by Marta Perry
His upper-body strength was certainly increasing. He must be working out with the weights even when she wasn’t here. She could feel it in the hard muscles under her hand as he forced the walker forward a few inches, into a patch of afternoon sunlight that streaked across the narrow wooden floorboards. The light glittered on shiny metal, emphasizing the walker. No one who hadn’t been in this spot could possibly imagine how much sheer will and work it was taking Luke to move.
“Good job.” She had to keep encouraging, even if he accused her again of talking to him as if he were a child. Everyone needed encouragement. “Think you can make it to the edge of the archway?”
Another three feet, but it undoubtedly looked like three miles to Luke. Still, he wasn’t giving up and he wasn’t complaining, and that in itself was progress. Just being up on his feet, even for a short period each day, couldn’t help but improve his outlook.
He edged forward again, perspiration beading on his forehead. “You think I can’t do it, don’t you?”
That little flicker of competitiveness encouraged her. If she could just help him see this as a challenge, it would make a huge difference. “I’d say it’s a good test of how tough you are.”
His muscles tightened again, his T-shirt damp under her touch, and she caught him as he struggled for balance. He righted himself slowly, pulling away from her hands. “Let me do it by myself.”
That was farther than she’d intended him to go. She’d have to find just the right incentive to push him along at an appropriate pace. She took her hand off him but hovered on the alert, ready to grab him if necessary.
Sweating, straining as if he were running a marathon, he forced his legs to work. She held her breath, her whole body straining toward him, willing him to succeed. All her earlier irritation with him had been swallowed up by his struggle.
You can do it. You can. Just try. She bit her lip, forcing herself not to touch him as he fought both with the walker and with his own body.
“Just one more step, and you’ll be there.” She measured the line from the edge of the archway with her eye, waiting for him to cross the imaginary finish line. Once he’d burst the tape with his classmates cheering—now he battled toward a crack in the floor.
One final surge, and he made it. She caught him by the waist. “That’s terrific, Luke. Really great. Just stand still while I bring the chair over.”
She turned away to get the wheelchair, but even as she grabbed it, she saw that he was still moving. “Wait a minute.” She shoved the chair next to him. “That’s plenty for today.”
“No.” He ground out the word. “I can make it to the carpet.”
Short of knocking him over, she couldn’t stop him. She slid the chair alongside him, heart in her throat, as he stubbornly covered another couple of feet to the edge of the rug before sliding into the chair.
She had to swallow the tears that choked her throat before she could speak. “I suppose there’s no point in lecturing you about listening to me. But that was fantastic. I’d never dreamed you could go that far your first day with the walker.”
Luke leaned back in the chair, eyes closed, sweat glistening on his olive skin. He shrugged, a restless movement of his shoulders. “Doesn’t mean anything.”
“Not mean anything?” She resisted the urge to shake him. “It means you’re on your feet again. It means you’ll soon be getting around without the chair. Don’t you see how good this is?”
“Can you make me the way I was?” He opened his eyes to glare at her. “Can you?”
Her heart lurched. He already knew the answer, but if he wanted to hear her say it, she’d be honest with him. She slid onto the nearest chair, bringing herself to his level. “No. I can’t. Nobody can do that. But that doesn’t mean you can’t live a normal life.”
“If I can’t be the way I was, then I can’t be a cop.”
That was the first time he’d spoken of the job he’d left when his unit was called up. She should have realized it was eating at him.
“They’ll find something for you, won’t they?” She wasn’t sure what obligation the police force had, but surely they wouldn’t just cut him loose because he’d been injured fighting for his country.
“A desk job.” Bitterness laced his voice. “That’s what they’ll offer me.”
“Isn’t that important, too?” She was probably sounding like Pollyanna again. “Gabe has found a lot of satisfaction in teaching since he can’t be on the fire line.”
He shrugged, turning away slightly, no doubt trying to keep her from seeing how much it mattered to him. “I guess I’m not like Gabe. For me, it’s a pretty poor substitute for the rush of being on the street.”
The rush. She might have known. “Is that all you men think about? You’re addicted to that adrenaline rush, just like my brothers and Kenny, charging into dangerous situations as much for the thrill as because it’s the job.”
His eyes snapped back to hers. “Kenny didn’t die because of that.”
Her breath caught, and she jerked back as if he’d hit her. Before she could find words, he caught her hands.
“I’m sorry. That was stupid. Really stupid. I didn’t mean it.” He leaned toward her, guilt filling his face.
“It doesn’t matter.” She tried to pull her hands free, but he didn’t let go.
“Look, maybe you have a point. Maybe it is the rush, but that can be a good thing. Anybody who’s been there can tell you that it’s only the adrenaline that keeps you going. It probably kept me alive. It’s kind of hard to come down from that.”
“Okay, I get that.” Now it was her turn to clasp his hands in her urgent need to make him understand. “But can’t you put that same thing to use in making a recovery?”
His face tightened, the skin straining over the strong bone structure. “It’s different.”
“How?” She wasn’t going to let him off the hook if she had a clue as to what would help him.
