by Heidi Glick
The door chimed, and Randy entered and waved.
Tim thumbed, pointing behind them, where Mark sat chatting with a customer. “Technically, he outranks us, so we don’t feel as if we can make jokes about his age, but you, on the other hand.” Tim winked.
She crossed her arms. “Oh, I see how it is.”
“Seriously, if we teased him, we’d get the look.”
“Oh, you mean the stare. Yeah, he got that from my dad.”
Tim’s eyes widened. “Really?”
She nodded. “I bet that look kept you guys in line when you were in the military.”
“You aren’t kidding.”
Mark came up behind them and glared. “Still does.”
His husky voice sent shockwaves through her.
“You were in the military?” Randy asked.
Mark folded his arms. “Yep. You?”
“Nope.” Randy said. “Army? Navy?”
“Marine Corp.” Mark wheeled closer.
“Mark served with my brother. Played football together.” Beth faced Mark. “Football, baseball, basketball. What didn’t you two play?”
Randy grinned. “Sounds like you’ve known each other a long time.”
“I guess my whole life really.” And yet she didn’t truly know him, inside and out. Like football—Beth knew Mark played but wasn’t sure what he liked best about the game.
“Mark, I have a question about this new shipment. Can you help me?” Tim asked.
Mark left with him, leaving Beth alone with Randy.
Randy set down his inventory clipboard. “Hey, I have that book I told you about.”
“Thanks.”
Randy held the book toward Beth. “You can borrow it, and I can get it back from you when I stop by next week.”
“That’s thoughtful of you, but I won’t be here. This is my last week working at Fishy Business.”
“That’s too bad.” Randy hung his head.
Beth grabbed the book. “But that gives me another reason to stop by soon and see all my friends.”
Tim and Mark joined her and Randy. “You better stop by,” Tim said.
“That’s right.” Mark smirked. “We’re all going to miss having the little Martindale around.”
“Little?” Beth stepped closer to him and leaned in. “I’m not exactly ten anymore.”
Mark threw up his hands in a defensive posture. “Whoa, take it easy. No one said you were.”
Beth cleared her throat. “Oh yeah? Then why am I the little Martindale?”
Mark shrugged. “You’re what? Five foot four?”
“Wait, my height? Oh…The little Martindale.” Heat rose up her cheeks. He hadn’t been teasing her about her age, or had he? Did he have any memories of her from high school, or had war injuries erased them? Only time would tell, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to wait to find out.
11
“Silly girl. We could have been friends. I could have protected you from men like that.” The Knight tore the basketball team captain’s photo and tossed it into the flames.
Gossip spread across campus like wildfire. The girl had gotten pregnant, dropped out of college, and moved out of town. And it turned out the guy he thought was her boyfriend, wasn’t after all. Still, he could have helped her. He would have been a good friend, if she would have let him. The Knight picked up a stack of newspapers from his floor. Maybe he’d burn them rather than recycle them.
Flames danced in his fireplace. Embers flickered here and there, crackling and mesmerizing him. He untied the twine that held the bundle together and removed papers one at a time and wadded them before tossing them into the fire. The page with the pictures of the teachers caught his eye—Beth Martindale. He straightened the paper and flattened it on his dining room table. Grabbing a pair of scissors, the Knight cut out her photo. With great care, he placed it in a picture frame then set it inside the circle of red candles.
Beth. Yes, she would be his next project. Spending time getting to know her shouldn’t be too hard. He looked forward to learning more about her, studying her schedule, watching her every move. She’d been there, right in front of him. And based on what he’d seen, Beth might very well be in need of his assistance.
He let out a sigh and grabbed the bottle of pills off the table and took two. Needing to appear sane at work and around Beth, he’d have to take them, at least for the moment. He grabbed a pen and yellow notepad from his desk. Beth would see things from his perspective—all in due time.
