“Can we talk about something else?” Sarah’s eyes brimmed with tears. “I spend so much time dealing with renovations that I’m dreaming about them.” Sarah tasted a tiny bite of potatoes before pushing them around on her plate.
“Okay, how did your church meeting go?” Mark took a bite of his drumstick.
“Great.” Sarah’s eyes lit up. “Not only am I leading the summer early bird Bible study group, but I’m also on a committee to review the curriculum for children’s and adult Sunday school.”
Mark grimaced before he could stop it. Her schedule was too demanding for a person with MS.
Sarah’s sigh held a tone of disgust. She placed her fork, which was still holding a piece of chicken on which she’d been nibbling, atop her napkin and worried the hoop earring in her left ear. “What’s wrong with that?” Defiance flashed through Sarah’s dark eyes.
“Nothing, if you have the time, but do you?” Mark held her gaze. It was obvious she didn’t like this conversation, but he knew firsthand the punishment MS could dish out.
“This remodel project won’t last forever. Once I get the bids and know we’re within budget and the client is getting what they want, then my work hours will go back to normal.”
The corners of Sarah’s mouth drooped as she narrowed her eyes at Mark. “Excuse me.” The metal chair legs scraped across the tile floor as Sarah pushed away from the table.
Mark stood. “Sarah, I didn’t mean to make you angry. I just want you to understand that leading an active life is not the same as leading a busy life.”
“Active and busy are the same thing.” Sarah rose from her chair.
Mark walked around the table. “Please sit down and enjoy your dinner.”
“I’m behind on my quilt blocks, so I need to work on them now.” Sarah started to turn away.
Mark saw the wobble. His stomach clenched. “Sarah, stop.” He bumped his hip on the corner of the table, trying to get to her before she tried another step.
Sarah’s eyes widened, her left arm reaching, missing the chair and knocking it off balance.
Mark seemed to be moving in slow motion while Sarah moved in real time. Her arms flailed in the air. He wasn’t going to get to her in time.
The clang of the metal chair hitting on the tile floor muffled her cry as she started to fall.
Chapter 8
Two quick steps for momentum before Mark twisted his body sideways. He straightened his right leg as he dropped to the floor. His left hip and bent leg absorbed the shock as he thudded against the tile floor. Jarring waves of aftershock traveled up his spine, rattling his teeth.
His right shoulder smacked hard against the floor, and he strained to keep his head from the same fate. His vision blurred. He fought the urge to close his eyes and succumb to the pain.
Mark hadn’t slid for home base in thirty years, but the maneuver worked. Seconds after he made contact with the floor, Sarah’s head and torso bounced against his chest, knocking any remaining air from his lungs. He wrapped his arms around Sarah and held on tight. He’d done it. He’d cushioned Sarah’s fall.
Laying his head against the cool tile, Mark sucked in air that his lungs puffed out as rapidly as he breathed it in. In between breaths, he huffed, “Are you all right?”
“I think so.”
The catch in Sarah’s voice said differently.
He drew a steadying breath and pushed himself up with one arm. The other arm remained around Sarah, holding her close. When had that happened?
Sarah struggled but with his help managed to guide herself into a sitting position. “My leg must have fallen asleep.”
“Sarah, I think it was more than that.” Though it pained him to do it, Mark’s tone turned stern.
Shrugging from his embrace, a slight pout marred Sarah’s features as she turned away from him. The burning pain in his left hip was no match for the agony seizing his heart. He’d hurt Sarah. Yet he wouldn’t pull the words back, even if he could. What if that had happened to Sarah and she’d been alone? She needed to heed the warning symptoms of her MS.
Mark grasped the end of the table and pulled himself upright. He bent to help Sarah up, but she flailed her left arm at him.
“Maybe it was my shoes. I’ve had trouble walking all day.” Sarah struggled to lift herself from the floor.
Ignoring the pain in his right shoulder, Mark scooped Sarah from the floor, one arm around her waist, the other under her knees. He set her on the table.
