by JoAnn Durgin
“This is Sam.”
“Mr. Lewis?”
“Guilty.” Tinged with humor, the deep drawl was pleasant, welcoming.
“This is Marc Thompson, Thompson Sports Advertising, calling from Boston.” Great. He’d used his professional voice out of habit. Sam would think he was trying to sell him some kind of marketing promotion and rush to get him off the phone.
“Ah, Beantown. Love the Sox. Second in the AL East this year wasn’t bad. Tell me, what can I do for you, Mr. Thompson?”
Marc warmed to him immediately. He spoke his second language—sports. He’d expected a stuffy, older-sounding gentleman, but this man was neither. “Call me Marc, please.”
“And I’m Sam. How can I help?”
This guy was great. “I’m calling about my wife, Natalie.” When he heard no immediate response—no confirmation or name recognition—he hastened to add, “I believe you know her as Natalie Combs.”
“Of course. How is Natalie?”
Oh, how to answer that one? All his carefully rehearsed spiels no longer seemed important.
“Marc? Is everything all right?” Compassion resonated in the warmth on the other end of the line.
“Yes . . . I mean, no. Her foot pushed through a rotting piece of wood on the basement stairs in our home, and she fell and hit her head on the basement floor. Now, she’s suffering from amnesia, and the doctors aren’t sure how long it will last.” Wow. His life had become a soap opera.
“I’m so sorry.” Sam’s voice was quiet. “I know you two married only a few months ago. Lexa, especially, hated that we couldn’t be there, but we were already committed to a TeamWork trip overseas that week. Is the amnesia . . . severe?”
Might as well spell it out for the man. “It’s retrograde amnesia, meaning she has a lot of childhood memories up through college. The sad fact of the matter is, the last few years are barely a blip on her radar. To be blunt, she doesn’t remember anything about me. At least not since the accident. We’re having to start all over again, pretty much from square one.” He hesitated and cleared his throat. “The blessing is that she seems okay otherwise, and other than the memory loss, she’s fine. Amnesia’s a very strange, unpredictable beast.”
Sam was silent for a long moment before he finally spoke again. “Does she remember anything about TeamWork or our volunteers?”
Marc blew out a deep sigh. “Something about Amy looked familiar, and she remembered Winnie’s name when she saw their photographs in our wedding album. She said she felt God was somehow telling her how important TeamWork is in her life. Before her accident, Natalie mentioned you and Lexa quite often, and she talked about how much she loved working the missions with all of you.”
“Natalie’s one of our most faithful volunteers,” Sam said. “My heart goes out to you, brother.”
The heartfelt emotion in his voice touched Marc somewhere deep inside. He’d only talked with this man a couple of minutes, but felt he’d known him much longer. Now he could understand why Natalie always spoke so lovingly of Sam and Lexa and the others. The TeamWork director used none of the pat phrases—didn’t tell him he’d pray for Natalie, pray for him, that it’s “all in God’s plan” or “it’ll be okay”—and then sign off. From what he knew of Sam, praying was second nature. An idea came to mind, and Marc made an impetuous decision, something he rarely did. “Sam, if it’s okay with you, I’d like to come meet with you in Houston so we can talk about this more in-depth. I understand from our pastor you’ve been a good friend to my wife, and she helped you with a couple of mission camps in San Antonio. He’s actually the one who gave me your number and suggested I call.”
“I’m glad you did. Natalie’s also worked a number of TeamWork projects in the Northeast. That’s where she met Amy Jacobsen and recruited her. If you feel there’s something Lexa and I can do to help her, we’ll be more than happy to try. We can talk more privately at the house. It goes without saying you’re more than welcome to stay with us. Will Natalie be coming?”
“No, I’ll fly solo on this one,” Marc said. “I don’t want to impose, but how does tomorrow sound?”
He sensed Sam’s smile. “I can tell you’re not a man to let any grass grow under his feet. We’ll look forward to meeting you. Once you make your flight reservations, give me a quick call or shoot me an e-mail with your itinerary. I’ll meet you at the airport.”
