by Marta Perry
He had to see Mary Kate on more neutral territory. He’d told her she wasn’t his therapist today, and that was what he’d meant. He needed to clear his mind about what they were to each other. About what they could be.
He stretched his legs out in front of him, still faintly surprised when they obeyed him. A week ago he wouldn’t have entertained the thought of a relationship with anyone, especially Mary Kate, with two kids to consider. How could he possibly be responsible for kids?
But moving to the braces and canes had begun to make him feel that things were possible again—a job, a meaningful life. Or maybe it was Mary Kate who was doing that. She’d certainly worked hard enough at it.
That was why he had to see her as something other than his therapist. He wasn’t sure, and he needed to be.
Gabe roused at a call from his wife, wide-awake in an instant, fireman that he was at heart. “She has work for me, no doubt.” He shook his head and moved off toward the farmhouse. In a moment his place was taken by Brendan.
“I thought Gabe would never give up this chair.” He glanced toward the porch, where his wife sat in the porch swing, talking to Nolie.
Luke nodded toward the pair, blond hair and dark close together as they talked. “You can’t take your eyes off your wife, can you?”
Brendan grinned. “I’m just so…overwhelmed. I’m going to be a dad. How am I going to manage that?”
“Copy your uncle, I’d guess.” He nodded toward Joe, who had a lapful with the youngest while the others gathered around his knees.
“You’ve got a point there. I couldn’t go wrong doing that. Neither Claire nor I had what you’d call good relationships with our own fathers, so we look to Joe for guidance.”
That was a thought he’d have to mull over if he really let himself entertain the idea of a relationship with Mary Kate. Always assuming, of course, that she felt anything for him other than friendship, the concern of a therapist for a patient and that leftover attraction. He knew instinctively that a relationship with her required a lot more careful handling than anything he’d experienced before.
Brendan glanced at him. “Have you given any thought to what you’re going to do with yourself long-term?”
That was a question he didn’t want to hear, much less answer. He didn’t begin to know. A few weeks ago, he hadn’t foreseen anything other than turning into a hermit. Now…
He shrugged. “Not sure. I don’t know that the police department will have much use for me, even with these.” He gestured with the canes.
“If you want to talk about it anytime, give me a call.” Brendan smiled. “If you can manage to think of me as a pastor instead of a second-string wide receiver.”
“I…” It wasn’t that he had trouble thinking of Brendan as a minister. It was that he didn’t care to talk about something that was still such a question mark in his own mind.
He looked up and saw Mary Kate moving toward him across the lawn. Her gaze met his, and an unspoken message seemed to pass between them.
“You two get enough to eat?” she asked.
Brendan groaned. “You should know better than to ask that around here.”
“Why don’t you organize a game for the kids? That’ll get your blood moving. And be good practice for you.”
“You could do that.”
“I’m going for a walk with Luke.” She smiled at Luke a bit tentatively. “I know I’m not your therapist today, but would you like to try out a stroll on the grass?”
He nodded, reaching for the walker that was propped against the picnic table. “Good idea. Maybe it’s time to switch to this thing, though.”
She waited until they were several feet from Brendan before giving him a look of mock astonishment. “You actually did that without putting up a fight.”
“Hey, I’m not stupid. I’m not going to risk scaring the kids by toppling over.”
“Well, I don’t think you’d scare them, but thanks, anyway.” She nodded toward the barn, a typical Pennsylvania Dutch structure, huge, lofty, painted a warm red. “Think you can make it that far?”
He nodded. “Sure thing. And thanks for coming to the rescue.”
“You looked like Brendan might be bugging you a bit.”
Had he? Or did she just read him that well? She was looking at him with a question in her eyes, but he wasn’t ready to talk about his future with her, either.
“I was afraid he was going to bug me about why I didn’t go to church this morning.”
They started up the easy slope to the huge barn doors. “A good question.”
Mary Kate grabbed the metal handle and shoved the door across. It ran easily, but then he’d expect anything Gabe took care of to work well.
He stepped inside, onto wide, aged planks. Stalls ran along the sides, empty now, and the loft above was down to the last few rows of hay bales. Sunlight filtered through the door in the loft and dust motes danced in it.
“It’s a peaceful place,” he said quietly.
She nodded, sitting down on a rough wooden bench that looked as if it had been made from wood left over from building the barn. “It is. Like a church sanctuary when you slip in during the day.”
Was that what Mary Kate did when life threatened to overwhelm her? He sat down next to her, not sure he should ask.
Her head was tilted back, and she seemed to stare, bemused, at the shaft of sunlight crossing the barn loft. “So why didn’t you go to church today?”
“I didn’t have a ride.” That wasn’t the reason, and he knew it.
“There are only about a hundred people who’d have been happy to pick you up. Try again.”
He linked his hands around his knee, frowning at the floor. “Let’s just say I’m not on good terms with God right now and leave it at that.”
“Not a chance.” She turned toward him, and he felt the focus of her intense gaze. “Do you think I don’t know that you’re angry with God? You may as well say it.”
“What’s the point? That won’t change anything.” He suspected she wasn’t letting it go. In his effort to keep the focus off his future, he’d opened another can of worms.
