17:33

Annemarie

For the last fifteen years, our town has held a 5K every fall in memory of Marianne Van Cotter, a forty-five-year-old woman who drowned in her own bathtub.

It’s ridiculous, really - a grown woman drowning in a bathtub. She bragged about that brand-new luxury tub for a week before it happened, had her husband Silas install it and then paraded her friends upstairs to show it off. Served her right, slipping on the soapy floor on her way into the tub and drowning beneath a sea of lavendar-scented bubbles. But that’s not charitable of me, and the 5K has been a nice thing for our town, even if it is to raise money for water safety in honor of a woman who really should have known better.

Kate

We all know each other pretty well, runners who enjoy the 5K circuit and race each other periodically. The last 5K was only three weeks ago, and I don’t think anyone has gotten over the scene we witnessed that day. I’m a bit surprised that everyone showed up today. But I guess the event was mostly traumatic for the two people at the center of it. For the rest of us, it was just a good - albeit upsetting - show.

I run every 5K in the area, and so do the other regulars - Theodore Pratt, his father Bradley, Silas Van Cotter, and Silas’s son Oliver. Of course, Silas and Oliver would never miss this race, it being in Marianne’s honor.

Typically the five of us are together on the starting line, joking, teasing each other about who’s going to win, even though it’s almost always Theodore or Oliver. Today, however, Theodore and Bradley didn’t say a word to each other, and Silas and Oliver were quiet. Everyone greeted me, and then they hung around, avoiding eye contact and waiting for the race to start.

Annemarie

Everyone knew there was tension between Bradley Pratt and his son Theodore. They always started these races together. They were friendly with all the others - that girl Kate who was always running with them, and Silas and Oliver Van Cotter, too. But they always stood side by side together at the start, wishing each other a good race.

Not today, though. They were as far apart as could be, on opposite ends of the starting line. When the race started, they were off in a flash.

Bradley

I’m fifty-seven years old, and this is the 10th 5K I’ve competed in this year. I’ll easily win the 55+ division, and I will find that satisfying and embarrassing at the same time.

But it’s not why I’m here; it’s not for a medal.

It’s for my son.

Theodore won’t answer my calls, won’t reply to any texts, hasn’t said a word to me since our altercation at the last 5K three weeks ago. I came here hoping to see him. I thought about approaching him before the race began, but I couldn’t do it. The look on his face kept me away.

I could see him up ahead, easily leading the pack of runners, a ferocity to his pace that I could only imagine was related to his desire to put distance between himself and me.

Audrey

I’ve lived next door to Theodore my whole life. I’ve had a crush on him for years; it’s the reason I volunteer at these races. Why else would I have any interest in holding out tiny cups of water for the runners as they ran by?

It was Annemarie Dowd who told me about the scene at the last 5K - about Bradley and Theodore fighting.

“Like, actual fists?” I asked her. “Like a fistfight?” I’d been there that day, but I’d been helping clean up and thus hadn’t seen the scene at the finish line.

Annemarie nodded eagerly; she loved to tell a story. “More Theo than his dad,” she said, her voice low, as if it wasn’t a story she’d told anyone who’d listen for the last three weeks.

Because I lived next door to the Pratts, I knew that Theodore had not been home in weeks. Everyone in our town knew that Theo’s mom walked out on the family when he was ten years old, and that ever since then, Theo and his dad have been extraordinarily close - more best friends than father and son.

Why would they suddenly have a shouting match and now not be on speaking terms?

Peter

I wouldn’t normally attend the 5K; it’s always the first Sunday in April, and Sundays are my day off.

However, a week ago, I got this call at my desk; I’ve been the sheriff for the past ten years. The caller wouldn’t identify himself.

“You need to be at the 5K,” he said.

“I’ll make sure I’ve got a guy there,” I said, a little exasperated. I didn’t like taking directions from nameless voices.

“Not your deputy,” the voice said.

“Come off it,” I said, exasperated. “What do you know about my deputy?”

“It’s gotta be you,” they said.

It would have been easier to allow Silas Van Cotter, my deputy, to take care of this, seeing as how he ran the race every year anyway. But I supposed it would be hard for him to run in honor of his wife while also looking out for wrongdoing. There was also Kate Downes - she ran every 5K in the area, and she served as our evidence technician in the office. She was a civilian, of course, but couldn’t she be my eyes and ears at the race?

The anonymous caller was insistent, and I had to admit, I was intrigued. What was I supposed to do? Of course I came.

Kate

I typically try to match my pace with Theodore. He always beats me, but it’s a good way for me to run my best. I’ve broken more than one personal record this way.