12
Her third day of classes at Warner’s Bay Middle School ended, and Beth hopped in her car and made the twenty-minute trek to Riversdale. She hadn’t stopped by Fishy Business in days, and for some reason, she missed the place. Or was it the people—or perhaps a certain person? She entered from the back and scanned the room for him.
Mark sat at his desk, engrossed in paperwork. Tim and Bill didn’t appear to be around. Mark looked up when a customer entered.
He hated being interrupted while handling the books, and she couldn’t blame him. Only one way for her to handle this. “May I help you?” Beth rushed over to the elderly bespectacled customer.
“I’m looking for lures.”
“This way.” She led the man down an aisle. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
“Thanks.”
She walked over to Mark.
He looked up from his computer. “You do know I’m not paying you anymore, right?”
“I know. Just thought I’d be nice and help out—” She met his stare with one of her own. “Is there some Marine regulation against that?”
“Nope.” He folded his arms. “How have you been?”
“Good. So far, I like my job. And you?”
“I really like this new spreadsheet someone set up for me. Saves me time.”
He smiled, and warmth flooded her. Then nothing. Nope. She’d put up a wall of security, and his comment about her being the little Martindale only further cemented her fears. He’d always see her as a little girl. They could be friends, nothing more. “What are you going to do with all that free time?”
Mark scratched his chin. “Options, options. Go fishing? Spend time with Sparky? Relax and watch TV? All of the above? Do those activities meet with your approval?”
Interesting. Since when did Mark Graham consult with her before taking action? Not that she minded. “Yes… yes… and yes.”
“Have you ever gone fishing?”
“Maybe once or twice with Chris and my dad.”
“Sometime, you, me, and Sparky will have to take my boat out.”
For no other reason than to make up for lost time with Chris? “Sounds good.” She peered over his shoulder. “Be sure to click save periodically. I’d hate for you to lose your work.” She reached around his shoulder to grab the mouse to click ‘Save,’ but ending up bumping into his hand. “Sorry.” She withdrew her hand as if saving it from the clutches of a bear trap. Walls—they served a purpose. She’d placed them there for a reason, had to keep them up.
“I’ve made up my mind,” said the customer. He plunked down three metallic lures near the register.
Beth walked behind the counter. “That’ll be eighteen dollars.”
The man handed her a twenty. “I’ve been in here for years, always the same until today. I gotta tell you. I love the way you reorganized the lures.”
“Thanks.” She handed him his change.
She waved as the man left.
“Who reorganized the lures?” Mark furrowed his brows.
“I did.” Was he impressed by what she’d done?
“Did Bill or Tim ask you to?”
“No, I just—”
“I had them the way they were for a reason.”
“But your customer said he liked what I did.”
He bit his lip. “So I heard. Thank you.” A slight smile appeared on his face.
“You’re welcome.” Perhaps the corporal realized his way of doing things wasn’t the only
option.
“By the way, I wanted to thank you for the pistachio salad. At least I assume it was from you. Tasted just like my mom’s recipe.”
“That’s because it was hers. Got it from my mom.”
“It’s probably my favorite dessert. Not that you’d know that. But thanks.”
Not that she’d know? No, why should she? She fidgeted with her hands behind her back.
Tim and Bill entered from the back of the store.
“Hi, Beth,” Tim said. “Thanks for giving the old man more time to go out. He’s got a triple date with us tonight, only he doesn’t know it yet.”
“A date, eh?” Beth folded her arms.
“Oh, hey, you wanna come along, too?” Tim asked. “I can scrounge up another person for you. Mark, I bet your teaching assistant is not busy tonight. Why don’t you call him and see if he can join us for dinner?”
They were fixing her up on a date? An uneasy feeling took hold of Beth’s stomach, and it had nothing to do with the scent of chum.
Mark wheeled closer to Tim, eyebrows arched. “What?”
Beth rubbed her forehead. “Oh, don’t bother. I’m…too busy. But I’m sure you’ll have fun.”
