May 1979 – St. Charles, IL

Michael's travel alarm clock went off at 5:45 the next morning. Angela scrunched her brows and turned a groggy face in his direction. He hit the alarm and dropped his feet out of bed without a word. She pushed herself up on her elbows and watched him walk into the bathroom.

Her mouth twitched a little, wishing things were different. A heavy sadness enveloped her, the space between feeling much farther than it actually was.

Michael came out of the bathroom and walked to the dresser. He pulled out a t-shirt and shorts.

A run.

An enormous, involuntary yawn escaped Angela and she sat up the rest of the way. He glanced back at her.

Neither of them said anything.

After changing into his workout gear, he turned to lean back against the dresser and put on his socks.

Finally, something came out. "Can I come with you?"

He dropped the foot that had a sock to the ground and paused a beat. "What about Jonathan?"

"I could ask your mother to listen for him, but I don't think he'll wake up for at least another hour… We had a rough night."

Michael looked at her for several seconds.

Crap. Did that seem like a criticism? It could; I am ticked.

I mean, he stomps around, and never worries about how it affects Jonathan - because he never helps put him back to sleep.

But bringing it up like that isn't helping the mood...

"Alright. I'm going in five minutes," he clipped, and pulled his other foot up to give it a sock.

That old sting of wanting someone more than they wanted her was burning hot in Angela's heart, but she really wanted to restore a connection with her husband. She scrambled around to go to the bathroom, brush her teeth, and get in her running clothes.

She was just about ready, with one hand holding up a ponytail, while the other dug in her purse to find a hair tie, when she looked up to see he wasn't there. Did he leave?

Angela yanked the elastic back and forth around her hair and scurried downstairs with her sneakers in her hand. Michael was waiting by the door, all dressed. They felt very separate to her, but at least she could breathe. I guess distant is better than him just leaving.

"I didn't talk to your mom yet. Do you think she's up?"

He shook his head. "Not for another half hour. But my dad should be in his study." He stood looking at her blankly, and Angela was having a hard time not being irritated.

Can't he ask them? He's just standing there. He's his son, too… Sighing with full knowledge that this was, again, just not the time, Angela put her eyebrows up in question. "Where's that?"

Michael walked past her, and down a hallway off of the kitchen. At the end of it, he nodded at a door. "It's down those stairs, and to the right."

Angela sighed, and started to open the door. She turned her head back to Michael, "You don't think he'd mind me just walking in?"

"Better you than me," he said flatly.

She made a flatlined smile – Yeah… - and walked down the stairs.

She knocked at the door off to the right, and took a breath.

"Come in!" Steven hollered. Angela walked in, and he smiled widely. "Angela! You're up early. That's an excellent habit."

She smiled back. "Good morning. Michael and I were hoping to go for a run. Would you be willing to keep an ear out for Jonathan? I don't expect him to wake soon, but just in case?"

"Oh, I'd be happy to!" he smiled. "I'll walk out with you," he said, motioning for the door. They walked out, and up to the foyer, where Michael was pretending to tie his laces.

"Thank you, Steven," Angela smiled warmly. "We shouldn't be much more than… 45 minutes?" she said, looking at Michael in question.

Michael shrugged.

Steven seemed stiff as he watched the exchange, but smiled at Angela. "Take your time. I'll be here."

"Thank you," she said again, looking up from putting on her shoes. He smiled at her, and walked up the stairs.

Angela felt the increased strain on Michael's patience as she double knotted her laces. Straightening, Michael looked at her. "Ready?" She nodded, and watched his darkened face as he turned.

They walked out the door, and started to jog. They didn't say anything, and she just followed at his side.

The spacious neighborhood was nothing short of picturesque. Sprawling, deep green lawns with maple and hackberry trees towering above them welcomed tranquility. The smooth, charcoal streets were quiet, and a companionable mist was coming off all the tiny lakes spotting the neighborhood. Angela took a deep breath of the morning air and kept pace with Michael.

She glanced up at him. He looked deep in thought. "Where are we going?" she said through a forced breath.

Michael shrugged, "Just running."

She nodded, and returned her focus to the glorious pastels springing from the horizon. They were both used to working out alone, and she didn't prefer to talk while she ran, anyway. But - It still feels lonely. Angela shook off that familiar interloper, and forced herself to appreciate the beauty around her.

They ran the full 45 minutes, and trotted up to the front door, drenched in sweat. They took off their shoes at the door, and carried them up to their room. Steven was sitting on the velvet bench by their bed, reading the Wall Street Journal.

He looked up at them, and whispered, "He hasn't made a sound." He stood up, and Angela patted his arm as he walked past them.

"Thank you," she smiled.

"Thanks," Michael said quietly.

"You're very welcome," he whispered, smiling. "Exercise is a good thing to do." He shut the door on his way out, and Michael locked it.

Angela tiptoed over to Jonathan's door, and listened from her side. Not hearing a thing, she sighed gratefully, confident her toddler wouldn't suffer in silence. She turned around, and bit her lip. Even after a solid run, everything still felt tense.

He looked at her blankly. "Do you want the shower first?" he said quietly from across the room.

Angela thought for a second. Grasping at courage, she took a breath. "We could take one together," she whispered, her brows lifted in question.

He stared at her for several seconds, then let out his breath, turning his head to smile a little. He looked back at her. "Okay," he said quietly. She exhaled a breath she didn't know she was holding, and smiled.

She pulled out her hair tie, and flipped her damp hair to the side, tousling her roots. Walking toward him slowly, she pulled her shirt over her head and dropped it. He was watching her closely, and she liked it. She kept walking, and snapped off her sports bra. When she got up next to him, she fingered the bottom of his wet shirt, and worked it up slowly over his head. She dropped it, and it plopped to the ground like a swimsuit. They both let out the tiniest, awkward laugh.

Angela stepped close enough that her now chilled breasts barely grazed his chest. Michael lightly trailed his fingers down the sides of her torso to her waist, openly admiring her. Her smile softened, and she reached up slowly behind his neck. She pulled him down into a deep kiss. He wrapped his arms around her back, and pulled her firmly to him.

She felt like they were rapidly recharging with every second. She couldn't help but smile broadly, even as they kissed. She felt like the boomerang was finally on its return approach. Angela slid her hands down his arms, around his waist, down to his butt, and up his back. She couldn't get enough of him, and it soothed every raw nerve sensing that he felt the same. She inched him backward toward the bathroom, but he stopped her. In a swift motion, Michael picked her up by her thighs, and Angela deftly cinched her legs around his waist. As he walked them toward the bathroom, she held his face, hoping he didn't feel the single tear falling into their determined kiss.