“Will do.” Marc scribbled Sam’s contact information. “If Lexa has any hesitation whatsoever, I’ll be more than happy to stay in a hotel. Thanks, Sam. I really appreciate this.”
He chuckled. “Trust me, Lexa will insist you stay here, and we’ll look forward to visiting with you. I’ll be praying for a safe trip, brother.”
Hanging up, Marc sat for a few moments, staring at the phone. That was the second time Sam called him brother. From most men, it would annoy the tar out of him. But this guy was different. He sounded more genuine than most, and he’d been around enough insincerity to discern the difference. Spinning in his chair, he turned his attention to the computer. Normally, Christy took care of all his travel arrangements, but this one he’d handle on his own. Typing in the specifications, he was thankful he had the financial resources to buy a ticket without the benefit of two weeks’ notice. Even so, he cringed as he processed the credit card payment. If it helped Natalie, he’d buy a ticket to another planet.
Preparing to leave the office a few hours later, Marc’s spirits were much higher as he shot off a quick e-mail to Sam with his flight schedule. Contacting Sam and Lexa was a positive step in trying to reconnect with Natalie and helping her find her life again, and he had a good feeling about it. While he couldn’t impose the impossible burden on Sam and Lexa of being the primary key to Natalie recovering her repressed memories, he held high hopes. They had to count for something.
~~**~~
“Marc? Sam Lewis. Welcome to Houston.”
He pumped the other man’s hand, surprised when Sam pulled him into a quick, warm hug before releasing him. Although lean, he sported the impressive muscles of a professional athlete. The Texan had to be at least six-foot-four since he bested his own height by an inch or two. “How’d you know it was me?”
Intense, light blue eyes met his. “It’s stamped on your forehead.” Smile lines surrounded his mouth, and dark, wavy hair streaked with a few silver strands at the temples peeked out beneath a black cowboy hat. He looked to be about his age, maybe a few years older. Sam laughed when he shot him an amused glance. “Wedding photos. Winnie sent them to us. Did you check a bag?”
Marc nodded at his computer case and the small overnight bag he carried. “This is it. I’ve traveled a lot and learned the benefits of not checking baggage. Besides, I doubt your wife wants an overnight guest for more than a night or two.”
Sam reached for his bag. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you need, and that’s a promise. We want to help. Whatever it takes.”
He tried to keep the shock from his tone. “Are you this nice to every stranger?”
The smile lines deepened considerably. “Welcome to Texas, my friend. This way.” As they approached the automatic revolving doors, Marc caught the openly admiring glances directed at Sam from more than a few women as they passed through the terminal. The man was a walking chick magnet, and could be a rugged model in a Ralph Lauren ad campaign. He sure looked the part of the outdoorsy, quintessential cowboy with the Stetson, western-style sports jacket, white cotton shirt and jeans. Marc’s eyes trailed down to Sam’s well-worn, leather cowboy boots. As much as anything, he exuded self-confidence untouched by arrogance or pride. At least he didn’t swagger.
Sam’s strides were long, purposeful, and Marc hurried to keep pace. As soon as they passed through the doors, a blast of warm air assaulted him. “I’d forgotten how miserably humid it can get here in Houston, even at this time of year.” Unable to keep the disgust from his voice, Marc shrugged out of his suit jacket and draped it over one arm, loosened his tie and opened his coll
ar.
“It can be humid almost any time of the year, but somehow you get used to it,” Sam said. “Helps that I’m native born. You don’t sound like an inbred Yankee.”
“I’m originally from a suburb of St. Louis. I went to Yale and fell in love with New England, Boston in particular.” No sense in going into all the reasons now. He preferred hearing more about Sam and Lexa. “Where did you meet Lexa?” They drove along the highway in Sam’s late model white Volvo station wagon. It seemed good humor came as naturally as breathing with this man when he chuckled again.
“I met my wife when she signed on for the summer work camp in San Antonio in 1997, her first TeamWork mission. We were both from Houston and financial planners. Neither one of us saw the other one coming. It was rather like . . .”