Mark shot her a look of understanding. “Sheesh, Tim. Leave Beth out of your scheming and matchmaking. Bad enough I have to go along with it. When did you set this up?”
“Like an hour ago. I stopped by your place. Lupe let me in, so I could grab you something decent to wear.” Tim pointed to Mark’s shorts. “You can’t go like that.”
He looked down at his outfit. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
“It’s fine for a hamburger joint,” Bill said. “But we’re going to Jack’s Jetty. That nice place near the water. If I can’t wear a sci-fi t-shirt and jeans, then you have to dress up, too.”
Mark held up his hands. “Do I have a say in this?”
“Nope. Beth, which tie?” Tim held up a blue-gray tie and a green tie.
Choices. The blue-gray one—not very flattering. The green tie would look better on him. Then again, he’d be wearing this tie on a date with some other woman. Exactly how good did she want to help him look? Words came out of nowhere. “The blue one.”
“Really?” Bill asked.
“I like the other one better.” Mark pointed to the green tie.
Tim laid the green one on the counter. “She said blue.”
Maybe she was messing with God’s plan. Perhaps Mark was supposed to hit it off with his mystery date. “Wait, green would look better.”
“Thought you said blue?” Tim asked.
“I did, but the green...” She grabbed the tie from Tim and examined the end, then handed it back to him. “It brings out the color in his eyes.” She walked toward the window. “I better go. Papers to grade.” She removed a book from her bag, and her grade book fell out. “Here, can you give this to Randy?”
Tim took the book from her, and Bill handed her the grade book and a piece of paper that had slid out. “Here, you dropped this.”
She examined the outside. “What is this? How did it get in my grade book? Hmmm…Addressed to Miss Martindale?”
Tim winked. “A love note from a student?”
“I sure hope not.”
Mark leaned closer. “What is it?”
There was no way she was going to open it for them to read. She’d never hear the end of it. “Just some dumb note. No big deal.”
Mark reached for it, but she tossed it in her bag.
“Well, I better get going,” she said. Besides, you guys probably need to get ready for dinner. Have fun.”
The guys waved as Beth left via the rear entrance of the store. She drove home and made herself some flavored instant coffee then sat on her couch. As she set her mug on her coffee table, a copy of her yearbook caught her eye. Beth turned to the eighth grade pictures, chuckled at her girlish ponytails and braces, and then flipped to the upperclassmen section. Mark Graham. Same wavy blond hair, same pearly white smile, same green eyes.
What happened to walls?
Maybe she didn’t need them anymore. Perhaps the reason for putting them up in the first place no longer existed.
Was there a way to test the waters without getting wet?
13
Mark finished the remaining bites of the pork chops and dirty rice he had cooked for dinner—a little bit salty, a little bit spicy—the way he liked it.
As he loaded his plate and glass into the dishwasher, Sparky hovered nearby, maybe hoping for crumbs.
Mark glanced at his calendar. September 30. School had been in session for two weeks—a logical explanation for why Beth hadn’t stopped by for a while. Still, the store had grown quiet without her warm smile, her kind words, her friendship. Maybe it was better this way. He’d helped her, done his good deed. Now they could go their separate ways. Less chance of being found out. Not to mention less chance of becoming too attached. And not just for Beth’s sake.
Mark had just eaten but still felt like snacking. Sparky guarded the microwave with care while his microwave popcorn cooked. A small burst of stream exited when he opened the bag. He grabbed a soda from the fridge, carried his snack to the living room, and situated his wheelchair near the couch next to Sparky.
Mark flicked through the TV channels, stopping on the History Channel. He watched for half an hour before his phone rang. “Hello?”
No one responded, only breathing on the other end. “Hello?” He’d give the jokester two more seconds before he hung up.
“Mark?” A female voice greeted him. “Hey, it’s Beth.”
He glanced out the window—dark outside. Maybe her car broke down, and she was stuck on the side of the road somewhere. “You OK?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. I called because I was wondering…What are you doing Saturday night?”
