On this Sunday afternoon, we walk around the Washington Monument. The June day is too hot for a walk, but Natasha is one of those avid exercisers. During the colder months, she goes to a gym and sweats on a treadmill. She knows she’s unusual because she actually likes to sweat. Once she even had a personal trainer, but when she fell in love with him and he didn’t reciprocate her feelings, she told him she no longer needed his help. She switched gyms.Never stopping her quick strides, Natasha says, “Take a few days. You know that my schedule at the office is flexible. I’ll help your mom at the shop.”“Why?”“So that you can go see Carson.”“Why?” I pick up my pace to match hers.“Why not?”I pant and then push my drooping cloth headband up over my forehead. She’s adorned with long legs; I’m long-waisted and my legs don’t ever move quickly.She stops for a moment, looks at me in her deliberate way, and states, “You’re in love with him.”I raise my right hand to stop her and pause at her side.
