Dream Runner

by Gail McFarland

  The corners of her mouth quivered and she toyed with her fork. The fish was cold now. “So I don’t get a break, huh? You’re just going to sit there and judge me?”

  Now she’s trying to pick a fight? AJ shook his head. I’m not going to let her take me there. “Marlea, it’s not about judgment. You’ve come a long way, but you’re not alone. I’m here. I believe in you and your recovery, and I’ll be here for you.”

  “And that’s supposed to get me back into the classroom?” She looked dubious. “I’m not afraid of the kids. I was born to teach, and I’ll always be good at it. Rissa said that you do a lot of work with special groups, so I know you understand how it feels to follow your heart for others. I’m a teacher. I’m going to teach again.”

  “Glad to hear that. Now when do you plan to get back to the rest of your life?”

  For a second, Marlea wanted to curse Rissa for the skillfully applied eye makeup. If she hadn’t been afraid it would run and leave her looking like a raccoon, she probably would have cried.

  “It’s waiting for you, you know,” AJ continued. “Marlea, I promise that the only thing that has changed in your life is the way you choose to live it.”

  “That’s an easy promise for you to make, AJ, but think about it. I can teach because a teacher is what I am. But on the other hand, you know what my foot looks like, and you’ve seen me try to get around on it—not exactly the picture of grace and elegance, am I? What man is going to want a woman like that? I’m not willing to plan a family without a husband, and I would need to be whole for that, and well, I’m not exactly that. Not any more.”

  Reaching across the table, AJ took her hand and stared hard into her eyes. “And here I was thinking what a smart woman you are. Marlea, don’t you realize that if a man truly loves you, if you truly love him, it doesn’t matter how many toes you have or what kind of shoes you can or can’t wear? And last I heard, toes and the way you walk ain’t had nothin’ to do with makin’ babies—if that’s what you want.”

  Leaning away from him, she took a moment to regain her composure. “Now you’re trying to embarrass me.”

  “No way, just callin’ it like I see it.” His grin moved to laughter, and Marlea couldn’t resist laughing with him.

  “Okay, you’ve made me laugh, got me feeling like a fool for short-changing myself. Tell me about this place we’re going to.”

  “Jim Crocker is a pedorthist. When it comes to shoes, prescription footwear, rocker soles, orthotic inserts, you name it, he’s the man. There’s not a foot on this planet that I wouldn’t trust to Jim. I’ve known him to customize or fabricate shoes for everyone from diabetics to athletes.”

  “You’re sure I can’t just wear some of the shoes I already have?” Marlea’s teeth clamped down on her knuckles.

  “You’ve already tried, haven’t you?”

  Damn that big-mouthed Rissa! “So I’ll have better balance in a custom-made shoe?”

  She was still asking questions when AJ’s Rover crossed Cobb Parkway into the landscaped office park that housed Marietta BioPed. AJ moved to leave the vehicle, but Marlea sat looking at the sign.

  “It’s just a step, Marlea.”

  Her eyes were huge and haunted, glistening with unshed tears. “It’s just a step I never thought I would have to take, AJ.”

  Reaching across the seat, he gripped the hands that lay so limp and cold in her lap. “It’s a step you don’t have to take alone.”

  “Promise?”

  “Cross my heart.” And he did.

  Marlea followed AJ into Marietta BioPed. Jim Crocker was waiting for them.

  He stood at the rear of the neatly appointed reception area talking with two young men. The taller and blonder of the two noticed them first and pointed them out. Moving with sprightly ease, Crocker handed over the folders he had been sharing with the two men and crossed the room.

  “AJ, good to see you. It’s been too long, my friend.” Warm and welcoming, he could model for Santa Claus figurines, Marlea marveled. From the snowy white hair and neatly trimmed beard right down to the rosy cheeks and round little belly, the man was a dead ringer for every red-suited Santa she had ever seen.

  “You didn’t tell me,” she whispered with a smile.

  “Thought you’d like the surprise.”

  Crocker shook Marlea’s hand, then tucked his thumbs into the narrow pockets of his open vest and rocked on his toes. “I often cultivate my resemblance to the red-suited one; it builds confidence.”