“I know it seems that way now, but—”
“Don’t tell me you know how it feels, Mary Kate. You can’t.”
“Can’t I? After Kenny was diagnosed, I went through a period of rage so intense it scared me.” Her voice was very even, but he thought it took a struggle. “And again after his death. I kept trying to hide it, as if I could hide from God.”
She was hurting. Because of him, because she wanted so much to help him that she’d bring up things that hurt her.
“You don’t feel that way now.” Maybe there was a question in that.
“No. Not after I talked it out with Mom.” Her voice softened. “She pushed me to get it all out, and later my sister did, too. I think it took that—their pushing, and time and raging at God when it got the better of me.”
“So you decided to try the same thing on me.” A few weeks ago he’d have been furious at her interference. Now it didn’t seem to bother him.
She nodded. “I just wanted to say that, well, eventually I came to feel that God understood my pain even better than I did.”
“Does He?” He couldn’t entirely suppress the tightness in his voice. “Right now He just seems very far away to me.”
She didn’t say anything. Just looked at him, waiting, with a world of concern in her face.
“All right, I’ll say it. As long as I was in control I didn’t spend much time leaning on God. And now that I’m not in control, I think He should fix it. Not very reasonable, is it?”
“Maybe not reasonable, but human.” Her lips tightened. “That being in control—it’s an illusion. We’re never really in control. We just think we are.”
A wave of empathy swept through him. He wanted to wipe the sorrow from her face. Wanted to make everything better for her. He reached out to brush a strand of hair back from her cheek, his fingers lingering again
st the warmth of her skin.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I wish—” He shouldn’t do this, but she drew him in ways he didn’t understand. He turned her face toward his.
Her eyes widened, lips parting on a breath. And then she drew back. “Don’t, Luke. Please. It’s not right.”
He didn’t want to stop. “I thought we decided you’re not my therapist today.”
“I don’t think my boss would see it that way. And even if he never knew, I’d know. I can’t have a romantic relationship with a client.” Color came up in her cheeks at the words.
Maybe that answered some of his questions. He stroked her cheek lightly and then reluctantly pulled his hand away. “You won’t be my therapist forever, will you?”
She shook her head, eyes questioning.
“I can wait.” He pulled himself to his feet with the walker. “Maybe I should let Michael show me the animals.”
Because if I stay here with you any longer, I might forget all the reasons why this is impossible.
Chapter Twelve
Mary Kate slid down into the therapy pool, welcoming the warm water. Spending time in the therapy pool herself was one of the perks of working at the clinic. Luke was already in the pool, along with Frank Morgan, who was talking away to Luke as if he’d known him for years. Going to the family picnic seemed to have broken through some of Luke’s reserves. He’d put up only a token resistance to sharing his pool therapy. Frank’s blue eyes sparkled as he told some anecdote about his therapy.
“Come on, now, Frank,” she said. “You know you enjoy your therapy. You’re my favorite patient, remember?”
He grinned. “Thought maybe I’d been replaced by this young fellow.”
“Nobody could ever replace you,” she said.
But Luke’s gaze met hers, and she could feel warmth flood her cheeks. Was he thinking, as she was, about those moments in the barn on Sunday?
Flustered, she tried for her normal session tone. “Okay, you two, let’s pick up the pace. You can walk a little faster than that.”
The two men reached the far side of the pool, then turned and started back, facing her, and Luke’s gaze crossed hers again.
In an instant she was back in the barn, sitting next to him, feeling the mix of guilt and hope she’d felt then. There’d been a promise of something between them, and even though she’d felt guilty just for thinking of it, she couldn’t help being drawn to the possibility.
Mom believed God would make Mary Kate’s course clear when the time was right. She could wait. Would wait. Nothing was clear right now except that her heart was confused.
Another thing was clear, also. Whether or not Luke admitted it, he was getting better, and her job at the moment was to take him as far as he could go. After that, well, she supposed she’d see what happened.
“All right, let’s try some leg lifts. Hold on to the side of the pool, please.”
“She’s a slave driver, that one,” Frank said. “She’ll never let you get away with anything.”
“I’ve noticed.” Luke’s eyes were warm.
She would not let herself respond. “Ready? Raise your outside leg gently. Let the water help lift it.”
“Feels as if I’m back in the army again,” Frank said. “Calisthenics, every single day, that’s what we did, right up to the time we went overseas.”
She held her breath, half expecting Luke to tense up at the reminder, but he looked at Frank with what seemed genuine interest in his face.
“Where were you stationed?”
“Where weren’t we?” Frank lifted his leg energetically. “Started out in France and worked our way east.”
“You were in World War II, then. Mary Kate mentioned something about it, but I didn’t believe you were old enough.”
She breathed again at the light tone of his voice, half losing track of the conversation as she directed their exercises. Frank was doing exactly as she’d hoped, his cheerful manner and matter-of-fact talk about coming home from the war engaging Luke.
Exercising together kept both of them going longer than either of them would have alone, probably. Luke had been by himself too much, and each time she managed to get him around other people, he moved a little farther out of his shell.
