Maybe one of the Seattle Seahawks or perhaps a Mariner.

Either way, he’s definitely amazing, and as he disappears into the fog in front of me, I slow, suddenly light-headed, almost dizzy.

I slow even more and then stop running altogether. For a moment I just stand there, hands on my hips, trying to catch my breath. And my breathlessness has nothing to do with my physical conditioning.

Eventually, I start jogging again and head for home. Back at the house, everything is just as I left it, and Eva’s still on the couch, watching the end of her movie.

Our Yarrow Point house isn’t huge, but it’s got a modern floor plan with a soaring ceiling—no formal living room, just a great room with kitchen, family room, and dining room all combined—and I love it because I can see Eva no matter where I am or what I’m doing.

I kick off my running shoes, leaving them by the front door, and after stripping off my socks head into the kitchen. Without looking away from the TV, Eva asks, “Good run?”

“Yes.”

“See anybody?”

I think of the man who passed me, the man of mythic proportions. “No.” I reach into the glass-fronted cabinet for one of my thick, hand-painted pottery mugs I bought in Mexico aeons ago. “There was a lady who nearly ran me over, though.”

“Was she putting on makeup?”

“Talking on her cell.”

“Typical,” Eva drawls, and then looks at me. “So. Are you almost ready to go?”

“Go where? I just got back,” I answer, filling the mug with coffee.

“To the school.”

“It’s early. And I haven’t even had my coffee yet.”

“You can pour it in one of those travel mugs.”

“I can drink it here.”

“Mom—”

“Eva.”

“I’m just saying—”

“And I’m just saying there’s eager and there’s absurd. You can be eager, but you can’t be absurd, okay?”

She makes a humphy sound and twirls the tips of her long ponytail around her fingers. “So when will we go?”

“Nine.”

“Nine?” Her voice rises an octave. “And what will I do until then?”

“You haven’t watched Monsoon Wedding lately.” I smile, grab my coffee, and head through the back door into the garden and to the office studio at the back. Once upon a time, I kept a laptop on the kitchen counter, but I ended up checking e-mail way too many times in the evenings and weekends, so now all e-mail happens in the office studio.

The office studio is why I bought this house, although the studio was in shambles, with a leaking roof and small dark windows that didn’t get any light.

I use the hidden key to unlock the studio door, then put the key back and flick on the lights. I’m just booting up my computer when Eva appears in the office doorway. “You said you were taking the weekend off!”

“I am,” I say, typing in my password before dropping into my chair. “And working isn’t checking e-mail. Checking e-mail is checking e-mail.”

“You spend hours doing e-mail.”

“That’s business these days, baby.”

“Mooooom.”

I glance up, grimace. “I know, sweetheart, but this is what I do. This is part of my job, and I won’t be more than fifteen minutes.”

“You always say that—”

“Eva. This is how I pay the bills, and you said you liked me working from home instead of at an office downtown. You said you’d rather me work from here because then you wouldn’t have to go to day care.”

“But it’s Saturday.”

“Lots of people work Saturday.”

Eva sighs dramatically and marches back to the house. I watch her go, trying not to feel guilty. I’m not doing anything wrong. I’m a single mom. I have to work. But maybe I feel guilty because most of the time I like working.

In New York, I was a vice president at the huge ad agency Keller & Klein, and when they approached me about opening a West Coast branch for them, I jumped at the opportunity. It was a huge honor as well as a risk, and I craved both.

Unfortunately, Keller & Klein got bought by a big German media conglomerate shortly after we moved to Seattle. The German media giant shut down the Seattle office, and that’s how I ended up starting my own company, Z Design.

I couldn’t yank Eva out of school once again, and not away from her grandparents. She’s still just getting to know them, and now she knows Mom is sick.

It’s good, owning my own business.