“Love at first sight?”
Sam darted a quick glance in his direction. “More like spontaneous combustion.”
They shared a laugh.
“How long have you been married?”
“Two years this past August. By the time that work camp ended, I’d committed to an overseas mission with TeamWork for a year. I had to get the wanderlust out of my system. I’m glad Lexa was feisty enough, brave enough—and loved me enough—to wait.”
“An entire year away from each other?” Marc shook his head. “That must have been rough.” The irony of that statement didn’t escape him. At least Natalie lived in the same state, but sometimes it might as well be another planet.
“It was a tough summer at the work camp. There was a lot happening, between Lexa and me in finding our way to one another . . . and in other ways. We had some situations with some of the other volunteers. As a result, I made the life-changing decision that I needed to make the move out of financial planning and work in full-time ministry.”
“Where were you stationed during your overseas mission?”
“I was in several countries during the course of the year, but the deepest part of Africa the last few months. You hear things about missionaries, but most people stateside don’t have a clue. I thank the Lord every day He brought me back home after some of the atrocities I saw. Things Lexa doesn’t know to this day.” He darted a quick glance his way. “Things I’m not about to tell her.”
Marc nodded, humbled. “Was it hard to reconnect with her after a year?”
The humor surfaced again. “As soon as humanly possible—on the very day I returned—I proposed. Right in front of the Alamo, believe it or not. Before I left, I promised her we wouldn’t wait long. Normally, there’s a three-day waiting period, but my grandfather lived in San Antonio for a few years. Helps to have a judge as a close friend of the family.” Sam smiled. “And then I arranged for a pastor friend of mine to marry us.”
“The same night?” Marc could hear the incredulity in his own question.
“The very same. Like you, I’m not a man to let grass grow under his feet, either. We were married with lots of yellow roses and hormones in overdrive. She doesn’t have any family left, and my family pretty much told me not to come home unless Lexa was my wife. They watched over her while I was overseas, and fell in love with her, too. Not a hard thing to do.” He shook his head with another smile. “Lexa’s prayer was that I’d show up and not leave her standing there in front of the Alamo, but she jumped aboard the marriage train soon enough, especially once I gave her my grandmother’s engagement ring and promised her the prized family peach pie recipe.”
“Sometimes I wish I’d whisked Natalie off somewhere like that and eloped. Keep it simple. Saves a lot of time and headaches, not to mention money.”
“Best decision I ever made to marry Lexa. She’s the perfect foil for me, and helps keep my head on straight. She rounds out the rough spots in this old cowboy, challenges me every single day.”
“Any kids yet?”
“No.” The smiled faded only a bit. “Lexa’s more than ready. She’s terrific with kids and seems to think I’ll make a good father.” As he turned onto a tree-lined, quiet residential street, Sam waved to a young mother pushing a stroller and a man mowing his lawn.
Marc tried to ignore the arrow to his heart at the mention of the word father and Sam’s unwitting reminder, although he’d brought it on himself by asking. That was another piece of the puzzle with Natalie he’d probably need to tell them. As Sam turned into a driveway, Marc was surprised by the beautiful, two-story red brick home with white shutters and lovely landscaping. The perfect suburban home to raise a family. Somehow, he’d expected a sprawling, ranch-style home in the middle of this lovely neighborhood.
A very pretty, petite woman stepped out the front door and onto the walkway. A long, blonde braid hung over one shoulder, and she wore a simple blue dress that flirted around her knees in the light breeze. But it was her welcoming smile that warmed his heart. Glancing at Sam, Marc was floored by his obvious look of love.
She extended her hand as they climbed out of the car and headed in her direction. “Hi, Marc. I’m Lexa Lewis. It’s so nice to finally meet you.” Like her husband’s, the drawl had to be native Texan. It was surprisingly deep for such a tiny woman, but charming.
“Thank you. The pleasure’s all mine.” Her cheeks bloomed a pretty pink when Marc gave her a quick, spontaneous kiss. When he pulled away, Lexa’s aquamarine eyes momentarily mesmerized him. This couple’s future offspring would be genetically blessed.
