After Blake disappeared from sight, they went to the VIP tent and had some lunch. It felt to Lin Su as if everyone there was part of a group, that Lin Su and Charlie were alone. She didn’t care; this wasn’t just about Charlie anymore. While they sat at one of the long tables eating salad and sandwiches, they could see parts of a live video feed of various stages of the race on a screen in the tent. When they were finished eating, Lin Su thought they should try to close their eyes for a little while, but Charlie wasn’t having it.

“I’m going to walk part of the route, follow the crowd, see what I see,” he said.

“Okay,” she said, starting to rise.

“Stay here,” he said. “Watch for Winnie and Mikhail. I probably won’t see Blake, but I’ll see other triathletes here and there. Some of them are just getting on the marathon course. I’ll be back.”

“Take pictures with your phone,” she said. “Text me if you see anything.”

After Charlie had left, a few people talked to her, asked her about her interest in the race. She realized some might take her for Hawaiian, but when she explained that Blake Smiley was her neighbor and friend, interest in her immediately grew—with a lot of questions. Are you dating him? Have you been friends a long time? Is your son in one of his programs? Programs? She didn’t want to admit her ignorance, so didn’t answer.

She learned that most spectators came to the race for a couple of hours, maybe a few, but it was rare for people who were not part of a team or club to spend an entire day at the event. And to bear that out, the crowd began to grow again as new spectators arrived. The people in the VIP tent began to crowd in, waiting for the finish.

Winnie and Mikhail appeared and Lin Su rushed to them, surprised. “You found me! Did you have any trouble?”

“They had to fasten Her Majesty into the golf cart,” Mikhail said.

“Ack, I can’t hang on anymore! But I’m here, that’s what matters. How is he doing?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “He was the first one out of the ocean after the swim, but there were a bunch of runners who started the marathon ahead of him. Charlie said that was normal for him, for his pace, but I know nothing since. They’ve had some of the race on the screen over there, but I’ve only seen him a couple of times and I couldn’t tell his position. Winnie, have you ever seen so many people in your life?”

“Not so many competing at one event, but, sugar, I’ve been to the Olympics to watch Grace skate. A lot of people go. The towns are overrun.” She looked at her watch. “We want to be at the finish line bleachers an hour before they come in. I’m not missing that!”

“I worry about you in all that sun,” Lin Su said.

Mikhail produced an umbrella from the backpack of her wheelchair. “Madam thought perhaps I should fan her with palm fronds, but this works better, I think.” Then he went to fetch drinks for them.

For the next two hours, the crowd grew and grew, the noise level intensified, athletes competing in shorter races were coming in, the video screen predicted winners and focused on Blake several times. He had the third best time in the event so far, though he was still behind a lot of runners with six miles to go.

Lin Su was excited, exhausted, exhilarated. She wanted to be present at every race he ran forever and yet never wanted to go to another one. Of all the experiences in her life growing up with the family she landed in, competitive sports like this hadn’t existed. She’d been to basketball tournaments, football games, golf tournaments and even horse races, but a race that lasted over eight hours? Never.

Charlie returned; they hurried to the bleachers. Winnie had a handicapped place at the far end of the bleachers, her handlers beside her. Now it was the megaphone reporting on results. Blake was moving up to the front of the pack, one foot at a time.

“He wants this,” Charlie said. “He told me. He wants this bad. He thinks he’s running out of time to win it—his age, you know. Some of these other guys could do it—there’s a guy from Austria who’s a favorite, a guy from Germany they think could do it. They’re younger.”

“Not smarter,” Winnie said. “It takes brains and grace under pressure.”

“For skating,” Mikhail said. “For this, crazy is required.”

The last forty minutes were sheer torture. Lin Su nearly wore a hole in her lip, chewing on it. Finally, at a little after three in the afternoon, they came around the curve, the elite men’s class. She had to squint to see, but that was Blake, steady as she goes, coming up behind the leader.

She couldn’t breathe. He looked fierce yet relaxed. He was wet with sweat; his facial muscles were taut, chiseled. His lean physique showed the hard sinew as he gracefully moved toward the finish, still almost a mile away but yet so close. Then, with more than a half mile to go, he passed the front runner and ran almost elegantly to the finish line.

“Blake Smiley of Thunder Point, Oregon, we have a winner at eight hours, nineteen minutes.”

* * *

It took hours to get back to Winnie’s condo after Blake crossed the finish line. Of course they had to go behind the tape to congratulate him, as did many people. He was gracious despite the fact that he was depleted and maybe a little disoriented. He was coming around thanks to special drinks provided by his trainer; Charlie was beside himself with excitement.

Gretchen was trying to urge him away from the crowd but it took almost an hour before he relented. Before leaving he said, “You’re going to be here until Monday, right?”

“Just recover, Blake,” Lin Su said. “We’ll be around, but we’ll see you a lot once we’re home. I can’t wait to text everyone!”

“I’d like to spend more time with you, but there are sponsors and the team and...”

“We’ll be around when you are free of obligations. Right now, make it all about your win! We’re so proud of you!” Then she added, “I’m so proud of you!”

Getting out of the race area was a challenge. There were going to be runners coming in for hours and hours and the foot traffic was thick. Lin Su and Mikhail took turns pushing Winnie’s chair. Then, once they made it to the van, the traffic on the road was heavy; the triathlon had drawn thousands of spectators. If they’d had more energy, they might’ve gone out to dinner. Winnie was especially worn-out. It was seven before they were back at the condo, eating a light meal on the patio, going over and over every aspect of the race.

Little by little, the condo quieted. Winnie went to bed early. Mikhail found a comfortable chair and ottoman in her room and an extra blanket—even here, he would not relax his vigil. If Winnie awoke in the night, he wanted to be the one to assist her. Charlie sat on the sofa, the TV on and turned low, his laptop on his lap. Within an hour he was slumped on the couch and she closed his laptop and woke him, steering him to bed.

There were people out on the beach, of course, but the patio had a couple of dividing walls separating it from the unit next door and the tiki-lit sidewalk was on the other side of the pool, which was now quiet. She could hear revelers, perhaps celebrating the race, perhaps vacationers. Apparently she was the only one in the house still abuzz with excitement from the astonishing experience of the day. At nine, everyone quiet in the condo, sliding doors ajar so she could hear if Winnie called for her, she fixed herself a rare glass of wine and sat on the chaise, feet up.