The Measures Between Us by Ethan Hauser

he said, shaking his head. “Give me the Red Sox against the Yankees, at Fenway in the bleachers. Beer andpeanuts. I’d be a happy man. Put Pedro on the mound and I’ll kiss ya even though you’re a man. I like watching the kids put up those K signs. God bless ’em and their energy.”
    They stayed for two or three drinks, and often they had the place to themselves. Sometimes they’d talk and sometimes not. Sometimes the only sounds between them were Henry cracking open walnuts he’d grabbed from the bar. Their feet brushed underneath the table, and neither remarked on it or even moved. Not even the bartender ruffling pages of the
Herald
could intrude on their unexpected happiness.
    Lucy, Henry remembered, still lightly massaging her head. Lucinda in the weak light of the bar, her bangs falling carelessly over her forehead. Her slender fingers resting on the tabletop. She’s in her jean jacket, the one that makes her ten years younger, instantly. Tourmaline earrings stud her earlobes. There’s a butterfly clip in her hair. She’s nearly done with her wine, there’s only a shallow pool left, a remnant of the languid hour they’ve just spent together. She’s in no hurry to finish, and periodically she traces the stem of the wineglass with her forefinger. Maybe she’ll order another. Maybe they’ll use the empty glass as a cue to leave. She’s wearing nail polish, chipped around the edges. She’s wearing a silver chain with a single pearl pendant. The stone falls into the well of her collarbone as if that’s where it belongs, as if that’s the oyster where it was bedded.
    â€œDo you remember Rosie Ruiz?” Lucy asked, jarring Henry from his reverie.
    â€œThe woman who cheated,” he said. “She got on the T.”
    Lucy nodded. “I always felt like if she figured out how to sneak onto the subway during the race, then she deserved some sort of prize.”
    â€œBut she got caught,” Henry said. “She didn’t really figure it out.”
    â€œYeah, but she almost got away with it. It wasn’t until later that they put it all together. Remember? A few days after the race, they realized what happened.” Lucy turned a page of the newspaper. “Do you think she had to give back the wreath too? Wouldn’t it already have wilted?”
    Henry smiled, though his wife couldn’t see him. He didn’t want to move, didn’t want her to move. Their fight of the night before felt faraway and innocuous. She shifted to the right a little, and Henry stayed still. He lowered his head, kissed the top of hers. His lips lingered on her hair. Then he turned and left the room, before anything could shatter their fragile forgiveness.
    Henry passed several neighbors as he walked through the neighborhood to the street he would watch the marathon from. He and Lucy weren’t close to anyone in the immediate area, so he did little more than nod and mumble a greeting. There had been the usual welcomes and invitations when they’d first moved in, but most of their friends lived elsewhere, scattered by jobs and love. Both Henry and Lucy preferred it that way, installing a kind of anonymous zone around their home. It was possible they would feel different once the baby came, he thought, when neighbors might offer to babysit or help out with errands they were suddenly too busy and too tired for. Yet for the time being he liked being a stranger. Grad school was community enough; he didn’t need any more at home.
    When he arrived at Commonwealth Avenue, he planted himself in an open spot, staring down the block like everyone else for signs of the first runners. Some people had brought lawnchairs; others listened to portable radios they cupped to their ears. High above, a news helicopter hovered, its pilot already seeing the mass of racers smudging up the course. One family pumped hand-drawn signs in the air. Henry could