“You’re a bit late,” Lexa said, planting a kiss on her husband’s cheek as he leaned close. “No doubt you were regaling Marc with stories of how you relentlessly wooed me.”
“I’ll always woo you, Lexa. And if I stop, you’ll set me straight.” Sam touched her cheek with the back of his hand, his fingers lingering for a couple of seconds.
Marc hid his grin. These two were too cute for words. Who says “woo” anymore? It was quite possible time stood still. It might be a long wait to eat if they kept getting lost in the other like this. Maybe he should save them all some time and offer to treat them to dinner at one of Houston’s finest restaurants.
“Please, come in.” Lexa broke the spell as she headed inside the house and gestured for him to follow. Overhead fans circulated a cool breeze, and Marc eyed the high ceilings and spacious, open floor plan. This was a home he could live in, a warm and welcoming reflection of its owners.
“We’re going to start dinner,” Sam said. “Come into the kitchen and keep us company unless you’d rather go to your room and rest.”
“I’d enjoy the company. You can tell me more about TeamWork.” He caught Lexa’s smile.
“I think our guest already knows the magic word, Sam.”
Leaving his things in the living room, Marc followed them toward the back of the house. An overflowing vase of fresh flowers stood on the entranceway table, family portraits adorned the wall by the wide staircase, and books were everywhere—crammed onto bookcases and scattered on tables. A photo of Sam in an Air Force uniform caught his eye as his host held a swinging door, standing aside and waiting. Sunlight reflected off the hardwood floors and streamed through a large picture window in the breakfast nook as Marc walked into the kitchen. More ceiling fans—a staple in the home—whirred softly above them.
“I see you were in the Air Force.”
“That’s Will, Sam’s younger brother,” Lexa said. “The first time I met Will, I almost kissed him, thinking it was my husband.” She laughed when she spied Sam’s raised brows. “He’s a candidate for the NASA astronaut training program.”
“We used to call my brother ‘Star Sailor’ when we were kids,” Sam added. “Going into space is all he ever talked about. Still does.” Removing his jacket, Sam draped it over a nearby chair. “He’s got a one-track mind, my brother. If there’s any justice, he’ll be accepted into the program.”
“Impressive. I have a lot of respect for our astronauts.” Marc released a sigh as he settled in a chair in the cozy breakfast nook, noting the spacious backyard with its lovely landscaping. Perfect romping grounds for all those f
uture, genetically-blessed Lewis children. But there wasn’t a horse, stable, tumbleweed, cow or armadillo in sight. Somehow, he expected at least one of them.
As they pulled steaks and vegetables out of the refrigerator and worked together, Sam asked questions about his agency. Lexa told him about her work as a part-time financial planner for Alamo World Financial, and how—as Sam mentioned in the car—her husband had also been an independent financial planner when they’d first met.
“Sam liked financial planning for the people factor,” Lexa said, handing him a glass of iced tea, “helping them see that solid financial planning was a lot like securing their eternity. Something to look forward to and not be afraid of.” She darted a sweet smile in her husband’s direction as he arranged steaks on a platter and prepared to carry them to the grill on the back patio. “But he pegged me for a numbers girl right from the start.”
“A numbers girl?” Marc liked the sound of that. With his weird fascination with numbers, he could get onboard with that idea.
“I love numbers, but I also hid behind them. They’re safe and dependable. You see, numbers don’t disappoint the way people can.”
Marc wasn’t sure how to respond, but he understood exactly what she meant. “I’ve always had this weird thing I do that helps me remember number patterns, but relating well with people is also a large part of what I do in my business. I depend on both in the advertising game.”
“Natalie’s so proud of you, and she respects what you do, Marc. She told me how you built your agency from the ground up with pure grit and determination, and that you’re brilliant at what you do.”
He raked a quick hand through his hair, but couldn’t meet Lexa’s eyes. Couldn’t bear to see the pity. “She might have been proud of me at one time, but I’m afraid she doesn’t remember now.”