  Okay, I can see the confidence thing working here.

  “Knowing AJ, I’m sure he’s explained what I do here,” Crocker chuckled. “Do you have any questions before we get started?”

  “I…I do have some questions.” Marlea looked at AJ, then made up her mind. “I would like to speak with you alone, though, for just a few minutes.”

  “But…” AJ frowned. What was it she was always saying about me trying to make her need me? Damn it, his heart surged, she does need me, even if she does look as if she thinks she doesn’t. He gave it one more try. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Right this way, then.” Crocker wasted no time in mediation. Instead, he ushered Marlea into a green-walled consultation room. She settled into an upholstered tweed armchair and faced the pedorthist. Crocker dropped into the chair facing her and looked concerned. “What shall we talk about?”

  How to begin? Alone with Jim Crocker, she fought embarrassment. I can’t believe I’m sitting here with Santa Claus, trying to figure out how to ask his advice about how to stop my world from rocking every time that, that…therapist touches me!

  “A little shy, are we?” He rocked back in his chair. “Is this a delicate matter?”

  Intently examining her fingertips, Marlea nodded. “See…every time he puts his hands on me, it feels like…sex,” she finally blurted. “I’m not crying rape or anything, but…I don’t have any control over it and I…I don’t like it. The nurse said I would probably get over it in time, but until then…”

  “How long has this been going on?

  “Almost from day one.”

  “Are you in pain?”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head and dropping her eyes. “I almost wish I were; maybe that way I wouldn’t feel so guilty about it.”

  “And you don’t get the same, ah, sensations when you duplicate the exercises on your own?”

  “Never. Not even when one of the female nurses tried to help me at Grady. It only happens with him.”

  “You could change therapists.”

  “Don’t you think I tried? Every time I tried, something came up. First, I couldn’t seem to get rid of him. Then all of the recommended therapists had full caseloads. After that, my insurance began to limit who I could see and for what. Then I sort of had to…move in with him. So now I have a therapist who turns me on every time he lays a hand on me. Every time.”

  “Ahh,” the old man sighed, lifting his thick white brows. “That has got to be a young man’s fantasy, to be able to trigger ascendancy in a beautiful woman with the briefest of touches.” His eyes sharpened behind his thick-lensed glasses. “But you don’t have that kind of relationship, do you? At least, not yet?”

  Okay, maybe I should have kept this to myself. “No, we don’t have that kind of relationship, and if I had known that you were going to make fun of me, I would have kept this to myself.”

  “Forgive an old man’s prying.” The specialist smiled softly, his round cheeks dimpling. “To answer your question, though, in time you can expect the sensations to diminish.”

  “But what do I do for now? This is so humiliating. There’s nothing I can take for it, and cold showers aren’t helping. I understand that I need the therapy, but he’s driving me nuts!”

  “You trust him?” She nodded, and he spread his hands apart as though that explained everything. “Then stop thinking of your body as betraying you and let him help you.”

  “That’s it? I should just lie back
and enjoy it?”

  “That’s it. Think about it, Miss Kellogg. What you’re feeling is real, there’s documented evidence of it. I’ve talked to AJ and there is no salacious attachment, only the concern of a dedicated therapist. Your therapy is not going to last forever. My advice to you is to get back on your feet and back to your life as soon as possible.”

  Chastened, unable to look at the old man, Marlea nodded. “You won’t tell him what I told you, will you?”

  “Never.” Eyes twinkling, Crocker mimed zipped lips. “Shall we rejoin him?”

  “Okay.” Marlea followed him from the room. “Wait.” At the door, she laid a hand on his arm. “You really won’t tell?”

  The elderly man put his palm over his heart. “Never.” When Marlea hesitated, his silvery brows rose above his bright blue eyes. “Is there something else?”

  Marlea looked at him shyly. She tapped the cane lightly against the floor. “After you do the fitting and make the changes, will I need this?”

  Crocker’s smile made her heart lift. “Only as a souvenir.”

  “I can think of better souvenirs than this.”

  “How about a good sturdy shoe that will take you wherever you need to go?”

