by Mary Manners
Now, he was oddly drawn to the woman who held his daughter as if they’d been joined together since birth. It was beguiling to watch Daylin cradle Aubree as if holding his daughter, soothing her, was natural—effortless, even welcome. Other women—the few dates he’d been shoved into—seemed more than interested in him, yet treated Aubree as if she was a china doll who might shatter if touched. They lost interest quickly enough once they learned that he and Aubree were a packaged deal.
Somehow, though, Daylin seemed different…easygoing with a laugh that said she was in no hurry to get from here to there. She leaned in to bundle Aubree close, and his breath caught at the intensity of emotion he witnessed in Daylin’s gaze. It was as if she could read his mind and feel the depth of his longing while Aubree pressed a palm to her cheek and sighed.
The tenderness in Daylin’s eyes mingled with a soft vulnerability that suddenly tilted Patrick’s world on its axis. In that moment he was swept into a ferocious riptide and out of the control he’d worked so hard to build and maintain.
“Patrick.” The voice at his shoulder drew him back. It was Noah, another newcomer from the local community college who’d brought along his girlfriend, Tanya. “Sorry to interrupt but how do we set up the small groups? And where do we meet for those?”
Patrick tore his gaze from Daylin and turned to address Noah’s questions, but Daylin’s image lingered. For a fleeting moment he wondered what it would be like to share dinner with her or a walk along the waterfront near Neyland Drive. How would hair the color of sun-bleached cinnamon dance when ruffled by a gentle breeze?
He gave himself a mental slap. What was he thinking, allowing his mind to wander in such a manner? This meeting was important, professional.
Vital to Aubree’s future.
Get a grip, man. You are plunging into the churning ocean in a raft without a paddle. Focus.
Patrick bobbled the proverbial ball in the red zone for a few moments before he cleared his throat and quickly redirected his thoughts. He leveled his gaze and addressed Noah’s questions with a recitation of useful information he’d long since committed to memory.
“I encourage you to have at least one training partner. Two or three are better. If you can’t get together with them every other day or so, set up some shorter maintenance runs on your own. The training schedule is three-tiered to suit levels from novice to advanced, and I’m available as needed to guide you along the path.
“In addition to the individual and small-group runs, we’ll meet each Saturday morning as one large group for distance runs along the greenways. There’s also an optional evening run each week that will focus on one particular aspect of training—such as intervals or hills—to build speed and endurance. Everything is outlined in the training schedule, and my cell, home, and work numbers are there, too, in case you have questions or need any help at all.”
“Yeah, good. I see that.” Noah nodded while his girlfriend jotted notes with a stubby pencil along the margin of her handouts. “Any suggestions on what to share with people while we’re fundraising?”
“Sure.” Patrick picked up speed as he fell back into a familiar rhythm. This he could deal with easily. It was the woman across the way holding his daughter that had him stumbling. He did his best to tune her out while finishing his explanation. “It’s also imperative to generate the interest of friends, family, and the community at large when fundraising. Use the marketing materials in your packet to let people you approach know that Dash for the Dream is unique in the fact that, due to the generosity of people like you and them, one hundred percent of the proceeds go directly to research. We have no overhead to speak of. It’s a small organization with far-reaching effects. Over the last four years, we’ve raised close to a million dollars and counting. I’d like to add to that bottom line, and I hope you’ll help me.” He cupped a hand, pressed it to his lips as he cleared his throat before continuing. This thought—the true purpose of Dash for the Dream—never failed to tug at his gut while holding him true-to-course. “A cure for CF is waiting to be discovered and kids like Aubree, Seth, and Jonah—and their families—are counting on you to help them have a brighter—and longer—future.
4
“I lost track of time.” Patrick approached the table where Daylin, Aubree, and Frannie were gathered and leaned into the edge, palms splayed against the surface. The scent of his aftershave drifted Daylin’s way, setting off an odd little quiver in the pit of her belly as she inhaled deeply. His tie hung in a loose knot around his neck, and he’d rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt to expose corded forearms. “I guess I got a little carried away with my spiel.” His rugged good looks were a stark contrast to the low, fluid tone of his voice.
