He smiled a little. Abby saw the faint crinkling at the corner of his eyes, and hated how appealing she found him, how every gesture, every expression, made him more endearing. “No. But it’s interesting to think about. Maybe there’s an alternate timeline where you and I are together, and we’re riding our bikes through Tuscany.”
Abby was tempted to ask if she had a job in this scenario, a job that let her pay for lavish Italian vacations. Instead she said, pleasantly, “Is this a timeline where you didn’t sleep with half of Brooklyn?”
She saw her words register on his face, watching as his sweet, almost yearning look changed to surprise and disappointment, feeling the strangest mixture of triumph and relief and shame. Sebastian let go of her arm, and Abby stepped backward.
“I think we should just keep our distance,” she said.
He held up his hands. “No worries. Whatever you want. I just want to be your friend.”
“I have plenty of friends.”
His gave her a tight-lipped smile. “So I’ll be a new one.”
“Good night, Sebastian.” She hadn’t meant to say his name, but there it was, the syllables rolling around in her mouth. “Get some sleep.” She stepped back into her room and carefully closed the door behind her… then leaned against it, her breath coming quickly, her eyes squeezed shut and her heart thudding in her chest, part of her telling her to run from him, as far and as fast as she could, and the rest of her telling her to run after him, to grab his hand and pull him through the door and kiss him until nothing hurt him anymore.
Abby
Day Three: Poughkeepsie to Hudson Forty-three miles
Abby had a hard time falling asleep, and she was awake an hour before her alarm trilled. She packed up her stuff, got dressed, found an urn of coffee in the hotel lobby, along with packets of oatmeal, prepackaged muffins, and a few wan-looking bagels next to a toaster. She sipped her coffee and waited as the rest of the riders arrived. Lily was walking stiffly, like every part of her body hurt. Ted boomed a greeting, his clip-in shoes click-clacking on the tiled floor. Sebastian gave her a fast look, then quickly looked away.
They got their bikes out of a locked storage room and assembled in the parking lot, where Abby went over the route for the day. “We’ll be riding on some actual roads, with cars, so please be aware.”
She took the lead as they rode over the Walkway over the Hudson, where there were signs about the area’s history and coin-operated binoculars, and the river, far below. They pedaled past a mostly empty office park, off the trail and onto streets, through an actual neighborhood for a few miles before they were back on the bike path. Abby had to pay attention, guiding the group past playgrounds and historical markers and around little kids on training wheels and scooters. A detour caused by a fallen tree took them onto a street with a steep uphill and a hairpin turn. Abby was getting ready to tell Lily to put her bike in as easy a gear as possible, or even just walk it, instead of losing momentum halfway through the climb and falling, but she saw that the other woman had taken one look at the hill and preemptively, and wisely, had gotten out of the saddle.
“Slow and steady!” Abby called as Lily plodded past her. Abby thought the other woman’s smile was looking a little strained. Maybe since Morgan had already made it to the top, with Andy Presser riding beside her, and without sparing her mom a backward glance.
Ted got a flat, which Abby helped him fix, feeling proud at how well she could manage that part of ride leadership. A dog behind a chain-link fence growled and chased them as far as his enclosure would allow. Sue told a story about how a friend of hers had been knocked off her bike by a loose dog and had broken her arm in two places, and Lou described breaking her ankle on the GAP trail between Pittsburgh and Cumberland, Maryland, and how the ride leaders had portaged her off the trail and onto the road.
Finally, the route became a trail again, mile after mile of straight, flat riding, where you could pedal mindlessly and your thoughts would wander, whether you wanted them to or not.
The weather that day was not being their friend. The sky was cloudy, a scummy pale blue that looked like a piece of paper that had been scribbled on, then erased. The air felt hot and sticky, with a headwind that sent eddies of dust swirling over the road and into open mouths and unprotected eyes. The forecast had called for a chance of thunderstorms, but the rain never came, just humidity and gusts of gritty wind and the occasional far-off boom of thunder. The group’s average pace dropped below ten miles an hour, then below nine.