Dream Runner

by Gail McFarland

  “Marlea, you look wonderful.”

  How does he do it? Marlea wondered. Dressed in a bright jailhouse orange jumpsuit and obviously worn tennis shoes, Parker Reynolds entered the sterile visitor’s area with all the grace and aplomb of a gentleman in his drawing room.

  Wary, she watched him take a seat in the ugly green vinyl chair across the steel table from her. Her eyes went from his neatly shaved, much leaner face to the round, brown face of his portly police escort. The officer tried to look bored, as if he had done this hundreds of times, but this visit promised to be interesting and he didn’t quite succeed.

  This particular prisoner had only been here for a few weeks, and he hadn’t had a lot of visitors. His attorney of record, Charles Dexter, came regularly, but the officer guessed that the big-bucks lawyer wasn’t paying social calls. He was earning his fat fees. But the buxom sister who flirted her way past the guards was kind of a surprise. She didn’t look like this prisoner’s type at all, even though she claimed she was the doctor’s fiancée, or feeansay, as she called it. Whatever she was to the man, all anybody could think was pump the booty as she swung by. Well, that and knowing that the doctor must have been praying for conjugal visits from his Desireé.

  The only other visitor Parker Reynolds had was an elegant, silver-haired, butter-colored woman, with a full entourage and the kind of demeanor and voice that meant she never had to use the words, ‘I’m better than you.’ She just took it for granted that she was, and people let her.

  It was rumored that the refined and genteel woman was his mother. She only came once, she and her retinue, but word at the desk was that she had reduced the prisoner to a quivering mass. Probably was his mother, the thick officer decided.

  “I’m sure you’re wondering why I requested this meeting,” Parker began, his doctor’s persona exerting itself. “You see before you a much-humbled man, and I beg your forgiveness.”

  “Oh, sure. You got any spare toes in your pocket?”

  Parker dropped his eyes and a small muscle ticked in his cheek. “I suppose I deserve that.”

  “You do? When did you grow a conscience? You certainly didn’t have one before you got caught.”

  The officer shuffled his feet in the corner, angling to see better. This slender, good-looking woman had some fire in her, and he didn’t plan to miss a single word she said.

  “Marlea,” Parker passed a suddenly shaky hand over his badly shaven face. “I did feel bad, especially when I got to know you. It’s just that this thing, this accident—and it was an accident—it took on a life of its own.” Entreating, he held out his hand, but lowered his eyes when she recoiled. “I know you don’t believe me, but I never knew how to tell you.”

  “Dr. Reynolds. Parker. Why did you do surgery on me? You knew what you had done, and still, you used a knife on me. What if I had died?”

  Weak-eyed, Parker shook his head. “But you didn’t die. I was on duty that day, and I may not be good at a lot of things, but I am a competent surgeon. I was in rotation, and it was my job to give you the best possible care I could, anyway. You weren’t meant to die, Marlea—not that day, and not by my hand.”

  “So now you’re God’s agent? Why did you do it?”

  “I was…weak…afraid. I didn’t know what else to do.”

  Marlea looked at the officer who moved closer, standing directly behind Parker’s chair. “You know, I’m not even sure why I agreed to come here today. I’ve had to learn a lot and make a lot of adjustments in my life—and not by choice. So the only question I have left for you is, what did you get out of all this?”

  “I suppose you could say that I’ve had to learn to stand up and be a man.” Parker’s left shoulder rose and fell in a halting shrug. “My mother talked to the judge, you know, but it didn’t do a lot of good. It was Judge Barrett. He lost his wife and daughter in a hit-and-run accident last year, so he didn’t look kindly on me—even with my family name and my mother’s intervention.” Parker trailed a finger along the edge of the table. “Maybe it was because of my family. Anyway, he denied Dexter’s motion to have me serve all of my misdemeanor sentences concurrently. I’ll be here for eighteen months, then I’ll do house arrest for a full thirty-six more months. Four and a half years to serve, and I won’t be able to practice medicine for a total of five years.”

  “It took you less than a minute to run me into a wall,” Marlea said softly.

  “And now I’m paying for it. Marlea, I’m sorry.” He dropped his head heavily to his chest. “What will you do next?”

  “Go back to teaching. What else can I do?”

  “You can run. It’s a part of your gift, Marlea.”

  “I ran a 10K a little while ago, but it wasn’t the same as the 400.” She noticed the high-barred window in the room for the first time, and wondered why the building’s designer had even bothered. Nearly six feet off the floor, what could anyone see out of it?

  Parker’s brow furrowed and his lips turned down. “Marlea, does this mean you haven’t tried to run the 400 since the surgery? Why hasn’t Yarborough tried it with you?”

  “Maybe because the 400 requires toes. The need for weight balance is huge, not to mention the overall demand on the forefoot…but, you already know that, don’t you?”

  Parker pushed his chair back from the metal table between them and peered under it. The watching officer looked, too. Straightening, Parker looked at Marlea. “You’ve seen a pedorthist, and you’ve been fitted for shoes.” He pointed beneath the table. “Those work for you?” Barely waiting for her nod, he demanded, “You have running shoes, too?” She nodded again, and Parker threw up both hands. “Then why in the world isn’t he training you?”

  “You’ve got a lot of nerve quizzing me. What are you talking about—AJ training me? For what?”

  “For the 400, Marlea. You can still run it. You can still compete.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Marlea’s whisky-toned eyes went back to the high little window and she understood why it was there: to prevent hopelessness. At least thought could hope for the promise of freedom that the body couldn’t yet achieve.