  “That will do me fine,” Marlea smiled, following him across the hall to his studio.

  “I was beginning to think you two had forgotten me,” AJ said, rising from his seat.

  “Never fear, my friend. We’ve got business to do in here today. This lady tells me that she’s ready for a pair of shoes.”

  “Then let’s get down to business.” AJ pulled a chair forward for Marlea.

  Sitting carefully, she glanced around, relieved when AJ sat beside her. Not altogether different from other shoe stores, the main area of Marietta BioPed was fitted as both an examination room and shoe salesroom. Crocker brought a selection of boxes and tools with him when he pulled a stool close enough for analysis. Behind him, more scales and forms were assembled in Plexiglas cubbyholes behind a desk. For measuring foot lengths and widths, Marlea guessed. Shoes ranging from the practical to the pretty were displayed on small wall-mounted platforms, and she found herself hoping that she could have something stylish.

  “Let’s try this.” Crocker bent to slip the surgical shoe from her foot, and Marlea held her breath. Tensing, she stretched her fingers, then closed them tight.

  “It’s going to be all right,” AJ whispered, squeezing the fingers she had thrust into his grasp.

  Aware but discreet, Crocker opened one of the boxes stacked at the foot of his stool. He pulled out something that looked a lot like a cross between a baked potato and a house slipper.

  Marlea’s face crumpled. “That goes on my foot? That’s the shoe you want me to wear?”

  “You wound me, my dear.” Crocker let the corners of his mouth droop slightly, then smiled. “I would never have a pretty lady wear such a thing; this is just for sizing. We’re going to do a mold first. Your part of this is easy. Just relax.” Guiding her foot lightly, Crocker slipped the form over her toes, then lifted it into place over her arch and heel. Filled with a cool and soft material, the mold felt fine; comfortable, in fact.

  “I don’t know if this is really my style, AJ. Does it come in a pump?”

  “This one, no,” Crocker chuckled. “Eventually, we’ll get you into that pump. Meanwhile,” he gave her foot a pat, “we’ll let that set.”

  When the pedorthist bent to shuffle the boxes at his feet, Marlea leaned close, her cheek brushing AJ’s. “Do you really think I’ll ever get to wear a real shoe again?”

  “Marlea, you can get almost any style of shoe you want; you’ll just have to learn to walk in them.”

  Her fingers tightened around his, and she reached for the courage she saw swirling in the coffee-toned depths of his gaze. “Then what I really want is a running shoe, because I plan to do more than walk. You promised.”

  “That’s a promise I’m going to keep, Marlea. You can bank on it.” Lord, he thought, if you made anything better than this woman, you kept her for yourself. “Did you hear that, Jim? Running shoes. Two pairs. She’s going to need them.”

  Chapter 19

  …This season, the team counted on much more than big plays from the 27-year-old Yarborough. Built to get the job done at six-foot-two and 210 pounds, Yarborough is a starter and primary tailback—a role distinguished in the league by freakishly talented runners like Barry Sanders…

  Yarborough has gained attention as one of the NFL’s best all-around backs. This season, he has led his team with 875 rushing yards and 93 receptions, so far. He has also scored an even dozen touchdowns…

  With his NFL-caliber body and extraordinary talent, Yarborough was destined for the game, says Coach Newell. “Intangibles have set Yarborough apart. If I ask him to work hard, he works harder. He’s focused and coachable…”

  Marlea turned the page for the rest of the article.

  “She been sitting there long?”

  “About two hours,” Martha Baldwin whispered back, selecting an apron from the pantry drawer.

  “What is she reading?” Rissa asked, craning her neck. “Looks like one of the scrapbooks Mama made for AJ.”

  “It is. She’s been going through them all week. All by herself, here in the kitchen, going through them page by page. She ought to know all about him by now,” the housekeeper said.

  “And you in here keeping her secret?”

  “Somebody has to.” Mrs. Baldwin dodged the nudge Rissa aimed at her. She shook the folds out of her apron and slipped it around her waist. “And we both know that you can’t.”