“First things first—did you get hurt?” He patted the arm of her jacket with his fingers to remove some gray dust she collected on her way down. He lifted her chin and looked directly into her eyes. “Be truthful.”
Sad resignation crossed her features. “I don’t know for sure. All I feel is tingling in my right arm and leg.”
“Well, I’m taking you home.”
“I want to stay for class. I’m already behind.”
“Sarah, you need to rest. You can’t keep going on this way. Do you really think that you can sew in this condition?” He’d seen that the control in her right arm wasn’t at full capacity when she fell.
She shrugged.
“I’m taking you home. End of discussion.” Mark hated to see Sarah’s deflated demeanor, but she needed to stop overdoing it. He started to gather up their dinner. Sarah’d barely touched hers, so he’d make sure she heated it up at home.
“You can’t take me home. I need my car to get to work tomorrow. I’m feeling much better anyway. By the time I sit through class, I’ll have rested and will be able to drive myself home.” Sarah slid from the edge of the table.
Tentatively, she put her left foot on the floor and then tested her right foot as if she were dipping it into a swimming pool to check the water’s temperature. Taking in her subtle movements, Mark could tell her right leg was leaden.
“I’ll be right back.” Mark moved a chair closer for Sarah. “I’m going to tell Terri that I’ll be gone for about an hour. Is there anything in your car that you need?”
“No.” Sarah didn’t disguise her terseness. “Really, Mark, I want to stay.”
“I know that you want to stay, but you’re not going to. You need some rest. While I’m talking to Terri, why don’t you call someone to meet us at your house to stay with you tonight?”
Sarah’s eyes grew wide, and her mouth gaped open at Mark’s commanding tone. He’d hurt her feelings. The thought caused his heart to twist. It took all of his resolve not to cave in with an apology allowing her to stay.
“This is in your best interest.” Mark purposely softened his tone. “I’ll be right back to help you gather your things and take you home.” He kept his eye on Sarah until he passed through the workroom door.
It surprised Mark to find a half dozen customers milling around the quilt store. He waited until Terri finished ringing up a customer, explained the situation, and headed back to the workroom.
Sarah hobbled from table to table. Her eyes met his when he came into the workroom. Mark crossed his arms over his chest and rocked back on his heels.
“My leg feels better, but you’re right. I need to go home.” She looked down at her pants leg. “Must have happened when I fell.”
Mark saw the long rip in the leg of her outfit. “Are you sure you’re not hurt from the fall?”
Sarah shook her head. “Only my pride. Thanks for catching me. Did you get hurt?”
“Judging by the burning pain in my thigh, I’m pretty sure I’ll have a whopper of a bruise.” Mark smiled at Sarah. “But I’ll live. My truck’s parked in back.”
Mark gathered the same load of bags that he’d carried in from Sarah’s car. He crooked his elbow. Still unsteady on her feet, Sarah slipped her hand through the opening and gripped his bicep as they made a slow journey to Mark’s pickup parked in the back lot.
Mark opened the passenger door.
“I’ve got it.” Sarah stepped onto the wide running board with her left foot and grabbed the handle attached
just above the side window.
When she wobbled, Mark gripped her waist and steadied her; then she continued to maneuver her body into the seat.
Moments later, Mark had only driven a few blocks when he realized that Sarah was dozing, her head leaning against the window. What drove her to take on so much? Determination was an admirable quality but not to the extent Sarah was taking it.
At the stoplight, Mark turned to check on his passenger. Her soft, even exhales briefly fogged the passenger window. Her relaxed features showed no sign of stress. When the light turned green, the slight acceleration swirled the cool evening air through his open window. Was it too cold for Sarah?
He brushed her lower arms with his fingers, intending to check her skin temperature. Instead, it roused her from her slumber.
“Are we at my house already?” Sarah yawned and stretched then reclined her head against the headrest, facing Mark.
