No More Running
The week that followed felt like a blur.
Karen woke up each morning to the gentle hum of the California coast and the sound of waves crashing against the shore. The air smelled of salt and freedom, and she couldn't find herself loving it.
California was kind to her, warm and everything she was supposed to love, but something within her still felt trapped. The ghosts of New York were still clutching onto her. Every night in her nice, simple apartment, she could feel their cold fingers brushing against the edges of her thoughts.
She had left New York. She left everything she had grown to love behind in pursuit of something. She just wasn’t sure what.
She thought she was running toward peace, toward a new life, but it was hard to escape the weight of the past, even in the brightest, most sun-soaked part of the country.
It was a Tuesday again when Karen finally decided to text him.
Karen: Tuesday again?
Frank: Yes, ma'am.
That evening she made her way back to the café. It was a little run down, the open sign was only lit up with the first 3 letters, and the parking lot was filled with potholes. She liked it a lot. Not because of their amazing coffee selection (which was just black coffee with or without sugar) or the delicious food options (burgers and fries or a turkey sandwich). Karen liked it because it was the only run-down thing near her place. Across the street was a vegan salad bar and next to that was a CrossFit gym. Karen needed something that reminded her of home, and Frank in a ratty coffee shop was as close to home as she could get.
As she approached the café, she saw Frank standing outside, leaning against the brick wall, his arms crossed, already staring at her. She had a feeling that he still kept his head on a swivel, even in a town like this.
He looked at her with his raised eyebrow and a softness in his eyes. His presence had a way of grounding her, of making everything feel a little less chaotic, even though she knew deep down that neither of them had any answers for the messiness of their lives. They both knew the weight of their pasts, but for some reason, in each other's presence, it didn't feel so heavy. At least, that's how she saw it.
When Frank noticed her getting closer, he straightened up, giving her a curt nod of acknowledgment. It was simple, but Karen appreciated the lack of pretense.
No forced smiles or fake hugs, they were simple and honest, and that was enough.
"Hey," she greeted him, her voice had a subtle warmth that she didn’t always allow herself to show.
Frank tilted his head, a slight smirk forming on his lips. "You’re early today," he remarked, his voice low and gravelly, as if he’d just woken up from a long nap.
Karen shrugged, "Needed to get away from the noise," she said. "This place is a lot quieter."
It wasn't. Behind them, she could hear sirens and loud voices echoing close. It was one of the less safe streets in town. But they both know what she meant. It made her mind quiet, reminded her of what she knew.
"Yeah," Frank said, pushing off from the wall and moving toward the entrance. "I get that."
They walked in silence, the door to the café jingling as they entered. The familiar scent of coffee beans and old mop water filled the air, and Karen felt a strange sense of comfort. She didn’t need anything fancy—just this. Just Frank and black coffee on a Tuesday evening.
The simple act of sitting with the one person who didn’t need to know all of her secrets, someone who didn’t need her to explain herself, and yet knew her better than anyone.
They found the same spot as last time by the window. It was a small booth, just big enough for two, but she could feel it becoming their "spot". And, somehow, it felt like home. Maybe she was projecting, hoping for Frank to stay in one place just for a little longer, purely for her own benefit. Either way, the look in his eye told her that she wasn't far off.
Karen slid into the booth first, then Frank followed in front of her. It was that comfortable distance—just enough space for them to exist in each other’s presence without it feeling suffocating. She could feel him pulling his knees back a little to avoid touching her. She almost smiled at that.
The waitress came over to take their order, and Karen quickly asked for her usual: black coffee, no cream, no sugar. Frank, as usual, didn’t even glance at the menu before ordering the same.
As the waitress walked away, Karen looked over at Frank, her hands wrapped around her mug as she stared at the steam rising from the surface. There was something she wanted to ask him, something that had been on her mind for a while. She didn’t know why, but she felt like now was the right time.
“So,” she started, her voice tentative. “How do you deal with it?”