  “You know you’ve only got two things going for you, don’t you?” Rissa made a face, propped a hand on her hip, and pointed her finger. “AJ can’t get enough of your cooking, and I love you.”

  “Saves me every time,” the older woman smiled, eyeing Rissa. Taking in the tailored flat-front pants and the matching jacket folded over her arm, she guessed her favorite pain-in-the-neck was headed for work. “Want your usual, or do you have time for a real breakfast this morning?”

  Rissa craned her neck again. Marlea still sat in the same place at the table, turning pages and learning about AJ Yarborough. “I’m going to make time for a real breakfast this morning,” she decided.

  “I thought you might.”

  Bills star AJ Yarborough engaged…For no reason she could imagine, Marlea couldn’t seem to get past that headline. But like an onlooker at a train wreck, she couldn’t look away, either. Planting her index finger on the page, she traced the lines of print and began to read.

  Heisman Trophy winner and first-round draft pick AJ Yarborough, dubbed ‘the Supersonic Man’, has become engaged to his girlfriend of one year, designer Bianca Coltrane, his publicist Greg Harper announced Wednesday…

  …It will be a first marriage for both 30-year old Yarborough and 24-year old Coltrane.

  A wedding date has not been announced…

  And it never happened. The thought was so sharp that it blurred her vision. Why the hell does it matter to me? Marlea wondered, looking up from the page.

  “Whatcha readin’?” Rissa drawled, sliding into the chair across from Marlea.

  She knows damned well what I’m reading. Marlea closed the book on her hand. “Nothing.”

  “Oh, we’re gonna play games, now? Looks like one of AJ’s albums,” Rissa said, reaching across the table to touch the cover. “Did you find that one in the library?”

  She knows exactly where I ‘found’ this…

  Mrs. Baldwin moved to the table and pushed her food-laden tray between the women. “I’ve got your coffee here.” She moved the sterling-silver pot over both their cups and shot a cautionary look at Rissa. “I b’lieve you both take cream and sugar.” Her eyes made Rissa close her mouth.

  “I’ve got toast and, well, I believe I have everything you need.” Pointedly turning her face to Rissa, Martha Baldwin smiled sweetly. “If you need anything, and I mean anything at all, you ask m
e. You hear?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Rissa pressed her lips together and decided not to press her luck, even when Marlea opened the album again. Busying herself with scrambled eggs and toast, she managed to stay quiet as Marlea turned two pages. She couldn’t stand it any more when Marlea turned a third page.

  “AJ’s done a lot of stuff,” she blurted, then could have slapped herself when Marlea grinned.

  “I knew you couldn’t do it.”

  “Do what?”

  “Keep your mouth shut, not even after the look Mrs. Baldwin gave you.”

  “You saw that?” Rissa slid a little lower in her chair.

  “It almost sizzled, girl.”

  “Yeah, she’s got that ‘mother’ thing workin’ for her. I never want to disappoint her.”

  “Then you need to learn to mind your own business!” Martha called from the sink.

  “I guess she told you,” Marlea whooped.

  “She’s always telling me,” Rissa laughed. “Seriously, though, if you want to know more about AJ, you ought to ask him.”

  Marlea pushed the album to the side. “Why don’t you just come on out and say that you want me to ask him? And why is it such a big deal to you?”

  “I think I told you once my brother is the bomb. Besides, there are not a lot of guys like him around. I mean, there’s Warrick Dunne with the Falcons and the work he does with single mothers, and others who do stuff, but I know AJ. I grew up with him—he’s my brother and I love him.”

  “And he’s special?” Marlea’s fingers traced the leather edges of the book beside her plate, but her eye stayed on Rissa.

  “Yeah, he is.” Rissa sat up straighter and began to recite a list of AJ’s favorite charities and events. “On top of that,” she finished, “he also sponsors several annual sports camps and clinics for Special Olympics.”

  “Wow.” Way to make me feel selfish. Marlea thought of the cards and letters she had gotten from the children at the Runyon School—the ones she had yet to answer. I guess I know what I’ll be doing this afternoon.

  Licking apple butter from her fingers, Rissa couldn’t help herself. “AJ is really good at what he does. So do you like him?”