The Measures Between Us by Ethan Hauser Page B

first few hundred or so, and the first women. After that it’s a little monotonous. There aren’t too many surprises.”
    â€œThat’s true. It’s not like watching the final minutes of a basketball game. Not too much tension.”
    Henry shifted his feet awkwardly. A woman in the crowd shouted, “Go Jimmy!” How nice it must be to hear your name yelled; a little extra fuel.
    â€œDo you want to go get a cup of coffee or something?” Samantha asked.
    Henry was surprised at how natural the invitation sounded. That is another thing about beautiful women, he thought. They are allowed to do things the rest of us can’t. It wasn’t uncommon for him to have a beer with a group of students after a seminar, but it was always in the context of school, as if venturing to a bar was simply an extension of class. They went to a local pub under the pretense that they had more to discuss, though inevitably, amid the drinks and salty snacks, the conversation veered away from experiments and articles to lighter, more laughter-filled subjects.
    â€œSure,” he said. “Lead the way.”
    The two of them crossed the street toward a handful of restaurants and shops. Samantha chose a sports-themed café called the Finish Line, and she and Henry took a table by the window. “We can still see the runners from here,” she said, “in case I start boring you or something. You can just nod and pretend to listen.”
    Henry laughed. “I doubt that’ll happen. It’s nice to run into a familiar face.”
    They both ordered sandwiches and beer, and when the mugs came Samantha raised her glass to toast. “To the marathoners,” she said. “And to the fact that we don’t have to do it.”
    Henry clinked his beer with hers and took a long sip.
    â€œDo you come every year?” she asked.
    Henry nodded. “I don’t live too far from here, just over on Driscoll Street.” The restaurant was empty except for the two of them and a waiter leaning on the bar, flipping through a magazine. A jukebox in the corner played Bruce Springsteen. Outside, along the course, the crowd had thinned. Determined young boys and girls held out water and orange slices for the runners, their parents too proud of their efforts to make them head home.
    Still looking out the window, he said, “My wife and I usually watch. But this morning, she …she didn’t feel like it. So I walked over myself.”
    â€œMaybe she’s watching on TV,” Samantha said.
    â€œMaybe, though I doubt it.” Henry pictured Lucy as he had left her, sitting at the kitchen table reading the newspaper. Her mug of decaf was untouched. She was enjoying the silence of the empty house, the sight of a bird swooping in toward the feeder.Why did the marathon have to be today, Henry thought, so soon after their fight? The timing seemed cruel.
    â€œI’m sort of in awe of those runners,” he said, wanting to change the subject from his wife.
    â€œWhy?” Samantha asked.
    â€œTwenty-six miles. I couldn’t do that. Not even close—I’d quit after four, maybe three.”
    â€œTwenty-six miles, 385 yards,” Samantha corrected, finishing her beer. “You could. You’d surprise yourself. You look like you’re in good shape, plus your adrenaline takes over.”
    â€œThat’s nice of you to say.”
    â€œYou know,” said Samantha, “I was thinking of running today.”
    â€œThe marathon?” he asked. “Really?”
    She nodded. She motioned to the waiter for another beer, and after he brought her a fresh mug she said, “I used to run cross country, in college. I was pretty serious about it—went to NCAA meets and everything. Our team traveled to Florida every year to train in the winter. We stayed in this really shitty motel in Tallahassee and tried to get the pay movies for free.”
    â€œI had no