Mark muted the TV. “As in tomorrow? I don’t know. Why? Did you buy more furniture?”
She cleared her throat. “I just found out I have to chaperone a school party.”
He watched the silent screen. “Oh. That might be fun.”
“You think so?” She raised her voice. “So, you’ll come?”
He wrinkled his forehead. “I didn’t say that.” Clearly, she had misunderstood.
“You said it might be fun.”
He ran his fingers through his hair. How could he explain his way out of this? “For you, for young people, but not for those of us past our prime.”
“Ah, you’re not that old. C’mon. I don’t want to have to do this alone. Please.”
Perhaps he better turn off his TV before he agreed to something else. “What’s in this for me?” Besides the chance to spend time with Beth. Not that he could let on to as much.
She paused. “Free punch and chips?”
Mark looked down at Sparky, who tilted his head sideways in wonder. Sweat began to bead on Mark’s brow. “Against my better judgment, I’ll agree to go.”
Beth squealed.
Was she excited he was going or excited she wasn’t going alone? “An entire evening spent with middle schoolers?” He sighed. “I have a feeling I’ll regret this later.” He regretted it already. As much as he wanted to see her, he wasn’t sure he should allow himself to get closer to her.
“Thanks. You never know. You might have fun. Oh, and it’s nothing formal. Khakis are fine. See you at seven thirty tomorrow.”
He hung up the phone and shook his head. “Sparky, what have I done?”
****
Mark grabbed a navy polo shirt and khaki pants and laid them out on his bed. Maybe too casual. He continued to rummage through his closet but stopped when he noticed his green tie—the one Beth liked. Well, or at least she thought it went well with his eyes. Who was he to argue? He placed the tie on his bed and grabbed a dress shirt and sports coat to match. After changing, he glanced at himself in the mirror, adjusting his collar. Better to be overdressed.
He glanced at his watch—7:00 PM. already. Mark headed out the door. As h
e drove along the center lane of the freeway, he chewed on a piece of spearmint gum and recalled the flavor was so named because of the spear-shaped, pointy leaves of the garden mint plant. But his thoughts soon drifted from history trivia to his destination.
What was he doing? Attending a middle school party—definitely not his sort of thing. Maybe years ago, but not now. But he couldn’t let Beth down. The thought of the look of hurt in her innocent brown eyes made him shudder.
The sun set in the distance, only to be eclipsed by the illumination of a sea of brake lights. Traffic this late on a Friday? There must have been a fender bender.
Thirty minutes later, he arrived at Beth’s building. She answered his knock wearing a navy blue dress that flared from her waist and skimmed her knees. Classy.
Beth checked out his outfit. “Great tie. I almost forgot. I’m supposed to bring some decorations. Come inside while I grab them.” She scurried off to another part of her apartment.
Mark sat by her coffee table. A magazine sat on top. He caught a glimpse of an issue of the Buckeyes yearbook underneath. The one he’d seen earlier, the day he helped her move. He pushed the magazine aside and picked up the book to glance at the years listed on the side binding. His senior year. Hadn’t Beth told him that wasn’t the issue? To be fair, she probably didn’t remember what year he graduated.
Small towns—twelve grades in one building and one yearbook for the whole school. So she’d made a mistake. He opened it up. Inside were signatures from various friends. He read a few of them. One he recognized. His? Odd—he didn’t remember signing her yearbook. Then again, that was a long time ago, and lots of kids handed him books to sign. And what had he written?
Have a nice summer, Mark.
And a smiley face.
Wow, talk about deep. Have a nice summer. Still, it could have been worse. At least he hadn’t written “Stay cool.” Had Beth signed his yearbook? Did he even know where his yearbooks were? Not likely. Flipping to the underclassmen, he located Beth’s photo. Nice braces. He bit back a smile in case she entered the room, not wanting to have to reveal the source of his amusement.