Maybe, with Gabe’s help, she could come up with some other things that would show him he could live a normal life. That was what he needed—the assurance that what had happened to him wasn’t the end. Certainly Frank was doing a good job with him in that respect.
“Yes, I can remember when there were fifty or more of us marching in the Memorial Day parade,” Frank said as they finished the cool-down sequence. “Not like that now, though. Not so many WWII vets left. Still, I’ll be there.”
“Riding in the back of a convertible, I’ll bet,” Mary Kate said. “Okay, you can get out now and dry off.” She moved to the ramp, just in case either of them needed help, but they moved up side by side.
“Well, you’ll be there this year.” Frank patted Luke’s shoulder. “Be mighty glad to see some of you young fellows in the parade.”
Luke stiffened, turning so cold in an instant that it was a cold breeze on her skin. “Afraid I won’t be there.”
Don’t let him hurt Frank, Lord. Please.
“Hey, all the guys take part in the parade.” Frank looked bewildered. “It’s like paying tribute to the ones who didn’t make it.”
“Maybe Luke’s going away that weekend,” she said quickly, handing Frank his towel. “I’ll be watching for you though. Be sure you wave to my kids, okay?”
“Will do,” Frank glanced at Luke. “You change your mind, just get in touch with me. I’ll tell you where to be.”
“Right, thanks.”
Luke’s face was tight, but Frank didn’t seem to notice. He moved off toward the dressing room, waving over his shoulder.
Mary Kate waited until she was sure he was out of earshot. Then she swung toward Luke. “You didn’t have to be so short with him. He was just being nice.”
“I’m not going to be in any parade.” He grabbed his towel, slinging it around his neck.
“The Memorial Day parade is a tradition, you know that. You grew up watching the veterans march in it, just as I did.” And decorating the graves at the cemetery, too, but it probably wasn’t safe to mention that.
“It’s not for me.” The words dropped out like ice pellets. “I have no intention of appearing in my uniform like this.” He grabbed the walker and stumped toward the locker room.
She tried to swallow her disappointment. Every time she thought Luke was making progress, another roadblock surfaced, usually where she least expected it.
Luke stood at the kitchen counter, balancing on only one cane while he poured a mug of coffee. That was progress of a sort, as he was sure Mary Kate would be quick to point out.
Except that Mary Kate didn’t seem to be in any hurry to get here today. Her scheduled time wasn’t until ten, but he’d grown accustomed to seeing her turn up early, sometimes carrying a loaf of her mother’s cinnamon bread, to share coffee before they started the therapy. And since she’d already informed him that she’d have to leave promptly after their session because the children had only a half day of school today, he’d say she was sending him a message.
The atmosphere had grown considerably cooler since the incident with the elderly vet at the therapy pool. He stood at the counter, looking out the kitchen window at the rhododendron blooming against the garage, and frowned a little.
He hadn’t shown any disrespect for Frank Morgan, so why did she find it necessary to scold him as if he were a rude kid? Sure, she was right about one thing. He was getting better. He’d gone farther than he could have imagined a few short weeks ago.
But there were things he wasn’t prepared to do. Why couldn’t she accept that?
The doorbell rang. He set the mug down, sloshing a little coffee on the countertop, and reached for the second cane. Mary Kate arriving? She’d probably have let herself
in by now.
When he reached the living room he could see who stood on the porch, and he automatically stood a little straighter. Lieutenant Pete Ragan of the Suffolk Police Force peered through the glass, one hand up to shade the glare of May sunshine.
Okay. He took a firm grip on the canes, back straight. At least he was dressed, shaved and walking with the canes instead of slumped in the wheelchair, the way Mary Kate had found him that first day. Stiffly erect, he strode toward the door, if he could call it striding when he had to use canes to support every step.
He swung it open. “Lieutenant Ragan. Good to see you, sir.” And why are you here? He’d made it clear, the first week home, that he didn’t welcome company, even from his buddies on the force.
“Marino.” Ragan studied him for a moment. “You don’t look half-bad. Some of the boys made it sound like you were at death’s door. Glad to see they were wrong.” He managed what was, for him, a genial smile.
Luke held the door open and stood back while Ragan sidled in. Fate had given the man a drooping, lugubrious face that made him resemble a basset hound on the verge of tears. Combined with his slight stature and hesitant manner, it caused some people to underestimate him. Luke had never made that particular mistake. Ragan ran his department with an iron will and a fierce determination that it be the best.
“Have a seat, sir. How are things downtown?”
“Not bad.” Ragan sent a mournful glance toward the sofa and settled instead on the bentwood rocker. “I hear you’re coming along pretty well yourself.”
It took an effort to keep a smile on his face as he sat down in his usual chair, sliding the canes on the floor out of sight. Ragan had heard from whom? Had Mary Kate been meddling again?
“Have you been talking to someone I know?”
Ragan shrugged. “Ran into an old buddy of mine down at the VFW. Frank Morgan. Had some good things to say about you.”
Not, apparently, including his refusal to participate in the Memorial Day parade, or Ragan wouldn’t be looking at him with approval.