Frank’s brow furrowed slightly, his eyes narrowing as he looked at her, but he didn’t ask her to clarify. He didn’t need to. He knew exactly what she meant.
“Deal with what?” he asked, his voice gruff but not unkind. He was testing the waters, pushing her like she was pushing him.
“Everything,” Karen said, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup. “The guilt. The loss. The feeling like... like you’re carrying the weight of the world and no one can see it. How do you live with it?”
Frank stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. It wasn’t the first time she had brought up the subject of their pasts, but it was the first time she had asked it so directly.
“Guess you don’t,” he finally said, his voice rougher now, more honest. “You just keep going. Put one foot in front of the other. You don’t get to take the weight off. Not really.”
Karen’s lips parted as she processed his words. They weren’t comforting. In fact, they were the opposite. But there was an honesty to them that she wasn’t sure she had heard in a long time. He wasn’t trying to make her feel better. He wasn’t trying to offer her some trite advice that would solve everything. He was just being real. And that was them. The main thing that separated Frank from everyone and everything back in New York. He never lied to her. Maybe once, in the woods, with a dead man behind them. But never before then and never after.
She looked up at him, meeting his eyes, and for a moment, there was an understanding between them that went beyond words. She didn’t need to explain herself any further. He got it. He understood the silent burden they both carried.
“Yeah,” Karen muttered, more to herself than to him. “I guess you’re right.”
They sat in silence for a few moments, the noise of the café humming softly in the background. The waitress brought their drinks, and Frank took a long sip of his, his eyes fixed on the window. Karen watched him, wondering if sitting with her in this booth brought him as much peace as her.
Finally, she broke the silence. “I used to think I’d find peace if I could just get away,” she admitted quietly. “But now that I’m here, I don’t know if it’s peace I need. I think it’s... a way to stop running. To stop feeling like I’m always escaping something.”
Frank didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he leaned back in his seat, his eyes studying her carefully. He was still as hard as ever on the outside, but she could see something softening in his gaze.
“Sometimes,” he said, his voice low and contemplative, “the hardest part is stopping long enough to realize you’ve been running. To realize that maybe it’s not about getting away. It’s about staying. Facing what’s left behind you.”
Karen felt her heart tighten in her chest. She didn’t know how to respond to that. She didn’t know if she was ready to face what had been left behind. But she also knew that Frank was right. No matter where she went, she couldn’t outrun the past forever. And maybe he said that for himself too. Lord knows Frank isn't known for being the most stable of people.
“Yeah,” Karen whispered. “Maybe.”
They fell into another comfortable silence, the kind that only existed between people who didn’t need to say anything to understand each other. And for once, Karen felt the weight of her past just a little bit lighter.
Karen didn’t know how long they sat there, letting the silence stretch between them, thick with all the things neither of them wanted to say. The coffee had gone lukewarm in her hands, but she still clung to the cup, staring into it like the answers were floating somewhere on the dark surface.
Then Frank—because it was always Frank—broke the silence first.
“You still with that paper?” he asked, tipping his chin toward her like it wasn’t the first time he’d wondered about it.
Karen blinked, and pulled back into the moment. She almost laughed. Almost.
“The paper?” she echoed. “Like it’s some small-town rag.”
He shrugged. “Aren’t they all?”
She smirked. “No. Some just pay better.”
Frank huffed a quiet chuckle, shaking his head.
“Yeah, I’m still with them,” she admitted. “Still getting under powerful people’s skin. Still pushing too hard and pissing people off.”
“That’s what you do best.”
Karen glanced up at him. His face gave nothing away, but she could feel the weight behind his words. There was something like respect there—buried under layers of sarcasm and indifference, but there nonetheless.
"I used to read it." He said softly, so soft she almost didn't hear it.
"What?" She said, thinking she heard wrong.
She could see him visiably pulling away before repeating, "I used to read it. The paper. Well, your articles at least. You're good."
Karen looked at him with a questioning look on her face. He read her paper. No, he read her articles. Her articles alone.