For a long moment he didn’t speak, and when he did, his lips were so tense it was a wonder he could get the words out. “Before—well, I could use that adrenaline to keep my people and myself alive. I was strong enough to deal with whatever they threw at us.” His face twisted. “I let everyone down when I got hurt. Now I don’t have anything left to give.”
The shadows in his eyes told her that there was more to it than he was telling her. Maybe, someday, he would tell her the rest.
To protect and to serve—that was the motto he’d lived his life by and now, even if he didn’t realize it, he needed to experience that feeling again, even in the smallest of ways.
And she had the power to make that happen, if she could get past her own hurt and reluctance.
“I hope you have something left to give.” She held his hands between hers, not letting him turn away. “Because you said you’d help my son, and we’re not going to let you back down on that.”
Chapter Seven
“Are you sure you both have everything you need for school today?” Mary Kate glanced in the rearview mirror. Shawna and Michael both looked a little droopy this morning. No one had slept well the previous night. Michael had wakened twice with bad dreams, and Shawna seemed to be coming down with a cold, which probably meant all three of them would catch it.
“Yes, Mommy,” they chorused, managing to sound bored in unison.
Two more blocks to the school, and she hadn’t yet found the words to talk to Michael about the model car. Still, sometimes the best heart-to-hearts took place in the car. For an instant she felt light-headed. There were too many cars in her thoughts right now—the one in which she spent so much time, the model that meant something to Michael he hadn’t yet verbalized, the car that sat in Luke’s garage, ignored and abandoned.
She realized she was gripping the steering wheel too tightly and forced her fingers to relax. Relax—that was good advice. Remember those long conversations with Mom, driving home from cheerleading or a movie, the darkness outside seeming to create a private
cocoon in which she could say almost anything.
“Michael, I talked to Mr. Marino yesterday about the model car.”
In the rearview mirror, she could see the wary expression on his small face. “He said we should call him Luke.”
“Luke, then.” She wasn’t going to get sidetracked into the proper way to address an adult. “He said he’d help you with it, if it’s okay with me.”
His eyes lit up. “Is it, Mommy? I won’t pester him, I promise.”
“I know, honey.” She hesitated, framing what she wanted to say, not wanting it to sound accusing. “I didn’t know you still had the car. I hadn’t seen it in a long time.” She’d found it hard to believe when he’d produced the car from a shoe box in the back of his closet.
He shrugged, frowning down at his shoes, apparently feeling that didn’t need an answer. She’d have to be more direct.
“Why didn’t you tell me that you wanted to finish the car when we were talking about the class project?”
Again he shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Was it because you thought I wouldn’t help you with it?”
His smile broke through. “You don’t know how to make a car model, Mommy.”
There was a lot she hadn’t known how to do before Kenny’s illness. She’d had to learn in a hurry.
“Well, that’s true, but maybe I could have found someone to help. I just want to know why you didn’t tell me about it.”
He studied his shoes some more. “I didn’t want to make you sad.”
The words robbed her of speech. For an instant all she could do was try to control the hurt. Her little boy had tried to protect her at the cost of his own pain. Why hadn’t she seen what was happening?
She stared out the windshield, focusing on the School Zone sign, and pushed her emotions back into hiding. She cleared her throat. “That was very thoughtful of you. But I’d rather be sad and know what’s going on with you. That’s what moms do. Okay?”
“Okay, Mommy. When do I get to work on the car?” He was single-minded, as always.
“Today after school. I brought it with me. Grammy will pick you up and bring you to Luke’s house.” She considered adding her usual cautions to behave properly, but maybe she’d done that enough.
Besides, they were pulling into the school driveway already. “Shawna, if you want to go to Casey Duncan’s house instead, that’s all right.”
“No.” Shawna turned away, picking up her backpack. “That’s okay. I think maybe she’s busy today.”
Something about that averted face put Mary Kate on alert. “Is something wrong? Did you and Casey have a fight?” The two girls had been best friends since kindergarten, and their spats were rare but fierce when they happened.
“Nothing’s wrong.” Shawna’s tone was almost curt enough to be rude. Almost, but not quite.
“Shawnie—” But they had already drawn up to the drop-off point, and she couldn’t delay without having the cars behind her start beeping.
“See you later, Mom.” Shawna slid out quickly, turning away without even a wave.
“Bye, Mommy.” Michael had decided recently that a first-grader shouldn’t kiss his mother in front of his friends, but he leaned between the seats for a hug.
“Have a good day.” She watched him start toward the building, absorbed in an instant by a clutch of first-grade boys.
A beep from behind recalled her, and she put the car in gear and pulled out. She could see the front of the school in her rearview mirror. It showed her Michael’s crew, racing into the building, jostling each other.
It also showed her Shawna, walking up the three steps to the doors. Mary Kate frowned. Surely that was Casey, sitting on the low brick wall with a couple of other girls. They were chattering together almost ostentatiously, and no one made any gesture toward Shawna.
Shawna went past, eyes straight ahead. Her head was held high with confidence, but something about the small, straight figure with the red curls tumbling onto her jean jacket looked lonely, almost forlorn.
