A Soldier's Heart

by Marta Perry

  “Why not?” She wanted to shake the stubbornness out of him. “You earned them.”

  His glare pinned her to the spot with its ferocity. “Because I don’t want medals when I’m here, safe, and my guys are still over there in the line of fire. That’s why.”

  “I hear you’re working with that young fellow who’s just back from Iraq.”

  Frank Morgan, one of Mary Kate’s favorite patients, slowed the pedals of his exercise bike, looking at her with inquiry in his bright blue eyes. With the fresh pink color of his cheeks and those clear eyes, no one would believe Frank was the eighty-three she knew he was.

  “Keep pedaling,” she said, tapping the handlebars. She glanced around the nearly empty room at the clinic. No one else was working at the exercise bikes and treadmills this early in the morning. “How did you hear that?”

  He smiled, smoothing back his ruffle of white hair with one hand while he increased the rotation speed. “Ha, makes you wonder, doesn’t it? Truth is, I’m around this place so much, some of those young things act like I’m part of the furniture. Say anything in front of me, they would.”

  “Well, if you wouldn’t insist on trying to take your own storm windows off, you wouldn’t have to come in so often. How does your back feel?” She checked her watch. “Can you go another minute?”

  “Sure thing. So, how’s that boy doing?”

  That was the question that kept her awake at night. How was Luke doing? The incident with his medals had made her feel out of her depth. Maybe he needed to be working with a psychologist, not her. She’d seriously considered admitting to her boss that she felt unprepared to deal with Luke’s problems. But she could hardly say that to Frank.

  “He’s coming along.”

  He nodded. “Can’t talk about a patient. I know. I guess I wouldn’t want you talking about me to someone else. Still, I have an interest. It’s been a long time, but I remember what it was like when I came home from the war.”

  “Really? Which war?” She signaled him to slow down gradually.

  “Which war, she says.” He snorted. “The big war, young lady. World War II.”

  “I didn’t realize.” She helped him off the bike. “You must have lied about your age to get in, because you’re way too young for that. Ready to work on the resistance bands, or do you want to rest a minute?”

  “Lied about my age? No such thing, but I thought I’d never turn eighteen. I was mad to get out there with my buddies.” He picked up the resistance bands.

  One thing she could say about Frank—he never balked at anything she asked him to do, taking each new task as a fresh challenge. Luke could benefit from a little of his attitude.

  “Was it difficult when you came back?” she asked casually. Maybe she couldn’t talk about Luke to him, but there was no reason she couldn’t try to gain some insight.

  He grunted. “I’ll say it was hard. Mind, I wasn’t injured, like your young fellow, but I’d been in a POW camp for nine months—seemed more like nine years, so I wasn’t in great shape. Funny how that is. You come back, and it’s just what you dreamed about all that time, but it’s strange, as well.”

  “Strange how?” She adjusted his stance, making sure he was using his back correctly.

  He frowned, as if trying to find the right words. “I guess it seemed to me nothing should have changed, but when I came back, life had moved on without me. The worst part was just getting out around people again.” He chuckled. “Couldn’t remember names to save me, even folks like my brother-in-law and my old boss at the gas station.”

  Luke seemed to remember names, but he had that same reluctance to be around people. No, reluctance wasn’t a strong enough word. Aversion, maybe. “How did you get over it?”

  “My wife, bless her.” His eyes filled with tears suddenly, but he was smiling. “She went everywhere with me, holding on to my arm like walking with me was the proudest thing she’d ever done. She figured out about the names without me telling her and she’d always say the name if we ran into somebody. And cover for me if I jumped at a backfire or something like that. The good Lord knows I couldn’t have done it without her.”

  She patted his shoulder. “She loved you. She loved doing it.”

  He nodded. “That’s what your young man needs, too. Folks that love him and will help him along, even if he doesn’t act like he wants their help.”

  His words echoed in her heart as she took the bands from his hands. “Good job. That’s it for today. Don’t go moving any more storm windows, all right?”

  He smiled, his cheeks as pink and round as a baby’s. “If a man can’t do the things he’s always done, he feels like less of a man.”

  “I guess so.” Once again, his words resounded. That was what Luke was feeling, knowing he couldn’t do the things he’d always done, maybe even afraid to figure out what he could do now. “But I don’t want to see you in here with a broken leg next.”

  “I’ll behave. I promise.”

  “See that you do.” Impulsively she gave him a hug. “I wish I could get the two of you together. You’d be good for him.”

  He nodded, obviously knowing who they’d been talking about the whole time. “You figure out a way to do it, and I’ll be there. It’s the least I can do, you know?”

  She nodded, her throat tight. It was the least she could do, as well, and she wouldn’t give up on Luke, no matter what.

  If Luke hadn’t felt so guilty for putting Mary Kate on the spot with her kid with those medals, he wouldn’t allow her to wheel him down a new ramp into his backyard. Come to think of it, maybe this was her idea of payback. He blinked as she pushed him into the May sunshine.

  “Okay, I’ve been out. I’m ready to go back in now.”

  Mary Kate set the chair’s brake. “You try it, and I’ll put a stick in your wheel. If you stay in that house any longer, you’re going to turn into a mole.”