“Oh, you didn’t get carried away at all.” Daylin assured him. “Every bit of that information was important. I even jotted down a few notes.” She motioned to a napkin that held a flurry of scribbles; she hadn’t even thought to bring along a notepad.
“Well, regardless…I’m sorry to keep you all waiting.”
“Nonsense.” Frannie nodded toward Aubree, asleep in Daylin’s arms. Her head lolled against Daylin’s shoulder, one small fist lifted to her puckered mouth. “Aubree’s no worse for wear. Just look at her.”
Patrick’s gaze skimmed Daylin, her arms wrapped around Aubree in a sheltering cradle, and his lips curved into a satisfied grin. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen her so content.”
“I’ll say.” Frannie stood, stretching kinks from her back. “And I’ll be content, as well, after a trip to the ladies’ room.”
She gathered her purse and headed down the aisle toward the restroom, calling over her shoulder. “Don’t leave until I get back, Daylin. I’d like to invite you to our ladies’ luncheon at church and say a proper goodbye before you head home.”
“I’ll wait.” Warmed by Frannie’s kindness, Daylin’s smile deepened. She’d relocated to Knoxville nearly two years ago and had yet to find a home church. Not that she’d been looking. The very thought caused a flush of embarrassment to heat her cheeks. She’d become well-versed in crafting excuses, an expert at finding reasons to fill Sunday morning in ways besides worship for the only true Father she had ever known. Somewhere along the way she’d somehow lost sight of that. Now, she wondered why. Daylin smoothed a trembling hand through Aubree’s hair as Patrick undid the knot of his tie and pulled the fabric through the collar. Could he read her transgression in the expression on her face? Would it cause him to turn away from the opportunity to rekindle their friendship?
“I hope you don’t mind.” He apologized as he stuffed the length into the front pocket of his slacks. “It’s been a long day.”
“Of course I don’t mind. I’m sure it has been a long day.” Daylin cleared her throat as her feet protested inside low-heeled boots that were still just a bit too tight but she’d discovered on the clearance rack at the local department store. “You did a great job with the meeting. The information you presented was very impressive.”
“Well, thank you.” Patrick’s grin widened, showcasing a set of perfect teeth that Frannie must have, at one time, spent a fortune to have straightened.
“I’ll bet everyone’s chomping at the proverbial bit to get started. I know I am.” During the mass exit, Daylin had surreptitiously surveyed Patrick as he patiently fielded a litany of last-minute questions and comments following his half-hour presentation. She was captivated by the way he carefully addressed each attendee with a measure of calm and thoroughness that evoked the confidence of a sturdy oak. She wondered if he’d been born with such assurance or had perfected it over time and through fire-singed trials.
“I am, too. This is a strong crowd. I know they’ll all make it to the finish line—especially you.”
Patrick’s scent drifted, filling Daylin’s nose with the scents of sandalwood and pine as he leaned in toward her. The gesture, coupled with his thoughtful words, sent a wave of warmth coursing through her.
“Aubree h
as sure given you her stamp of approval. I’ve never seen her at such ease with a stranger. She’s out like a light,” he murmured softly.
So as not to wake the child in her arms, Daylin matched his volume. “I’m glad she feels comfortable. Having Frannie here most likely smoothed things along. And it’s no wonder she’s zonked out. You sure had an arsenal of questions—good ones, too—that have devoured the evening.” Daylin felt more comfortable about the whole crossing-the-finish-line thing after watching Patrick in action. He seemed to be in control and confident, and that sense of accomplishment spilled over to light a fuse deep within her. “Are the meetings always this well-attended?”
“Usually, but this is the highest count so far. I’m shocked, to put it bluntly, given the timing and the pre-registration numbers. They were dismal, but somehow, with God’s help and direction, we always seem to pull through.”
“How do you know God’s directing?”
“Who else could pull this off?” Patrick’s gaze deepened as he laughed, low and easy. “Prayer is a powerful thing. If everyone follows through to cross the finish line, we should have our best showing yet.”