The car behind her beeped again, and Mary Kate pulled out onto the street, frowning, her mother’s intuition going into overdrive. Something was wrong, and Shawna wasn’t telling her. Did she, like Michael, have the mistaken idea that she had to protect her mother from knowing the truth?
“There you go.” Mary Kate set a brimming bowl of homemade vegetable soup, rich with beef and tomatoes, in front of Luke on the kitchen table. Its aroma tickled her nostrils, making her realize she hadn’t taken much time for breakfast that morning. “You won’t find better soup than that no matter where you go.”
“Complimenting yourself?” He raised a jet-black eyebrow as he picked up the spoon.
“No, complimenting my mother.” She ladled soup into a bowl for herself and slid onto the chair opposite him. “She makes a huge pot of soup about once a week, and the rest of us are the beneficiaries. When the boys were single, that was probably the only decent meal they had all week, except for Sunday dinner, of course.”
He took a spoonful, then another. His taut features seemed to relax as the warmth and flavor hit him. “For soup like this, it might be worth going hungry the rest of the time. Give your mother my compliments.”
“If I do, she’ll probably show up at your door with a quart or two. You won’t chase her away, will you?”
For an instant she thought he’d take offense at this reminder of his attitude toward the people from church who’d tried to bring him meals. Then he smiled slightly. “No, I guess not.”
She felt tension ease, too. They’d fallen into the habit of having lunch together on days when they did a double session. It saved her from running home to have lunch, she’d told him, and that was true enough. But it was also a way to make sure he had a decent meal once in a while.
She never could resist the urge to feed people, but she’d come by it honestly. Her mother had set the example when she was too young to realize that everyone didn’t send a hot meal to the elderly widower down the block or a batch of homemade cookies to the harried young single mom across the street. It hadn’t occurred to Mary Kate until she was grown that sharing food was both a way of expressing love and a ministry for her mother.
Luke looked better these days, either because he was eating more or because of the therapy. Or both. The color was back in his cheeks and his eyes had begun to regain their old sparkle. Unfortunately, even though she was happy to see it, the reminder of the old Luke just seemed to make the attraction she felt more insistent.
He glanced up, catching her studying his face, and she looked away. She crumbled a cracker into the soup, even though she didn’t like it that way, and tried to think of something nice and neutral to say.
“After you’ve had a break, maybe we ought to try going outside with the walker. Getting around there is a bit harder than walking across an even floor.”
Lines formed between his brows. “Just in the backyard.”
Where no one would see him. She could finish that thought for him with no trouble. “That’s a good place to start.” But sooner or later I’m going to get you out in public, and that will be a giant step forward. You’ll see.
He sipped more soup and then paused, spoon balanced in his long fingers. “Are you sure you can stay for another session this afternoon? I thought originally the army approved one session a day.”
The question came out of the blue, reminding her forcefully of the visit from his father. Of the fact that his father was paying for all this extra time she was spending.
“The director decided you’d benefit from more sessions. There are extra disability benefits, you know.” That was true enough, but she hated skirting around the issue, feeling as if she kept something from him.
His dark gaze leveled on her face, as if probing for subterfuge. “You’re not doing this on your own time, are you? I don’t need charity.”
Relief at the form his suspicion took made her almost light-headed. “No, I promise I’m being p
aid. I’m only part-time at the clinic, and I’m actually doing better than I expected to this month, thanks to you.”
He nodded, but she thought some trace of suspicion lingered in his eyes. Or maybe that was only the guilt she felt at her inability to tell him everything.
Still, the rules were clear. She wasn’t free to divulge anything about the arrangements Luke’s father had made with the clinic. And if she had been, how would Luke react? She probably knew the answer to that one without even thinking. Given his aversion to charity and the fact that he wouldn’t so much as speak with his father on the phone, Luke would reject that help in an instant, and the progress he’d been making could easily come to a halt.
But that didn’t make her stop feeling guilty. Kenny had always said she didn’t have a face designed for hiding anything. She got up abruptly.
“I think I heard the letter carrier. I’ll bring the mail in.” She probably should expect Luke to do that himself, but the urge to escape for a moment was too overwhelming.
By the time she returned to the kitchen with a sheaf of mail in her hand, she was confident that she’d managed to steer away from the touchy subject. “Looks as if you got quite a haul today.” She plopped the mail down in front of him on the kitchen table and began clearing the dishes.
Paper rustled as he sorted through them. “Bill, bill, advertisement, coupon to have my tires rotated, a newsletter from the church.”
“Sounds like my mail, except that there are usually a few more bills.” She spoke lightly, but there was more truth to that than she’d let on to anyone. She’d always taken care of the finances, even when Kenny was alive, but then she hadn’t had to worry about having enough in the account to cover the bills.
Luke was ripping open an envelope when she turned back to the table. He scanned the sheet, then seemed to freeze for an instant. He tossed it onto the table. “I suppose you got one of those, too.”
Curious, she leaned over to look at it. “Our high school reunion—no, but maybe it will come today for me, too. Has it really been that long?” She sat down on the chair next to him, picking up the letter to glance through it.
