before speaking, gulping hard.

“Why can’t I,” she wheezed, “leave too?” 

“What do you mean ‘leave’? No one’s stopping you from going out, but why would you want to leave?” the Jogger said, shortening his stride to keep beside her.

“Because,” she shrugged. They walked for a while with a comfortable silence between them. “I think my mother wants to leave,” Jess said all of a sudden. “But she can’t.” The Jogger continued to walk, thinking hard before he responded. He knew Jess trusted him, but until then it had always been with her own thoughts she’d shared. He felt strangely invasive hearing of her mother.

“Sure she can. Everyone can, but she would never want to leave you and your brother,” he finally said with as much confidence as he could manage. The truth was, he didn’t know her mother, he didn’t know their family, but still he said the words he thought he was supposed to. He hoped her mother loved her the same way his own had loved him when he was nine.

“Not everyone. Prisoners can’t leave,” Jess said, ignoring his attempt at reassurance.

“Okay,” he said slowly, “I guess not. But that’s because they’ve done bad things. Your mother hasn’t done anything like that,” he said without knowing if it was true.

“She married my dad.” 

Jess went on to explain her nuclear theory, sharing the one secret she vowed to keep to herself and the Jogger couldn’t think of the right words so he listened in silence. Maybe an ear was all he was supposed to offer then. 

…

After that his route changed. On weekends at least, where before Jess’ parents woke, they’d go for a short jog that always turned out to be more of a walk. He’d decided for himself he wouldn’t be a good father, but in the months he’d spent with Jess, he allowed himself to imagine being an older brother. His parents had given him no siblings and he’d always thought the sting of being an only child would fade with age. He’d been partially right, but it wasn’t time that dulled the sting, it was Jess.

The Jogger had wanted to be an author. A long time ago when he’d written a story for his second grade teacher and she’d loved it. She’d asked if she could keep it, calling it the first of many he was going to write, and he had happily let her, believing he would have many more soon enough. 

He’d kept that belief until one day he was suddenly nineteen and realizing the past twelve years hadn’t yielded half the success his seven year old self anticipated. It was around the same time he’d come to the conclusion living debt free was preferable to an English degree he couldn’t afford. He was better off leaving the writing to the writers and sticking to what he knew. Reading.

Natles’ developers hadn’t thought to leave space for a library, so Jess’ closest option was in the neighboring town, the Jogger’s town. Jess brought up the idea of going to the library after a few morning weekend walks. She’d practiced a quick pitch in her bathroom mirror the night before, but when she got in front of the Jogger, she could only remember the most important parts. 

Her father only took them on Wednesdays, when he got home from work a little earlier, and her and Chris were expected to make their selections last the whole week. The library’s check out limit restricted her and Chris to three books a week, not enough to satiate her. And the biggest point: they could be there, look around, and be back in forty minutes. 

The Jogger was a worrier by nature. He thought he got it from his mother, but sometimes he wondered if he just wanted someone to point the finger at. On every jog Jess joined him, he’d adjust the route, returning her home long before Jess assured him she had to be. Her parents scared him, talking to a nine year old scared him, and the comfortability he felt around her scared him. Once, Jess told him her dad would probably call him a pussy. He’d told her she shouldn’t be using that word.

Despite this fear that followed him everywhere, he allowed himself to be talked into the library idea. He’d loved going when he was younger, but he’d convinced himself he’d aged out of it. Real adults buy a book and work through it over months as it collects dust on their nightstand.

The next weekend, she’d stepped out, three books tucked under her arm and handed him two to carry as they ran. The librarian peered over her book when they entered, her eyes enlarged due to her glasses, but said nothing to them as Jess dropped her books into the return bin. The Jogger followed Jess and she led him to a smaller room he didn’t remember. A paper sign reading “ADULTS” hung above the door frame without a door, its corner peeling, covering the “A”. The Jogger had to turn his shoulders sideways to fit between the crowded shelves, but he followed close behind. Jess didn’t seem to notice the space the Jogger took up in the small aisles, pulling books off the shelves and crouching down right there to leaf through them. Occasionally she’d show him a cover expecting his thoughts, but she’d always moved on by the time the Jogger found something to say.

When her fifteen minutes were up, she held three books in her hands, but Steinbeck was the only name the Jogger could recognize. They walked back, the Jogger carrying all three books, and Jess was reading in her room by the time Pam went downstairs to make breakfast.

…

Jess was careful, another thing she got from her mother. Every morning when she rose, she’d tuck her pillow under her covers so Chris didn’t suspect anything if he stirred before she returned. She kept her shoes off until she reached the door, and took them off before sneaking back in, padding silently across the hardwood floor in socks.

Her father was oblivious or ignorant or both, but in any case he didn’t notice her books changing color and size between check out and returns and he wasn’t even surprised she’d stopped begging for more frequent visits. She was growing up, he thought instead, focusing on the right things now. In Gabe’s eyes, Chris was a little slower to grow up, but he could still be excused as the younger one. In another couple years Gabe imagined he’d finally be free of their library chauffeur duties. 

