blanketing the gentle hills seemed to sparkle in the sunlight.
Prime real-estate-selling weather , her father had jokingly referred to it the Christmas she was seventeen. She’d been visiting him at his old rambling house in Danbury, Connecticut that backed up to a wooded lot. That’s when she noticed the discreet ‘House for Sale’ sign and her father told her he was marrying a wonderful woman with two great kids and moving into the woman’s house. That was the last time Annette visited him, and after that she’d grown to mistrust beautiful weather. Which she knew was silly. Today will be a glorious day, she told herself. Even though yesterday had been a near bust.
She was still annoyed about how she’d handled Julian Sandman. It was no wonder he had questioned her true purpose. She had done a lousy job with her attempt at subterfuge, trying to get him to talk about communism when she was supposedly interested in his grandmother’s sculptures. She had probably blown the chance of ever meeting Mariasha Lowe, but hopefully Bill would have some ideas on what she should do next.
She waited for a group of bicyclists to cross the winding path in front of her and took in a breath of cool fresh air. It was almost eleven and she had her regular Sunday date with Bill at the Reservoir, a one-point-six-mile running track that surrounded what had once been the source of water for Manhattanites, but now was a favorite gathering place for mallards, geese and joggers.
Bill was a far more serious runner than Annette and competed in marathons, so he liked to run the two miles from his apartment near Columbia University to another jogging trail in the park and end up at the Reservoir for his last leg. Annette lived a little farther away and preferred to walk rather than run to Central Park from home. She was usually satisfied with one lap around the Reservoir before she and Bill headed over to the Boathouse for coffee and cinnamon buns.
She reached the broad marble stairs at 90 th Street and Fifth and climbed them to the Runners’ Gate. Bill was already running in place in front of the magnificent elm that had been there since the late 1800s. He wore a black jogging suit, emerald-green gloves and a red, green and white reindeer-patterned headband around his ears. Bill was still self-conscious about his recent “coming out” and she was pleased he was at least getting a bit more brazen with his accessories.
“Good morning,” he said. “You’re right on time.”
“I hate you,” Annette said. “You’re not even panting or sweating. And you’ve already gone what? Five miles?”
“Seven. I started early.”
“Nice jogging attire,” she said, “unlike me.” She glanced down at her red jacket, old Nikes, and purple leggings with a small hole in the knee. Her hair was in braids to keep it out of the way while she ran.
“It’s important to keep up the right appearances.” He adjusted his tortoise-framed glasses, held in place by a croakie. “Do you need to stretch or are you ready to go?”
“I’m good.” She fell in beside him and they took off around the path. It was free of snow and ice thanks to the hundreds of jogging feet that kept it clear. On their left, the water looked like a giant lake and reflected the clear blue sky. Bill maintained a gentle, even pace so that they could actually hold a conversation. “You look happy this morning,” she said.
“I am. Kylie’s bringing Billy to the ice-skating rink at one. She said I can have him for the entire afternoon without supervision.”
Annette was frustrated by Bill’s acceptance of his ex-wife’s meager concessions regarding their son, but she didn’t want to ruin his good mood.
“And how are you doing?” he asked. “Did you meet the woman who’s going to tell you all about your grandfather?”
“Not yet, but I finished the book by the Soviet spy last night.” She’d tell him about Mariasha Lowe’s grandson later.
“And?” he
Prime real-estate-selling weather , her father had jokingly referred to it the Christmas she was seventeen. She’d been visiting him at his old rambling house in Danbury, Connecticut that backed up to a wooded lot. That’s when she noticed the discreet ‘House for Sale’ sign and her father told her he was marrying a wonderful woman with two great kids and moving into the woman’s house. That was the last time Annette visited him, and after that she’d grown to mistrust beautiful weather. Which she knew was silly. Today will be a glorious day, she told herself. Even though yesterday had been a near bust.
She was still annoyed about how she’d handled Julian Sandman. It was no wonder he had questioned her true purpose. She had done a lousy job with her attempt at subterfuge, trying to get him to talk about communism when she was supposedly interested in his grandmother’s sculptures. She had probably blown the chance of ever meeting Mariasha Lowe, but hopefully Bill would have some ideas on what she should do next.
She waited for a group of bicyclists to cross the winding path in front of her and took in a breath of cool fresh air. It was almost eleven and she had her regular Sunday date with Bill at the Reservoir, a one-point-six-mile running track that surrounded what had once been the source of water for Manhattanites, but now was a favorite gathering place for mallards, geese and joggers.
Bill was a far more serious runner than Annette and competed in marathons, so he liked to run the two miles from his apartment near Columbia University to another jogging trail in the park and end up at the Reservoir for his last leg. Annette lived a little farther away and preferred to walk rather than run to Central Park from home. She was usually satisfied with one lap around the Reservoir before she and Bill headed over to the Boathouse for coffee and cinnamon buns.
She reached the broad marble stairs at 90 th Street and Fifth and climbed them to the Runners’ Gate. Bill was already running in place in front of the magnificent elm that had been there since the late 1800s. He wore a black jogging suit, emerald-green gloves and a red, green and white reindeer-patterned headband around his ears. Bill was still self-conscious about his recent “coming out” and she was pleased he was at least getting a bit more brazen with his accessories.
“Good morning,” he said. “You’re right on time.”
“I hate you,” Annette said. “You’re not even panting or sweating. And you’ve already gone what? Five miles?”
“Seven. I started early.”
“Nice jogging attire,” she said, “unlike me.” She glanced down at her red jacket, old Nikes, and purple leggings with a small hole in the knee. Her hair was in braids to keep it out of the way while she ran.
“It’s important to keep up the right appearances.” He adjusted his tortoise-framed glasses, held in place by a croakie. “Do you need to stretch or are you ready to go?”
“I’m good.” She fell in beside him and they took off around the path. It was free of snow and ice thanks to the hundreds of jogging feet that kept it clear. On their left, the water looked like a giant lake and reflected the clear blue sky. Bill maintained a gentle, even pace so that they could actually hold a conversation. “You look happy this morning,” she said.
“I am. Kylie’s bringing Billy to the ice-skating rink at one. She said I can have him for the entire afternoon without supervision.”
Annette was frustrated by Bill’s acceptance of his ex-wife’s meager concessions regarding their son, but she didn’t want to ruin his good mood.
“And how are you doing?” he asked. “Did you meet the woman who’s going to tell you all about your grandfather?”
“Not yet, but I finished the book by the Soviet spy last night.” She’d tell him about Mariasha Lowe’s grandson later.
“And?” he
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