28

"I thought you'd be gone by the time I got over here," she says. It's a strange greeting, but one that sums up our past perfectly. One of us was always pulling in the opposite direction.

"Not this time," I say, not admitting I had considered it. "How are you?" It seems the right thing to ask, and yet I can clearly see the answer with my own eyes.

"I'm good. You?"

"I'm okay," I tell her. Or at least I was, up until a couple of minutes ago. There aren't many situations that make me uncomfortable these days, but this one is as awkward as hell. My jaw is tense and I feel compelled to shift my body slightly every few seconds, as though the discomfort sitting heavy in my belly, could be the result of something physical rather than psychological.

Izzy glances back over her shoulder, checking on the small figure on the slowing swing seat. I'm desperate to know exactly how he fits in, but under the circumstances 'By the way, is the kid related to me in some way?' feels a little inappropriate.

"Are you visiting your dad?" I ask instead, moving to put my restless hands in my pockets and smoothing my palms over my hips and the tops of my thighs instead when I remember I have my running shorts on.

"No, we've moved back permanently," she says, brushing her back from her face. I don't remember her cheeks ever having this much colour before, even after full summers in Phoenix. "Forks just seems like a better place to be raising a kid, you know?"

I have no idea, it's not a situation I've ever had to consider before, but I nod my head in agreement.

"I didn't know if you'd still be in town. I thought maybe you'd have gone away to college," she adds, her fingers absentmindedly pulling at the hem of her sweater.

"I did, I've been back a couple of months. I guess I couldn't stay away." I smile. Although the small town may be good for raising little kids, its opportunities for a fulfilling adulthood are pretty poor. We've discussed that fact enough times over the years, both adamant we'd leave and never look back as soon as we were old enough. We clearly both thought the other had managed to do just that.

A cry of 'help' reaches us. Izzy turns, her eyes scanning the area for the little boy, as the empty swing seat rocks gently back and forth. I see him, perched high at the top of the ladder to the monkey bars, screeching that he's stuck.

She takes off toward him. I pause for a moment, unsure what to do, but then jog after her. Izzy reaches him first and stands at the bottom of the ladder, trying to coax him down as he clings on just out of her reach.

"Here, let me," I say gently, nudging her to one side so I'm directly below him. "Come on, fella." I reach up and grasp him gently under his arms, lifting him easily away and placing him down on the ground at her feet. He looks up at me, wide-eyed, and I can't help but smile as I take the opportunity to study his face for clues. It gives nothing away; all I see is Izzy.

I switch my attention back to her and catch her staring at the dark ink adorning my right forearm. She raises her eyes to mine and she's looking at me in the same wide-eyed manner as the boy was just moments before.

This, right here, is the point at which I panic. I begin to back away from them, forcing a smile.

"Okay, well I guess I should be going. I might see you around," I say, already turning away as Izzy calls out a thank you. She adds something else, but I don't quite catch what it is and I can't bring myself to go back now.

I push on, harder than before, until soon my muscles are aching and my breathing is labored. I'm painfully aware that for every bit of effort I put into making my body work, I have absolutely no control over the speed my head is spinning.

~S~