  He frowned at the ramp that led from the back porch to ground level. “Are you sure this ramp is covered?”

  “It’s taken care of,” she said shortly, crossing the grass to look at the flower bed his mother had planted along the porch.

  He glanced across the yard, feeling as if he were really seeing it for the first time in a long time. The old apple tree still stood in the corner. He’d had a swing hung from a low branch once, and then later a tree house that had probably damaged a limb or two.

  “The garage could use a coat of paint. I guess I should have taken care of things better for my mother.”

  “I remember when you and Gabe and a couple of other guys started a band and practiced there.”

  That surprised a smile from him. “Until the neighbors complained. We were probably the worst band in the history of garage bands.”

  “Then it’s a good thing Mom found an excuse when Gabe wanted to move practice to our house.” She bent over to pull a handful of weeds. “These irises are going to be blooming soon.”

  “You’re not being paid to garden.” Although he had to admit that his mother would be ashamed to see the state of her backyard. It had been easy to ignore as long as he was holed up inside, but now he couldn’t. “Grab one of those chairs and come sit down.”

  For a moment he thought she’d argue, but then she shrugged and did as he said. She picked up a folding lawn chair and carried it over to him, then sat down.

  “I could have brought that down for you.” He’d have done it automatically when he had two good legs. So why was he neglecting it now, just because of the wheelchair? He still could have managed the light aluminum chair.

  “Yes, you could,” she agreed, tilting her face to the sun and closing her eyes.

  “You didn’t have to agree with me. Like I told Michael, you’re one tough lady.” He was instantly sorry he’d mentioned the boy. She hadn’t said anything about her son since the medal incident.

  “I’m sure he thinks so.” She didn’t open her eyes, but her brow furrowed slightly.

  “I wish—” he bega
n, and then stopped. “I know you had to punish him for running off without asking permission.” Say it, you jerk. You owe her an apology. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what? I’m sure you didn’t encourage him to run off.”

  She opened her eyes then and looked at him. With the wind ruffling her curls, it wasn’t hard to picture her as the kid she’d been, and the realization sent an unwelcome wave of tenderness through him.

  “No. I didn’t.” He swallowed his pride. “I mean about the medals. I should have realized offering them to your son was inappropriate. I know it put you in a tough spot.”

  “Yes, it did.”

  He steeled himself, sure she was going to pry into his feelings about the honors, but she didn’t. Her brow furrowed again, and she shook her head slightly. “Sorry. I know you didn’t do it to give me a hard time.”

  “I guess I didn’t know enough about kids to foresee your reaction. Or his. Is he okay with putting them on display?”

  She looked cautiously relieved that he was talking normally about the medals. “He’s not mad at me, if that’s what you mean. After all, he was the hero of the first-grade class when he brought them in. All the children remember your letter, so of course they’re impressed.”

  “They shouldn’t be.” His voice roughened in spite of himself. He knew, as well as anyone, that he couldn’t go back, but that didn’t stop him from feeling he’d let his guys down.

  She smiled slightly. “Let’s just agree to disagree about that. I suppose that’s why Michael felt so driven to come and see you.” There seemed to be a question in the look she turned on him.

  “Hasn’t he told you what was so important that he broke the rules to come over here?”

  “He’s being quiet about it.” She ran her fingers through her mahogany curls, her eyes shadowed. “That’s not like him. Or at least it’s not what he was like before Kenny died.”

  “It worries you.” He had a ridiculous impulse to reach out and put his hand over hers, to offer comfort. “It must be pretty rough.”

  “It scares me.” Her voice lowered almost to a whisper. “Kenny was always so calm—nothing ever ruffled him. He could laugh at me when I was tying myself in knots with worry, and it would make me so mad, but then I’d be laughing, too.”

  He held his breath, afraid to speak for fear he’d say the wrong thing. It was almost as if Mary Kate were talking to herself. Maybe sitting still and listening to her was all the comfort he could offer. If so, that’s what he’d do.

  The telephone rang in the kitchen, and she jerked, realization filling her eyes. “I’m sorry.” She jumped up and ran for the phone, probably eager to get away from him.

  She was back in a moment, holding the cordless phone cautiously. “It’s your father. He’d like to talk with you.”

  His hands gripped the armrests so hard it was a wonder he didn’t bend them. “I don’t want to talk to him.”

  “Luke, don’t you think you should—”

  “No.” He bit off the word. He would not explain. His relationship, or lack of one, with his father was none of her business.

  She might understand. He could remember sitting on the porch swing at the Flanagan house one evening after walking her home, pouring out all his pain and anger at his father. In any event, she turned and walked back into the house, phone to her ear, probably trying to find some polite way to tell his father that he wouldn’t talk to him if he were the last man on earth.

  You didn’t want us. That was the only thing he’d say to his father. You didn’t want us, and now I don’t want you.

  By the time Mary Kate came back, he’d managed to shove his father back into the dark recesses of his mind. If she brought it up—

  But she sat back down as if they hadn’t been interrupted. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about a change in your therapy,” she said.

  “What kind of a change?” She was already pushing him to the limit, he’d have said. What else did she have in mind?