“I can’t imagine anyone could walk away and not return after listening to your presentation tonight.” Cradling Aubree, Daylin scooted carefully from the booth to stretch her legs. She swayed back and forth to a mellow country tune that hummed from the radio. The motion felt right and natural with Aubree’s body tucked warm against hers as the child continued to sleep. “Your words were very, very powerful.”
“Thanks. I appreciate that.”
“One day, when she’s a little older, I’m sure Aubree will understand what a special dad she has.”
“I think it’s the other way around. She’s a special little girl.”
“Well, I think it’s true on both counts.” Daylin pressed her lips to Aubree’s crown. The scent of apple shampoo filled her nose as she breathed deeply, her gaze connecting with Patrick’s. The air seemed to sizzle and, for a short string of breaths, Daylin’s pulse skittered. A wave of warmth skimmed her spine as Patrick’s gaze danced with hers. Then, just as quickly, Patrick broke the connection. He refocused and reached for Aubree.
“Here, you must be tired of holding her. She feels heavy after a while. Let me take her.”
“I’m fine. She’s not heavy at all, but light as a bag of popcorn.”
“Not quite.” Patrick’s fingers, warm and callused, brushed Daylin’s as he carefully lifted Aubree from her embrace and into his arms.
“I guess it’s past her bedtime.” Cool air rushed in to chill Daylin where her dampened sweater clung to skin. She glanced at her watch, frowned. “Oh, my.”
“Yeah, way past her bedtime.” Patrick splayed a hand over Aubree’s back as he glanced at the analog clock on the wall behind the check-out counter. The second-hand inched toward eight-thirty. “This is unusually late, but I hate to rush people who’ve taken time out of their busy day to come out and learn how they can help. All the enthusiasm is a blessing. I’m pumped about this year’s race and the events surrounding it. I’m glad to share it with you.”
“I am, too….with you, I mean.” Daylin felt mesmerized by the very idea. For the first time in months—nearly a year—she felt a kind of lightness deep in her bones that was hard to describe. Her heart sprinted in a quickened, steady beat. She felt…hopeful. “But have you ever had someone so inexperienced attempt to do this?”
“You’re not inexperienced. Remember, I ran cross-country with you in high school. I know what you’re capable of.” Patrick did the same slight hip-sway thing that Daylin had employed as he spoke with Aubree nestled against his shoulder. “Running through fields, over grass and rutted road is a challenge within itself. But yes, I’ve worked with people who’ve never run at all and they’ve finished a half-marathon—even a marathon.”
“I’ll bet that wasn’t pretty.”
“I’d beg to differ. Crossing any finish line is a beautiful thing, even if one has to crawl to get there.”
“Depends on the perspective, I suppose.” Daylin shrugged and chastised herself for this sudden wave of insecurity just when she thought she was past it. Get over yourself, she shouted from the inside. “I mean, a half-marathon—thirteen miles—is a long way.”
“Thirteen point one miles,” Patrick emphasized. “It’s all about the point one. That’s the most meaningful part.”
“Yes, right.” She reached over to splay a hand on Aubree’s back. The rhythmic rise and fall of the child’s breathing calmed her nerves. “And it will probably be the point one that does me in, as well.”
“That’s always a possibility.” His laughter tumbled rich and soft. “Then again, you might surprise yourself.”
“I’m whining when I have no right to.” Daylin sighed and smoothed the front of her sweater. “I really am excited about this, but a little scared, too. I imagine people who skydive feel the same way as they approach the drop zone.”
“Well, that’s a nice analogy, but I’m assuming we’ll keep our feet on the ground.”
“Even so, I guess jogging a few—OK, more than a few—miles is nothing compared to what you and Aubree have been through.”
Patrick sobered. “It has been a journey of a different sort, kind of like boarding a plane expecting a quick jaunt to Nashville and ending up on a remote island, instead. But the truth is we are blessed beyond measure. Aubree has responded well to medication and therapy. By all accounts her future, unlike so many others, appears to be very bright.”
