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born with Cystic Fibrosis.
    For the slightest moment, Daylin found it hard to breathe as her heart squeezed with the realization of all that meant. “I didn’t know.”
    “It’s OK.” Aubree smiled and pushed back hair from her furrowed brow. “Daddy says I’m not wearing a label.”
    “No, sweetie, you’re not.” Tears turned Daylin’s eyes to stinging coal. She swiped the moisture away just as quickly as it came so as not to frighten Aubree.
    “Wanna play tic-tac-toe?” Obviously satisfied with Daylin’s answers concerning the state of her hair and her reason for joining them tonight, Aubree was ready to move on to the next adventure. She turned over the kids’ menu on the table in front of her and clutched a pair of crayons tightly in her small, chubby fist. “Daddy taught me how.”
    “Sure.” Daylin struggled with the word. “I’d love to play if we can also listen to your daddy explain about what I need to do to get ready to run the race.” She picked up the orange crayon. “I want to hear all the details. It’s pretty important stuff.”
    “Are you gonna run with Daddy for me and the other kids?”
    “I’m going to try.”
    “So the doctors can learn a cure?” Aubree swiped at her nose with the tissue once more. “Daddy says they’re gettin’ pretty close.”
    “Yes, I’m going to do my best to run the race for you and your friends.”
    “Thank you.”
    “You’re welcome.” Daylin rested her chin in an upturned palm and squinted at Aubree. “Is it hard, having CF?”
    “Sometimes.” Aubree scratched her nose and sniffled. “I don’t like going to all the doctors even though Daddy says they’re just tryin’ to help.” Aubree kicked the table leg with her tennis shoes as she drew a wobbly grid on the paper. “It’s prob’ly not as hard as getting hair from a box once a month.”
    “I’m not so sure about that.” Despite the levity of their conversation, a smile danced across Daylin’s lips. “Then again, I’ve never experienced either.”
    “What about a marathon?”
    “Nope.”
    “I can help. Sometimes I go with Daddy when he’s training. I have a jogging stroller from his store. It has a cover so the sun don’t hurt my eyes. I hold Daddy’s water bottle and cheer for him. I can carry your water bottle and cheer for you, too, if you’d like me to.”
    “I’d like that very much.”
    “’kay. But you’ll have to get some running shoes.” She pointed to Daylin’s leather knee boots. “You can’t run in those—no siree. They’ll give you shin splints. I know all about those.”
    “I’ll bet you do.”
    “Uh huh. Daddy can help you find a pair of good running shoes. He’s got lots an’ lots of shoes at his store. I like the pink ones with yellow lightning bolts best.”
    “Pink sounds nice. I’ll be sure to ask your daddy for help, then.” New shoes sounded like a good plan. If she continued to run in the worn out pair she owned, shin splints would be the least of her worries. And a water bottle, well…she hadn’t even considered that. What else was she missing?
    “Let’s play now.” Aubree pointed to the grid on the paper. “We can be real quiet while Daddy talks—like those people with the painted white faces, the ones I saw at the circus when Daddy took me last month. They don’t talk—ever.”
    “You mean mimes?”
    “Yeah, mimes. Sometimes Daddy says I should be more like a mime, but I like to talk.” She slid the paper toward Daylin then pressed a single finger to her lips. “ Shhhh , Daddy’s startin’ the meeting. Here you go. I’ll be X’s and you be O’s. You can go first.”
    ****
    Patrick spoke to the moderate-sized crowd as if on auto-pilot. This was his tenth marathon training group, with smaller races and fundraisers nestled in between, and he knew the introductory spiel and high-points well enough to run on autopilot. The tight-knit network gathered here had grown over the past half-decade, which was a blessing