“Just about. Did you find someone to come and stay with you?”
After a few moments of silence, Mark glanced toward Sarah. Had she fallen back to sleep?
Sarah’s eyes were wide open. “No, I didn’t call anyone.”
“Sarah, someone should be there with you.”
“I know my parents or Karla would come, but”—her tired sigh showed her weariness—“I’m not up to the lecture that would accompany their help.”
“Lecture?”
“They all think that I’m doing too much. Well, Karla doesn’t think I understand the severity of my illness.”
Anger flared in Mark, that Sarah’s loved ones would lecture her when she didn’t feel well. Didn’t they understand that someday she might need their help getting dressed or in and out of a car? Mark’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the steering wheel.
Sarah sighed as he turned into her short driveway. “They don’t understand that, like Job, I’m taking the bad with the good in my life.”
That explained Sarah’s interest in the Job’s Tears quilt block and why she signed up for a quilting class when she didn’t know how to sew. Mark’s anger at Sarah’s support system died down to a smolder of annoyance. He wasn’t quite sure that Sarah’s interpretation of her problems mirrored Job’s struggles. Job did nothing to bring on his suffering, and although Sarah did nothing to bring on the MS, she wasn’t being very smart about the management of her disease.
Sarah needed to relax more. He suspected she started the quilting class for that purpose only to find it more stressful because she lacked sewing abilities.
“I wish you’d have called someone, but since you didn’t, I’ll stay long enough for you to get settled in for the night.” As Mark parked, slipped from the pickup, and rounded the front, he chided himself for not staying in the workroom to make sure Sarah made the phone call.
Sarah opened the truck door and, with the help of the dashboard and headrest, turned in the seat. “I will be fine”—Sarah enunciated each word—“tonight, tomorrow, the next day.”
She tried to slide from the passenger seat, but Mark blocked the open space with his body. He cupped her face in his hands. “I know you will because I’m going to see to it.”
Mark arose early the next morning so he could pick Sarah up for work since her car remained in the parking lot in front of his store where it’d stay today. He’d devised a plan after he left Sarah’s house the night before.
Slipping the earpiece of his phone into place, he commanded, “Call Sarah.”
“Good morning, Mark.” Some of the weariness in Sarah’s voice had disappeared, probably due to a good night’s sleep.
“Good morning. I’m on my way to your house to pick you up for work but just realized that maybe you don’t feel like going into work today and want to call in sick.”
“Of course I’m going to work today. I’m in the middle of compiling and finalizing remodel bids.” Sarah didn’t disguise the “duh” factor in her voice.
Mark ignored it and continued with his plan. “Have you eaten breakfast yet? I haven’t and thought maybe we could swing through a drive-through on the way to your office.” At least he’d know that she ate something.
“Oh, an egg sandwich sounds good.” Her voice brightened.
“I should be there in fifteen minutes. Will you be ready?”
“Yes. See you in a few.” Sarah giggled before she ended the call.
Instead of lecturing Sarah, like her family, about her overdoing, he’d figured an alternative approach might be more beneficial. Today, by driving her to work, he’d make sure she didn’t have to fight rush-hour traffic and ate a good breakfast. There’d be no working late tonight because without a car, she’d be dependent on him to get her back to the quilt store. Since Terri’s shift ended at six, Sarah would be forced to leave at quitting time.
He couldn’t control her lunchtime for relaxing, but he’d make sure she had a relaxing dinner even if it was eaten in the workroom of the store with her feet propped on a folding chair. He didn’t have all the details worked out, but he knew that his work schedule allowed him two days to surprise her with a lunch date. Again, she might not be napping to ward off the fatigue that accompanied MS, but she would be resting.
Mark pulled into her driveway. Before he could exit his vehicle, Sarah came out of her front door. She sported the yellow crop pants outfit that she wore to the first quilting class. She balanced her tote bag on her left shoulder. Mark saw the subtle drag of her right foot as she walked toward the pickup. Her shoe choice, sturdy low-heeled sandals that buckled just under her ankle, suited her disease better.