Today, though, I couldn’t even catch him during mile one. He seemed like a man possessed, his feet pounding as if he were trying to crush the ground beneath him.

Audrey

Theodore was the first person to get to the hydration station, and he came right to me. I handed him the cup of water and grinned.

“It’s good to see you, Audrey,” he said.

I saw him glance over his shoulder; he’d been running so fast that it would be a good minute before Oliver caught up with him.

“You haven’t been home,” I said.

His face turned stony. “I’ve been at a hotel working on some things,” he said quietly. “See you in a bit.”

He would get one more cup of water from me; the course was an out-and-back, so he would come back my way for the last leg of the race. I watched him run away.

Oliver

I grabbed my first water, drank it, and crushed the cup and threw it to the ground. Audrey Levine frowned at me when I did, even thought that’s what we all do at these races.

I guess not Theodore, though. I’d seen him hand his cup back to Audrey before sprinting off, like the golden boy he is.

I ignored Audrey’s frown and kept running. Theodore was never this fast - or was I running slower today? Theodore’s dad was right on my heels.

It didn’t matter. I’ve always loved running. It saved my life when my mother died. I was fifteen years old and the only way to get some space from probing questions and concerned eyes was to go for a run. The running became my time to think; during this 5K, as can be expected, I usually think about my mom.

We don't talk about her much. My dad gets angry if I bring her up, and that has always confused me. It might be anger about the senselessness of the way she died – such a fluke accident, to slip on the bathroom floor and drown in her own tub. I don't know if that's it or not. We’re not close like Theodore and Bradley; it sometimes feels like we barely know each other.

The second hydration station is at the midpoint of the race. It’s kind of funny, but we get our cups of water, we run fifty yards away, and then we turn and run back toward the starting line for the second half of the race. When the second hydration station came into view, I noticed two things.

The first thing was that Sheriff Peter McDuff was there, in uniform, passing out cups. I can't remember a time when the sheriff came to the 5K previously.

The second thing was a moment between Theodore and the sheriff. They shook hands, and from a distance it seemed like they stayed connected a moment longer than was necessary before Theodore took off running, about to break his personal best time for a 5K, which I happened to know was 17:33.

Bradley

I wasn't far behind Oliver. I was more fatigued than I usually am halfway through the race, but then, I was running harder. I was running as though if I caught up to Theodore, he would talk to me, which we both knew was not true. I bent over, my hands on my thighs, trying to catch my breath.

“Bradley?”

I was surprised to see Peter McDuff when I looked up. He was holding two things out for me - a cup of water, and a small folded piece of paper.

“Have a good race,” he said, stepping past me to hand water to Kate. He handed her a piece of paper as well.

Theodore was already well on his way back to the start/finish line. I paused for a fraction of a second before deciding to run after him rather than ask Peter about the piece of paper he’d pressed into my hand.

Peter

I've been given very specific instructions for what to do on the day of the race. I don't typically obey directions from unknown strangers, but it all seemed innocuous enough, so I decided to follow through.

Kate

I smiled at the sheriff and kept running. Everything felt really good today - the breeze on my face, my legs long and limber and strong.

Bradley was just ahead of me, and I heard footsteps behind me; I turned and smiled nervously at Silas. We worked together in the sheriff’s office, of course, and we ran together often, so I was usually comfortable chatting with him. However, I always felt uncomfortable around Silas and Oliver on this day, almost as if it were Marianne’s funeral and I wasn’t sure how to comfort the bereaved.

I unfolded the note from the sheriff as we ran. Good luck! it read, a big smiley face beneath the words.

“How sweet,” I said to Silas. I could see that he also had a note in his hand from the sheriff. “What does yours say?”

He grinned. “Only one way to find out, I suppose,” he said. He unfolded it. I couldn’t read what it said from my position running alongside him.

But I saw his face fall, his features crumpling, his body sagging. He almost tripped. Then he seemed to recompose himself, getting back to his stride, tucking the paper into the pocket of his running shorts and continuing on as if nothing had happened.

Bradley

I opened the folded paper and read it just as I was turning around at the midpoint of the race; I could see Silas and Kate getting their waters out of the corner of my eye.

The bubble bath, the note read.

I glanced up at Peter McDuff, who seemed to be watching me, looking for some sign of something. I’m quite sure all he saw on my face was confusion.

Kate

I picked up my pace as we entered the third mile - a 5K is a 3.1 mile-long race - and tried to gain some ground on Oliver. I’d only beaten him and Theodore a handful of times.