  “I know you don’t want to go to the clinic—”

  “I still don’t,” he said flatly. He’d had it with places like that at the army hospital. He didn’t need any more therapists with their professional smiles. At least Mary Kate expressed honest feelings with him, instead of trying to jolly him along. “Look, let’s be frank. We both know I’m not going to get out of this chair.”

  She swung toward him, reaching out to grab both of his hands in hers. “We don’t know anything of the kind, Luke Marino, so don’t you say that.”

  “The doctors said—”

  “I’ve read the reports, and they don’t say a word about you not walking again. You have significant muscle weakness and nerve damage, but that’s why the therapy is important. We have to strengthen those muscles and give the nerves a chance to build new pathways. It can happen. You have to have faith.”

  It was hard not to be impressed by her passion, but he doubted. Boy, did he doubt. “I know you think holding out that carrot will make me work harder—”

  “You need something to make you work harder,” she snapped. “You’re a strong man, Luke. It’s time you started acting like it.”

  He pushed her hands away. “What do you suggest?” he asked bitterly. “Wheelchair athletics?”

  “It wouldn’t hurt, but I don’t expect miracles from you.” Her smile flickered. “Just take a chance. If you’d come to the clinic, you could use the pool. That would be wonderful for you, but you’re too stubborn to even try it for fear someone might see you.”

  “Mary Kate—” He had a sinking feeling she might be right, but he sure wasn’t going to admit that to her. “Tell you what. I’ll make a deal with you.”

  “What kind of deal?”

  “I’ll go to the pool and try whatever you want, if you promise me I won’t run into another person when I’m there.”

  That should deter her. He should be satisfied that he’d silenced her on the subject. Instead, he felt like a jerk again. What was it with Mary Kate that kept bringing out that feeling?

  Chapter Five

  Luke poured a mug of coffee and inhaled the aroma. Maybe the coffee would wipe away the last shreds of the dream. He spun toward the kitchen table and set the mug down, not tasted. Ironic, that the dream of running should bother him almost as much as the nightmare of the bomb.

  He frowned down at his legs. Running—something else to add to the list of things he wouldn’t do again. In the dream he’d run easily, effortlessly. He’d been back in high school again, running on the school track, legs pounding, heart pumping, feeling as if he could go on forever.

  Well, nobody over thirty could run with that careless confidence. That attitude belonged to the teenager who hadn’t yet figured out that he was mortal.

  The sound of a key in the lock brought his head up. Mary Kate here already, apparently. Well, she could just wait until he’d had some breakfast.

  He heard her quick, light footsteps coming across the living room, and then she appeared in the doorway, looking so clean and crisp that he was automatically embarrassed at being unshaven.

  “Good morning. Are you still having breakfast?”

  “I haven’t even started.” He picked up the mug. “There ought to be a law against being as cheerful as you are first thing in the morning.”

  “Maybe the answer is that it’s not first thing in the morning for me. The kids get up at seven.” She opened the refrigerator door and took out a carton of eggs. “Scrambled or fried?”

  “I don’t want anything. And I don’t expect you to cook for me.”

  She shrugged. “I may as well. Obviously we’re not going to get any work done until you’ve eaten something. And you have to have breakfast if you don’t want to collapse in the middle of your exercises.”

  “I don’t collapse.” He ground the words out. He’d said he didn’t want sympathy, but Mary Kate was carrying this cool, professional detachment to the extreme.

  “Scrambled,” she said, getting out a bowl. “
And toast. I’d fix bacon, but it doesn’t look as if you have any.”

  “I don’t suppose it would do any good to keep telling you I don’t want you to cook for me.”

  “No good at all.” She gave him that serene smile and began beating the eggs.

  “Did anyone ever comment on how bossy you are? Like Kenny, for instance?”

  She was pouring the eggs into the pan, turned away from him, but he could see her slim back stiffen. He was being a jerk again. He couldn’t seem to stop.

  “I didn’t have to be bossy with Kenny. He knew the right thing to do and did it.”

  “Perfect, in other words.” That wasn’t how he remembered happy-go-lucky Kenny, but maybe he’d grown up after high school.

  “Not perfect.” She stopped stirring, seeming to look into the past at the risk of letting the eggs burn. “Just…a man of integrity.”

  It was obvious she considered that high praise, and it left him without anything to say in return. Or at least, without anything he’d regret even more than he already did.

  She moved the eggs quickly onto a plate, buttered the toast and added it and set the plate in front of him. “You know, when I was about ten, I found an injured squirrel on my way home from school.”

  He blinked at the change of subject and looked down at the plate. He could refuse to eat, of course, but the food looked and smelled better than anything he’d managed to fix. He forked fluffy eggs into his mouth.

  “What does a squirrel have to do with anything?”

  She poured a mug of coffee for herself and slid into the chair opposite him. “Nothing, I suppose. I remember my brothers and my cousin Brendan were with me, but they were all afraid to touch it.”

  “So you were the heroine.”

  “Not exactly.” She shrugged. “I just thought I should help.”

  “I suppose you nursed it back to health and then set it free and it waved goodbye with its furry little paw.”