If Jess was careful, Chris was perceptive, something he definitely didn’t have his father to thank for. There was very little of their father in the siblings. He’d noticed the shapeshifting books quickly, but Jess assured him he was just mixing them up with the previous week’s. Jess wasn’t as convincing as she thought she’d been though, and Chris began to notice other things too. How she always spent more time reading on Saturdays, how it was always then the books transformed, and how his voice was alone now when pleading for an extra library trip at dinner.

The rest was easy to piece together. Jess could be careful, but they shared a room, and so the next time she slipped out of bed as the Sun was rising, Chris sat awake in his bed, waiting. “Where are you going?” he asked. Jess’ eyes widened, but to her credit she managed to wipe all indication of guilt off her face quickly.

“The bathroom,” she whispered, creeping towards the door. “Go back to sleep.”

“With your books?” he said pointing to the stack she’d tucked under her arm. Jess’ hand froze on the doorknob. “I’m not gonna tell on you,” Chris continued before she had a chance to respond. “How are you getting to the library though? It’s kind of far.”

Jess turned to face him. She opened her mouth to lie, but she thought better of insulting her brother’s intelligence like that. Chris got nothing out of telling their parents she realized. He wanted something. “Do you remember the guy who we used to see before church? The jogger with the long hair.”

“Oh yeah,” he said, nodding, “what about him?” Jess only stared back at him and slowly understanding crept across his face. “Him?” he asked, his voice raising without him meaning to.

“Shh,” she hissed, pressing her finger to her lips.

“You don’t even know him,” he said quieter, “how are you okay-”

“I do know him,” Jess cut him off. “He’s a cool guy and if you don’t tell mom or dad you can join us.” Jess glanced at the analog clock hanging to the right of the door. 7:32. The Jogger was probably already outside. “It’s your choice, but hurry up,” she said impatiently. Chris didn’t waste a second, flinging the covers off his legs, revealing his jeans already on and scooped up his own stack of reading. 

Outside, the Jogger rocked back and forth, arms huddled around himself, desperately trying to keep the November air from biting right through him. At the sight of the boy, he stopped rocking, leaving him with his arms crossed looking like an inappropriately dressed security guard. 

“Here,” Jess said once they reached the sidewalk, “you’ve met Chris before. He’ll be joining us today if that’s fine.” Unsure of what to say, the Jogger grunted in confirmation. “He’s usually much more talkative,” Jess whispered to Chris. She handed the Jogger her books, and the two of them broke into a small jog. 

“Hold on!” Chris cried after them. “Doesn’t he have a car or something?” Jess looked back and shook her head, beckoning with her arm for him to catch up. Sighing, Chris hugged his books to his chest and ran after them. 

The Jogger didn’t talk much, Chris noticed. He didn’t even know his real name and he wasn’t sure he’d get an answer if he asked. When they’d slowed to a walk, Jess did enough talking for the three of them and the Jogger responded exclusively in smiles and nods. 

In the library, they split up, Chris in the non-fiction section and Jess and the Jogger in the room labeled “DULTS”. A single wall separated them and in the empty library, even outside the room, their conversation filled the space. Chris couldn’t make out any words, but the hum of laughter was unmistakable in every sound he heard. Every few minutes the Jogger would pop his head out to make sure Chris was still where he’d left him, but Chris acted like he didn’t see him. He was enjoying this freedom. 

In exchange for his silence, Jess allowed Chris to join them every Saturday. Within a month their dinner table pleading had ended and Gabe ate each night glad his kids were finally showing signs of his own blood in their veins.

…

Reading was not a child’s pastime, at least Pam didn’t think so. She’d encouraged the two of them to continue this passion, long after the Gabes of the world quit. Had she been brave enough to learn to drive when Gabe had offered to teach, she would’ve taken them to the library herself, but they were all at the mercy of her husband. 

She was continually fascinated by how the two of them could turn out so much like her, yet nothing alike. Especially in their reading. She had become their primary outlet when it came time to discuss World War I death tolls or the next great American author, two topics with little overlap, except for the fact they were both disallowed at the dinner table. Gabe might’ve been happy their constant pestering was over, but Pam was concerned. And alert. She didn’t trust their sudden obedience one bit. 

Their covert library visits didn’t last long once Chris joined. Had it been just Jess, maybe she could’ve kept her ruse going on a little longer, but Chris couldn’t help but to give them away. It was small things at first, the front door left unlocked, their welcome mat curiously damp in the morning, but it wasn’t until Chris confirmed it for Pamela that she could be sure.

Jess was keeping a secret. The Jogger was her secret and she needed to protect him and them both. And that meant eliminating all possible threads that could unravel her entire system. The friendly two minute chats that had defined her earliest interactions with the Jogger posed no problem, but she was far past that. She’d roped her brother into her scheme to sneak out with a stranger and now problems would be all she had if her mother found out. 

Jess could blame unlocked doors on her father and damp mats on poor ventilation, but protecting her secret required more than patchwork fixes. She had to get ahead of these things and that meant tracking which books she could discuss with her mother, never getting too caught up in their conversations, no matter how badly she wanted to. Chris didn’t have the foresight or the control to do the same and Jess knew he was the one part of this she couldn’t control.

