Isaac ran through the woods, hopping fallen trees and skirting the piles of melting snow. Birds and squirrels chattered around him as he went through his daily route, air just warm enough not to show his steady breaths puffing in the morning air. He ran along the path cut by his feet.

Breaking out of the woods, Isaac jogged along the side of the road that led back to the residential part of town. Few cars passed him on the way. It was still too early on a Saturday for people to be out, the streets calm and quiet as the town slept in.

Saturday was Isaac’s favorite day of the week. He had no school, the little homework he needed to get done could be left off until Sunday, and he was able to spend more time at the veterinarian clinic where he worked.

Crossing the street, Isaac made his way up to his front door, heading inside without having to worry about the lock in a country town. He shut the door with a muted click and pulled off his shoes in the foyer.

The ceiling was high enough for a crystalline chandelier. The rich wood paneling and interspersed canvas paintings of Durant family ancestors were free of dust and cobwebs. Even the floor was spotless. Isaac leaned down to pick up his shoes so as not to track mud or snow as he crept up the grand staircase off to the left. He reached the second-floor landing; footsteps light as he passed his parents’ closed bedroom door. Entering his room, he leaned back against the door to shut it.

Isaac was silent as he went about the cleaning up after a run. When he got out of the shower, he was careful to avoid looking in the gilded mirror despite it being fogged from the humidity. Pale skin marred by freckles and moles, upturned and piggish nose, dull eyes with dark bags beneath them, overly large mouth. There was nothing in his reflection that he wanted to see. That was the face of a disappointment.

Dressed and teeth brushed, Isaac headed back downstairs to the kitchen, running a hand through his still-damp sable curls. He grabbed a quick breakfast of organic granola bar and soy milk before throwing on a jacket. Just as he was about to open the door a voice stopped him.

“Isaac,” his mother called from near the staircase.

He didn’t turn around. “Yes, mother?”

“What are you doing up this early?” Her voice came closer until she was standing behind him.

He swallowed. “I went for a run.” Running made him feel good; it was something he could control. Each time he felt a little bit stronger, a little bit better.

She turned him around by his shoulder, the dark green eyes he inherited examining his face. “You know your father wants you to do tennis at the club, like him.” Her voice was firm but not unkind.

Eyes lowered, Isaac bit his lip. “I don’t like tennis, mother.”

Thinly plucked brows creased, his mother shook her head once before looking down at his clothes. “Going to the clinic?”

Sticking his hands in the pockets of his scrub pants, Isaac nodded. “Then to the shelter.”

“Make sure you’re back in time for dinner. You know how your father gets,” she said, brushing away an imaginary wrinkle in the front of her cashmere sweater as she takes a step back.

Isaac fought not to flinch. Dinner would be bad enough either way, but if Isaac were late his father would no longer allow him to leave the state for school next year. “I won’t,” he replied, smile stiff.

At the day’s end Isaac walked at a subdued pace, kicking at gravel with his beat-up runners. He didn’t want to return home, didn’t want to interact with his father, so his steps slowed, dragged out the walk for ten more minutes. A sigh escaped when he still reached home.

“Isaac,” his father called as he shut the door, deep voice booming from the study.

With his eyes focused on the floor, searching out the patterns in the grain of the wood, Isaac walked over and stopped in the doorway, waiting to be invited into the richly decorated room. The walls were covered in oak paneling and an antique Persian rug covered the original parquet floors.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Take a seat already,” his father ordered, eyes remaining focused on the paperwork in front of him. He still wore the jacket of his tweed three-piece suit, the Windsor knot of his tie still crisp. Always so well put-together.

Isaac stepped into the room and perched on the edge of one of the plush chairs arranged in front of the large, ornate desk. Back straight and chin up, Isaac looked over his father’s salt-and-pepper head, waiting.

“Your mother told me you went running again this morning.”

Thankful for the rug muffling the tapping of his foot, Isaac nodded. “Yes sir.”

His father looked up, gaze sharp. “You continue to run, even though I told you to do tennis at the club. Why?”

He didn’t answer, mouth open as he tried to think.

“You continue to be a disappointment, Isaac,” his father said as he looked back down at his work.

Familiar lump in the back of his throat, Isaac stood up. He was dismissed.

That night while he was in his room Isaac’s cellphone rang. He answered without looking at the caller ID.

“Hello?”

A feminine voice spoke on the other end. “Isaac, Isaac Durant?”

He sat up in his bed with a frown. “Yes, who is this?”

“Teresa from the vet’s office.”

After a moment a face came to mind, memory jogged by the name and the voice. Super short blonde hair, hazel eyes, Teresa was always smiling at him. “Can I help you with something?”