Though I tried to focus on my stride, I found my thoughts wandering.

Silas’s face. The argument between Theodore and Bradley. Everything felt weird today.

The truth was that I’d been concerned about Theodore for several weeks. I wondered if I was the only one who knew what he’d been up to.

He showed up at the sheriff’s office early one morning, a week or so after the last 5K, asking for my help.

“I need to look at an old evidence file, Kate,” he said, his handsome face creased with worry.

“Which case?” I asked. I had no intention of showing him anything at first.

“Marianne Van Cotter,” he said, his voice steady.

I don’t know how he convinced me. Theodore was charming, though, and thirty minutes later, we were both staring at a photo of Marianne’s bathroom. There was a gleam to the floor, which must have been slick with the liquid she’d slipped on; the file indicated that the liquid on the floor had been tested and was the bubble bath. The tub still had remnants of bubbly water in it, and perched on the edge of the tub were two bottles, one of shampoo and one of conditioner. I hadn’t been the evidence tech when it happened, of course; Theodore and I were in middle school when Marianne died.

Theodore stared at the photo, nodding as if he’d proven something to himself.

“Theodore, are you okay? Can I do anything?” I asked.

He shook his head and left. I didn’t see him again until the morning of the 5K.

Audrey

Once most of the runners had passed the midway point, the volunteers from the second hydration station came to either help at the final hydration station or at the finish line, handing out medals and snacks. I spotted Sheriff McDuff among them.

There was a part of me that wanted to approach him, to tell him what I’d seen at the 5K three weeks ago. I hadn’t seen the fistfight - but I’d seen a strange exchange between Silas and Theodore. They were racing together - Theodore was taking it easy that day because of a knee injury, and Silas was in good form, running faster than usual. There was sometimes trash talk among the top runners, mostly good-natured ribbing between Oliver and Theodore, but that day, it seemed to be Silas and Theodore who were poking at each other.

“See you at the finish, old man,” Theodore said breezily as they passed me, taking cups of water. I saw Silas’s face freeze. Perhaps he was sensitive about his age. He ran after Theodore, grabbed his arm, and said something that only Theodore could hear.

Then I watched as Theodore stopped cold, staring after Silas as if his words had rendered him unable to move.

Bradley

I couldn’t see Theodore anymore. I looked down at my watch; we’d been running for about seventeen minutes. Hopefully he would cross the finish line soon, breaking his personal 5K record.

He was furious with me; I knew that. He’d been told for years that his mother had left our family out of selfishness, and then somehow he’d found out about my affair with Marianne Van Cotter.

It hurt to think of her. I’d loved her deeply, and then she was gone, and there was no way for me to mourn openly. In a way, it was a relief that Theodore knew it now, though he certainly didn’t feel that way.

“How do you and Silas even look each other in the eye?” he’d asked me angrily at the last 5K. He’d come at me right as I crossed the finish line, and the resulting fistfight left me with a black eye. Once we were broken apart, we talked briefly before he stormed off.

It was a good question. How did I look Silas in the eye when he knew what I’d done - he'd found out just before Marianne died - and when I suspected the worst of him as well?

“You should know something else about Silas,” I said quietly.

Then I told him what I thought had really happened to Marianne.

Peter

I watched as Theodore crossed the finish line. The crowd cheered. I walked over to him, where he was bent over, catching his breath.

“It was you that called me,” I said.

He didn’t look up. “Did you find out anything?”

I recalled the look I’d seen on Silas’s face. Had he instantly realized what the note was about - that someone noticed that his wife couldn’t have slipped on the bubble bath and died all on her own when there was no bottle of bubble bath anywhere in the room?

“Enough to ask some more questions,” I told Theodore.

“Of who?” he asked. He stood up tall now, meeting my eye.

“Not your father,” I said.

Theodore

Not my father.

I nodded at the sheriff, who walked away, straight toward Silas Van Cotter.

I could feel my father’s gaze on me, knew he was wondering what was going on. He’d told me his suspicions about Silas murdering Marianne, how he’d never come forward for fear of hurting me with the truth, but I didn’t know if I could trust him. How do you trust someone who’s been lying to you for fifteen years?

I smiled at everyone who passed by and congratulated me - Annemarie Dowd, Kate, my neighbor Audrey. Even Oliver; poor Oliver, who was about to learn, just as I had, that his father was not the man he thought he was.

I wasn’t ready to talk to my dad.

I glanced down at my watch, realizing I hadn’t yet checked my time. Months ago, I’d set a goal of beating my PR today.

17:29.

I smiled.