It was after dinner one Friday, Chris and Jess took the plates to the sink, and Chris found his mother on the couch afterwards. Since that Wednesday he’d finished the first three of a five part Winston Churchill biography and had not stopped talking about him since. As he took his place beside her on the couch he prepared to share the story of Churchill’s suspected affair and Pam listened as she always did. These conversations usually required very little talking of Pam and in this case she was glad. She could never tell Chris this, but she had very little interest in the history that captivated her son. He’d just finished describing how Churchill’s wife came to read the love letters her husband had written when he sprang up and promised to update her in a couple days. A couple days.

Pamela didn’t say anything then, but the realization had rocked her to her core. Why they slept in a little longer than usual every Saturday, why the front door was sometimes unlocked, and why her children no longer complained of running through their reading too soon. 

…

Jess would remember the following morning as her first real encounter with the feeling she later learned to be grief. It started off normal enough, the two of them silently crept out of bed and downstairs, only pausing at the ruffling of covers from their parents’ room. The front door creaked slightly, the same way it always did, and then they were outside. The Jogger was already waiting, running in place to warm himself in the January chill. 

They were still on the porch when the door opened behind them. In a gray bathrobe and matching slippers their mother stepped outside to join them, but her eyes were fixed on the Jogger and she was past them before Jess could stop her. Since the first time she’d seen the Jogger, he’d been moving, but his legs failed him now and he was rooted to the pavement. All on their own her eyes began to burn and she blinked tears away as she watched her mother march down the steps. 

The Jogger towered over Pamela, but from Jess’ place on the porch, the Jogger looked much smaller than her, like a teenager being scolded for breaking curfew. Pamela’s voice was raised and Jess could only make out a few words. Children. Grown. Lost. Mind. The Jogger’s head was bowed and Jess could do nothing but let the tears run down her cheeks. Curiously, she thought about what her father would say if he saw Pamela in the street in her robe for all their neighbors to see. She was furious with herself for letting him find his way into even this moment. But the moment was over as quickly as it had begun. Pamela stormed back to the house and herded the two of them inside, her hands rough on their shoulders. Jess looked back through the doorway where the Jogger still stood on the sidewalk, looking at her, then her mother shut the door and she never saw him again.

…

The Jogger had only seen Jess’ mother once before. Months ago when he still stopped by before church, he’d watched the four of them climb into the car. In a few years he’d thought, her and Jess could’ve passed for twins. When the woman in a robe and slippers emerged from the house, he didn’t recognize her immediately, but he understood his time with Jess was over.

He’d discussed it with her, the end, but in her optimism Jess remained that there needn’t be one. They didn’t have any family in the area, no aunts or uncles to see over the holidays, and she was confident her mother would be glad to welcome her children’s new friend. The Jogger didn’t share her confidence, but kept it to himself. In his mind the situation played out much like it was playing out then.

“I knew they were going to the library alone, but I didn’t think some grown man was sniffing after them,” Pamela spat, her voice betraying a disgust that the Jogger couldn’t bear to find in her face. “They are children. My children. And I don’t know you and you thought it was fine for you to step in and be… what exactly? Their dad? Have you lost your mind?” She paused, and somehow the Jogger knew she wasn’t finished yet. “I’d warned them about men offering them candy, I didn’t even think to protect them from men dangling what they really wanted in front of them. Seriously, using the library to get close to kids? You really are sick.” The Jogger’s eyes began to water and he wasn’t sure if it was the wind or the venom in her voice. “If I ever so much as see you around my house or my kids every again, I swear to god you’ll wish the cops are all you have to worry about,” she continued, her voice cutting the Jogger deeper than the winter chill. “You’re gonna stay away from my boy. You’re gonna stay away from my girl and you’re gonna hope you never see me again.” 

That was the moment, if there ever was one, to explain, to justify, to tell her it was a misunderstanding. But what mother would believe him or her own daughter?  Jess’ own word might’ve meant less than his own then and it was a losing fight to even open his mouth. So he didn’t. Instead he let her storm off, not daring to remove his eyes from the pavement until she’d reached the house.

Oddly, he felt conscious of the tie Jess had given him all those months ago. It was stretched by that point, barely effective in holding his hair in place, but for some reason it seemed to bind his hair painfully tight now. Pulling it taut until his scalp was on fire, he felt the urge to rip off his hat and the tie with it. He wanted to let his hair fall to his shoulder, but his hands were firmly tucked into his armpits and he couldn’t get them to move. 

He let his eyes find Jess’ and although he couldn’t be sure, it looked like she was crying. He wanted to look away, to go home and forget the jogging, to never see her again. And he wanted to hug her close and tell her she was wrong about her nuclear theory and convince them things are gonna be okay for the both of them, but she disappeared into the house and he was alone in the cold, his head ablaze. He took off his hat, and ran home, the tie loosening with every step. When he stopped moving, he found his feet had carried him to the library instead and it wasn’t until he put his hat back on that he realized he’d lost the tie.