“Well, she certainly seems to be wealthy in the spunk department, that’s for sure.” Daylin couldn’t help but reach out to pat the child’s sleep-matted hair. “And, she plays a mean game of tic-tac-toe, too.”
“I saw that she roped you in. I taught her to play the game last month while she was in the hospital. It took her mind off lying in the bed while the doctors worked to regulate her medication.”
“Does that happen a lot—trips to the hospital?”
“At first, following Aubree’s birth, yes. But not so much now, except for last month’s bout of flu. That was a tiny bump in the road, and one that most kids encounter at some point during their childhood, simply exacerbated by the CF. And there are quarterly check-ups Aubree has to endure. It’s a learning curve and I think—I hope—we’ve rounded the far side of that curve.”
“I hope so, too.”
“Anyway, the tic-tac-toe seemed to work. It filled the time, took Aubree’s mind off the doctors and tests, and she kicked my hind end her fair share of times.”
“I suppose that’s what happens when you learn from the best.”
“Or when you play with the abandon of a five-year-old.”
“Yes, then there’s that, as well.” Daylin’s laughter bubbled up. “I love this training shirt you handed out, the one with the Dash for the Dream logo. I didn’t expect to receive one. How do you manage to operate cost-free and still provide all these hand-outs and T-shirts?”
“I have a partnership with a screen-print company. I provide the shirts, they do the screen-printing, and I advertise their work in the Dash for the Dream brochures and offer them space in my store.”
“Your store?”
“Yes, I own The Runner’s Source on Market Square.”
“Wow. You own that?”
“Uh huh.” He chuckled as her face scrunched in disbelief. “You seem surprised.”
“It’s just…so that’s where I’ve seen you lately…in the commercials. I’m not sure why I didn’t put two-and-two together.” How could she have overlooked those deep, gray eyes, the smooth-as-molasses voice? She considered the very fact a testament to how out-of-touch she’d allowed herself to become. “They usually air on the local channels during the six and eleven o’clock newscasts.”
“That’s right. You noticed.” His smile flashed. “So my marketing plan appears to be working.”
“I’ve passed by the store a hundred times but have never been inside.”
>
“In that case, I suppose the marketing plan might require a bit of an overhaul, then.”
“Oh, no, don’t do that. You look good in the commercials. I mean, they look good.” Daylin stumbled over the words. “Allow me to rephrase…you do a good job with them…the commercials. I’m sure plenty of people—plenty of runners—make their way inside.”
“Well, you’re a runner again now, so I’ll expect to see you there soon.”
I’m a runner again now.
“Wow.” The thought shed a blazing beacon on what she’d committed to. Daylin swallowed hard and smoothed a lock of hair from her eyes. “That sounds really weird to me, after all this time. But I guess I’ll be stopping by now that I need running equipment. What do you recommend?”
“Shoes…socks…singlets…that sort of thing.”
“Singlets? In the winter? That was definitely not one of the words I was looking for.”
“Why not? You know that’s what runners generally wear.”
“Because…” Daylin couldn’t imagine herself in one of the skimpy, sleeveless shirts. Sure, she’d raced in them way back when. But that was years—and pounds—ago. Heat fanned across her cheeks as she considered that another good snow might be just the ticket to keep her in baggy sweats and hoodies. Suddenly, she felt desperate to alter the line of conversation. “I edited an article on CF a few years ago, and I thought I’d learned a lot from it. But I’m floored by the statistics you shared tonight. One in thirty-six hundred babies is born with CF? Is that right?”
“Yes.” Patrick’s smile faded as he nodded grimly. His arms tightened around Aubree. “By the most recent accounts.”
“And it’s a genetic thing, passed down by a child’s parents?”
“Right again. I’m a carrier and Sandra—Aubree’s mother—well, she was.” He paused to scrub a hand over his cheek, his gaze darkening with veil of guilt as he eyed his ring finger. “We had no idea either one of us carried the gene until Aubree was diagnosed shortly after her birth. The pediatrician caught it early, so that was fortunate as far as Aubree’s prognosis is concerned. But it was tough…the not knowing there in the beginning as to what, exactly, was happening.”