“I just wanted to see how you were,” Teresa said, voice brighter and happier than he’d ever heard it.

Twisting the hem of his henley, Isaac gave his reflexive response. “I - I’m fine.” He could tell by her hum that Teresa didn’t believe him, but it seemed she was going to let it slide. He wanted to know why that was, but he was too nervous to ask. Instead, heart pounding, he asked, “H-how are you?”

She hummed. “I’ve been better.”

He didn’t know why, but Isaac felt this urge to keep talking to her even though they’d never really spoken before. Maybe she was just as lonely as he was.

~ ~

Every day Isaac went for a run, and every day he went longer and further. Today he had gone all the way through the woods and kept going. His breaths came evenly, lungs still open and clear, and his arms and legs were only just starting to burn. He kept going. Tennis wasn’t his thing, no matter how much his father pushed and his mother encouraged. He was marginally above average at school. If he could just run a few more miles Isaac would have that one thing he wasn’t a failure at, a disappointment.

At dinner Isaac’s father lectured him about school and tennis. “If you stayed in the state you could stay at home, commute. Go on a tennis scholarship.”

“I could go on a running scholarship,” Isaac suggested to his food.

His father snorted, drawing Isaac’s gaze. “A running scholarship,” he scoffed as he cut into his food. “Being able to run is not an accomplishment. Like I’ve told you before, it’s a simpleton’s sport.”

Isaac clenched his fist around his fork and looked at his mother across the table. Her eyebrows were furrowed and her lips were pulled into a frown, but she didn’t say anything. The rest of dinner was silent.

The next morning Isaac ran faster and harder than ever, feet pounding the ground. Looking up from his shoes he saw he had reached a farmhouse seven miles out from the original end of his route at the edge of the woods. Since he had run out of water and there was a powder blue Jeep he knew in the driveway he knocked on the door.

“Isaac?” Teresa inquired when she opened the worn wooden door with heavily chipped blue paint. “What’re you doing here?” Her voice sounded more normal than it had on the phone Saturday night, no longer chipper and high pitched.

He tried to smile but he could feel his lips trembling. “I just went for a run,” Isaac motioned over his shoulder, “and I ran out of water, so I was wondering if I could get some?” His voice sounded more hopeful than he’d like.

With a motion of her hand, Teresa let Isaac in, leading the way to the kitchen. As she handed him a bottle from the fridge her mouth pinched. “Did you run all the way here from your house?”

Opening the bottle and taking a quick drink, Isaac looked down at her and nodded.

“Isaac, that’s over ten miles! How long have you been out there?” Teresa stepped forward and made as if to put a hand on his arm but stopped herself.

He shrugged. “About an hour and fifteen minutes. It’s not that bad.” Another drink drained the water bottle with a crinkle.

Teresa handed him another and watched him. “You must run a lot if you made it in that time, especially through the woods.”

Scuffing the toe of his running shoe on the linoleum, Isaac looked up through his lashes from opening the second bottle. “You think so?”

“Yeah!” There was that cheer from Saturday.

“Why -” he hesitated before powering on. “Why aren’t you at work?” Isaac looked at the clocked to his right over the stove. “You usually open during the week.”

It was Teresa’s turn to shrug as Isaac watched her. “Just one of those days, y’know?” She offered a toothy smile, but the dullness of her eyes reminded Isaac too much of his own.

Nodding, Isaac set his bottle down on the counter. “Do you - want to talk? We can now or you can call me again, like the other night?”

Her voice and smile toned back down. “Okay.”

With a final thanks for the water, Isaac left, feeling calmer than he had when he started, his steps landing more lightly. When he reached his house in just over an hour, instead of the usual reluctance Isaac felt… happy. Strong. Because he had beat his time.

And he may have made a friend.

As he walked into the house and took his shoes off Isaac came face-to-face with his mother.

“Running again?”

Isaac nodded with a smile. “I beat my best time by ten minutes.”

His mother’s face twitched like it was struggling to settle on an emotion.

He perked up some more. Did some part of her feel as proud of him as he did of himself?

“Well…” she settled on. “Maybe you can take that drive and focus it on tennis, like your father says.”

Disappointment sank into his stomach, but Isaac wasn’t sure whether it was at his mother for continuing to back his father or with himself for daring to hope. The smile on his face turned sad. “I told you, I’m not doing tennis. I’m not dad, but I’m not a disappointment either.” He walked toward the staircase, his mother’s eyes on his back.

She didn’t understand, and neither would his father, but Isaac knew. He’s not what they wanted but he was what Isaac wanted.

He’s not a disappointment.