“When I get back,” Abby repeated. Then she’d put her hands on his shoulders, pressed herself against him, and started kissing his neck and the underside of his chin. Mark looked surprised. Probably this was because they’d gotten in the habit of having sex only twice a week, on Wednesday and Saturday nights. It made Abby sad, when she let herself think about it. When they’d started dating, after meeting again in Philadelphia, they’d tumble into bed—or the shower, or Abby’s couch—at all hours of the day. Sometimes it would be an intense quickie that wouldn’t involve actual undressing, and sometimes it would be slow and languorous. It wasn’t like that anymore… but wasn’t that what happened in every relationship? Things slowed down. The sex got a little less frequent, a little more routine. Wasn’t that just growing up?
“You know, I’ve got to get up at five o’clock tomorrow morning,” Mark said, his breath coming a little faster as Abby slipped her hand along his admirably flat belly and into his boxer-briefs.
“I won’t keep you up all night,” she’d said, before she’d dropped—gracefully, she hoped—to her knees. She’d wanted to please him, because Mark deserved pleasure. She also wanted to keep him from asking any more questions she wasn’t ready to answer.
The next morning, Mark left for work after his run and a quick breakfast of smoothies made with Greek yogurt, protein powder, and frozen spinach. Abby had spent the day doing laundry, packing, taking her bike to Queen Village Bicycles for a preride tune-up.
Mark had been at work when Abby had strapped her panniers onto her bike, rode to Thirtieth Street Station, and taken a train to New York City. Just before the train pulled into Trenton, her phone buzzed with a text. Just because I love you, Mark had written. Attached was a picture of two feet with six-inch toenails on each toe, each one painted bright red.
Abby sent him a blushing face and a heart. Have fun, Mark had texted back. Which meant, she hoped, that she’d been forgiven… or that at least she’d gotten a reprieve.
Back in the park, Abby realized there were a dozen people looking at her expectantly, including Jasper, who’d finished handing out the vests. She swallowed hard.
“Let’s quickly do some introductions. Tell everyone your name and where you’re from.” Abby pointed toward the quartet of senior citizens. The hard-of-hearing fellow—tall, a little stooped, with pale, freckled white skin, skinny arms and knobby knees—gave a wave. He had a fanny pack looped over his shoulder and tucked under his arm, purse-style; hearing aids in both ears, and a turtle-ish aspect, with a round, sunburned face jutting forward from the wattled stalk of his neck.
“Good morning,” he began, in a slightly louder-than-polite volume. “I’m Ted, and this is Sue.” He indicated the gray-haired woman beside him, who waved at the group. “We live in Rye, New York, and we do a trip every summer with our dear friends, Ed and Lou, who live in Ridgefield, Connecticut.” Ed was as short as Ted was tall, with a bald head as tanned and round as an acorn, and a belly that stretched his Lycra jersey in a taut curve. Lou was even shorter than her husband, with a cap of white curls and rosy cheeks.
“So it’s Ted and Sue and Ed and Lou. But if that’s confusing, we also answer to…” He turned around to display the words THE SPOKE’N FOUR emblazoned over a line drawing of four bikes with riders, all in a row. Mild laughter rippled through the group. “Good one,” Jasper called.
“The four of us have our own sag wagon.” Ted pointed toward the street, where a monstrous RV was parked—probably illegally—by the curb. “We take turns driving it. So, every day, three of us will be on the road, and the fourth will be behind the wheel. And, of course, you’re all welcome to come aboard, if anyone needs a bathroom break, or if it’s hot and you want to cool off, or it’s raining and you want to stay dry.”
The woman beside him—Sue, Abby reminded herself—grabbed his wrist and tugged him toward her so she could speak directly into his hearing aid.
“Oh!” Ted said. “Sue has reminded me to tell you that I’m a little hard of hearing. Please try to look at me while you’re talking and speak slowly and clearly.”
“Thank you, Ted,” Abby said, slowly and clearly. Lizzie had filled Abby in on the RV situation, explaining that the Spoke’n Four used it as a safety net on their self-supported trips, in case one or a few of them ended up being unable to complete the day’s mileage. “Can’t they just use our sag wagon?” Abby had asked, and Lizzie had said, “I think they like knowing they can take care of themselves.” She’d shrugged. “Or, who knows? Maybe one of them just really hates using Porta Potties.”