It was Spring, but only by the designation that the day was past March 20th. I remember that day but I choose not to write it down. In need not be more ingrained. There was still the cold bite of Midwestern winter in the air, the wind whipping across the flat terrain. Grace sat at home. Under the lights I ran that last repetition, that terrible wind swirling and seeming to face me on both turns. There was a break and one final gust, this time at my back as I floated to the line. A strange old man walked the outer lanes. At least he seemed strange to me. Bundled up, his lobster red nose one of the few things visible as I passed him lap after lap. Out in the country as we were I wondered why he didn't take to the roads, or the woods.
The hour was late, the light was faded but on the track. I slid on my slim track pants and raced where I should have traipsed on the way back to the little two bedroom one story house Grace and I shared. I looked back several times to see my lobster-nosed friend still circling the track. I was there most Tuesday nights. He seemed as if he should have been a fixture, but I had never seen him before.
As I neared our driveway the street lamps twinkled. I never thought I'd go back to Iowa. I did it for Grace. There was a car parked out front I didn't recognize, but Grace's car was not there. I stopped in front of the little mulberry bush and breathed out, watching my breath curl through its sparse foliage. The light was on in our bedroom but the porch light was out.
I had forgotten my keys but we rarely locked the door. I turned the handle and it was quiet inside.
"Grace," I called out, questioningly. There was no response. I walked through that little front area and looked into the dark living room and dining area. I walked back towards the bedroom. The only occupant was the teddy bear I'd been unable to give up. There was a book on the bed. I didn't remember it being there. I was always meticulous in my placement of things in spite of haphazardness. I picked it up. The copy of Anna Karenina Grace had given me for my birthday that first year together. I opened it's aged cover. Inside there was a folded sheet of paper instead of the inscription from Leo himself. I unfolded it.
"You've always been running Rob", it read, "this time I figured it was my turn. It's a new anniversary for both of us tonight. Happy anniversary. I hope you find that race you've always been trying to enter."