Mark exited his pickup. “Let me get that for you.” He took her bag. The pleasant flowery scent that he’d come to associate with Sarah tickled his nose. He inhaled deeply as he slipped his hand in hers. “Not only do you look terrific, you smell good, too.”
“Thank you.” When Sarah giggled, light danced in her eyes, even though dark smudges remained under them. Hopefully, his plan would work and fatigue’s telltale signs would be gone by the end of the week.
On Saturday morning, Sarah waited for the barista to fill her order. She felt great. The problems with the construction blueprints started to diminish by Friday, which pleased her boss because of building costs and left Sarah’s shoulders lighter without that burden of responsibility.
Mark surprised her for lunch two days in the past week and met her for dinner two nights. Sarah rolled her eyes. Being a typical man, he always brought or ordered too much food and insisted she take it home. Which was okay—less cooking and cleanup time involved in reheating leftovers, plus she enjoyed thinking about him while dining on his entrée.
A garden club event kept her mom in Brookings, so Sarah slept late then puttered around her apartment until after lunch. Now she intended to surprise Mark with a sweet treat then work on her quilt blocks.
Carrying a pressed-board tray—loaded with two coffees, a slice each of lemon poppy seed and banana bread—in one hand and her tote bag and purse in the other, Sarah walked to Granny Bea’s. She stepped aside to allow a customer to exit and slipped in the open door.
Something was wrong. Mark’s hair fell to the side, exposing some thinning on top. His light blue polo shirt was nearly untucked from his cargo pants on his right side, and his reddened face looked, well, harried.
Mark measured then cut fabric as he chatted with a customer. Several other people milled about the store.
Slipping the coffee tray and bag on a shelf under the cash register, Sarah wandered to the middle of the store. When she caught Mark’s eye, he did a double take then sent her a weary smile. A disheveled stack of fabric bolts lay at the unused end of the cutting counter.
She turned a small circle on her heel, looking around the store. No sign of Terri or her daughter. Two carts full of patriotic material sat alongside empty shelving near the front of the store. Sarah walked over to it and found one cart actually held two neatly folded quilts.
Waiting until Mark finished ringing up his customer, she strolled toward the
cash register with knitted brows. “What’s going on here?”
“Illness struck at Terri’s house. She and her daughter both have strep throat. Poor gals. Terri’s voice is so raspy I could hardly understand her. But that leaves only me on a Saturday, of all days.” Mark ran his fingers through his hair, the gesture explaining today’s tousled hairstyle.
“Well, I put a treat under the counter for you, if you have time.”
Mark lifted a cup of coffee and sipped it. “You might not believe this, but this is only my second cup of coffee today.” He peeked into the bag and withdrew the banana bread. “I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”
Sarah watched as Mark inhaled the sweet treat. “What can I do to help?”
“Nothing. You came here to practice.” Mark nodded toward the tote bag dangling from her arm as he handed her the second coffee and the bag.
Sarah pushed the bag back toward Mark. “I think you need that worse than me. Save me the calories.”
“You don’t have to worry about calories, Ms. Buckley.” Mark winked. “But you also don’t have to tell me twice that it’s mine. I’m starving.”
“Look.” Sarah leaned on the counter. “I know I can’t help on the register or the cutting area without training, but I can finish that display over there.”
A hesitant look crossed Mark’s features. He popped the rest of his lemon bread in his mouth and ran his fingers through his hair again. “I don’t know. This is your day off.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Sarah wrinkled her brow.
Minutes passed before Mark audibly exhaled. “Okay, arrange it however you want.”
Sarah celebrated with a victory fist, which brought a gleam to Mark’s eyes.
“Hand me your tote, and I’ll stow it under the register. But if you get tired, go back to the workroom and rest.” Mark gave her a stern look and pointed his index finger at her. “I mean it.”
Dakota Love Page 25