"Why?" She said, almost too scared to ask.
He shrugged, "Liked knowing what you were getting into, I guess. Sorry."
She had a feeling he wasn't sorry at all for reading. More for telling her that he did.
He was turning into himself, she noticed. So she changed the subject.
Karen sighed, stretching her arms over her head before settling back in the booth. “I had this editor once tell me I write like I’ve got a death wish.”
Frank arched an eyebrow. “That supposed to be a compliment?”
“I think it was more of a warning.”
His lip curled at that, just a little. He shook his head and took another sip of his coffee.
She studied him for a moment, watching the way his shoulders were just a little less tense than the last time she saw him. He looked different—not settled, but not as tightly wound as he used to be.
“So what about you?” she asked, tilting her head. “You still floating, or did you finally find something worth sticking around for?”
Frank let out a slow breath, rubbing his thumb along the rim of his cup. “Yeah. Something like that.”
Karen raised an eyebrow. “That’s vague, even for you.”
Frank smirked, but there was something cautious in his eyes. “I got a name now. Pete Castiglione.”
She blinked, processing it. “Pete.”
He nodded.
“Castiglione.”
Another nod.
She let out a breath of a laugh, shaking her head. “That is the most Italian shit I’ve ever heard.”
Frank snorted. “Yeah, well. It does the job.”
She took a sip of her coffee, considering it. “And what, you just… go by Pete now? You meet someone new and that’s who you are?”
His jaw tightened slightly. “Something like that.”
She watched him for a second before nodding. “Okay, Pete. What do you do?”
He smirked. “Construction.”
“Bullshit.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Alright, construction part time . But close enough. I work with Curtis.”
That caught her off guard. “Curtis?”
Frank nodded, stretching his arms across the back of the booth like the conversation was nothing. “Yeah. He runs a group for vets. Support stuff.”
Karen’s expression softened. “Huh.”
Frank glanced at her. “What?”
She shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I just… I liked Curtis. He seemed like a good guy.”
“He is.”
She studied him for a moment. “And you help him? You sit in on those meetings?”
Frank exhaled through his nose. “Yeah. Sometimes.”
Karen set her cup down, tilting her head slightly. “That’s… surprising.”
Frank gave her a look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She grinned. “You don’t exactly strike me as a ‘sharing your feelings in a circle’ kind of guy.”
He huffed. “I don’t.”
“So what do you do?”
“I listen.”
She considered that for a second, something about the answer settling deep in her chest.
“You like it?” she asked.
Frank didn’t answer right away. His fingers drummed lightly against the table, eyes flicking toward the window like he was checking for something. Or maybe just thinking.
“It’s different,” he finally said. “Feels like it matters.”
Karen didn’t expect the answer to hit her the way it did.
She exhaled, letting the words settle between them.
“Well,” she said after a moment, “I’m glad, Frank.”
He looked at her then, really looked at her, and for a split second, it felt like all the years between them collapsed into nothing.
Then he smirked. “Pete.”
She rolled her eyes. “Right. I'm not calling you that.”
He chuckled, shaking his head.
The conversation shifted after that, easing into something lighter. Karen told him about the editor she’d been butting heads with. Frank told her about an old guy in the group who had the dirtiest mouth he’d ever heard. She laughed when he told her about the time Curtis got into a passive-aggressive battle with another guy over the last decent chair in the meeting room.
For the first time in a long time, it felt easy.
And maybe that was the strangest part.
Karen found herself laughing at Frank’s dry humor, something she hadn’t expected. The conversation flowed easily after that—about nothing and everything.
When they finished their coffee, they both stood to leave, but before Karen could grab her jacket, Frank said something that made her stop in her tracks.
“You’re not running anymore, Karen,” he said quietly, his voice unusually soft for someone so often guarded. “Not today. And that’s enough.”
She met his gaze and nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. For the first time since she’d arrived in California, she felt something stir inside her. Maybe it wasn’t about finding the answers or figuring everything out. Maybe it was just about not being alone anymore.