  “Marlea, I do know what I’m talking about, though I don’t know all the particulars. You might not qualify for Olympic gold, but what about the Paralympics? Have you thought of that?”

  “No, I never really thought about the Paralympics. I mean, I know that they run every four years and that disabled athletes compete, but I never thought…”

  “You should.” Eager, Parker leaned forward. “I’ll bet they run the 400 and that you could qualify. It would be a chance for you to run competitively again.”

  Qualify? Run competitively again? Something in her heart stirred, and logic tried to beat it into submission. I don’t want any special treatment. All I ever wanted was to be the best, but this…The dream reared its head and she almost felt the rush of the wind against her heated skin. “How do you qualify?”

  “I’m not sure, but there most certainly has to be a Website.”

  * * *

  She hit ‘search’ again and stared in fascination as the site swirled into brilliance on the flat monitor. “Are you sure of the spelling, Libby? It’s para, not paro?”

  “I’m positive.” Libby’s confident voice rang out from the speaker. “Tell you the truth, the only thing I’m not positive about is what brought about this interest in the Paralympics.”

  “I had a chance to talk to someone who brought up the topic. AJ and I discussed it, and decided that we needed to know more.”

  “I see,” Libby hummed. “Did ‘we’ decide what event you would search?”

  Marlea turned to AJ. He grinned and leaned back into the depths of his chair, checking the pages Marlea had already printed from sites she had found.

  “We’re looking at the 400, of course. I talked to Adrian Kessler this morning, and he wants to know if I would consider a series of articles based on my training and centered on female athletes and sports rehab
issues. I told him I would, and I figure that if the Paralympics has an event and I can qualify, I think it would be…a good thing.”

  “It sounds like you’ve already made up your mind about this ‘good thing’.”

  Marlea tried not to hear the implications lurking behind Libby’s words. The computer search list jumped to life on the screen. Marlea checked the bottom of the page—more than thirty pages of results. “You were right.”

  “Have you decided on a coach yet? You know, I’m still mostly in Florida these days.” She sounded as if she already knew the answer.

  “I actually do have a candidate in mind, someone that I have the utmost confidence in.” Pulling another copy from the printer, Marlea stood and flipped through the sheets. Satisfied that she had them all, she turned to drop into the chair facing AJ.

  “That would be AJ, right?”

  “Who else?”

  Libby hummed. “Just don’t get hurt, Marlea.”

  “Jealous, Libby?” AJ smiled and pulled Marlea’s bare feet into his lap.

  Libby cleared her throat loudly over the line. “Not me, because y’all are both grown, but I swear if you weren’t at home, I would have to tell you to get a room.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Marlea sank low in her chair, almost ready to purr when AJ stroked her sole.

  “Yeah, you do. I can hear it in your voice, and I don’t have to be subject to your lust. I’m hanging up now.”

  “Now, look what you did,” Marlea teased, moving her foot in AJ’s lap.

  “Me?” He looked down at his lap and her probing toes, then up at her with barely disguised glee on his face. “Hard to believe that just a few months ago, you were barely able to let yourself dream of walking again, Silk, and now here we are planning a competitive run.”

  “I can’t think of anyone I would rather do it with.”

  “You talking about running?”

  Her sensitive foot moved again, making him gasp. “That, too,” she said.

  Chapter 27

  Cascade Center, NY

  AJ, I don’t know about this. Even with all they had done—finding the application, getting medical documentation, submitting verification on the shoes she wore to run, and the endless training—it was scary. What if I can’t make a legal start? What if I fall again? I haven’t fallen in more than six weeks, but as nervous as I am, it could happen again.

  Think positive, she admonished herself, but it was hard.

  It’s been a long time. I said that, and AJ said I was scared. I’m not scared. I just don’t want to fail—him or me. Marlea jigged from foot to foot, tried to shake the tension out of her shoulders and legs, and hoped none of the other women in the locker room would notice her jitters. Around her, women in various stages of undress paid her little or no attention.

  Bending over her gym bag, Marlea pulled out her shoes and socks, looking at them as though they had appeared out of thin air. These are the same kind of socks and shoes I’ve trained in. They’re not magic. The magic is going to have to come from my heart and my feet. That’s what AJ said.

  I hope to God he’s right.

  Her stomach cramped abruptly and she dropped a shoe—not a good sign.

  A slender hand, skin bright as polished brass, caught the shoe before it hit the floor. “I can only stay a minute, but AJ thought it might help to see a familiar face before you ran, and they wouldn’t let him in here,” Rissa grinned, dropping to the bench beside Marlea.

  “How am I gonna run if you hang onto my shoe?”

  Rissa pulled at the shoestring then handed the shoe back. “The way you always do, girl.” She slipped an arm around Marlea’s shoulders and squeezed. “You’re gonna run like it’s the only thing in the world. I’ve watched you, and I know you can do it. AJ made me hold the stopwatch when he ran with you, remember? I know you’re fast—even if you don’t.” She squeezed her shoulder again. “Oh, and I have something for you. It was delivered right after you left the house, and I know you’re going to want it.”

  Curious, Marlea accepted the small white envelope and slit the flap cautiously. She took her time shaking the single page free. Opening it, she found a narrow bracelet, red, yellow, and orange yarn braided into a diamond pattern. “This has to be from one of my kids.”

  “You would know for sure if you read the note.”

  “Thanks, Rissa. I can always count on you to point out the obvious.” She ignored Rissa’s wrinkled face and began reading:

  Hi Miss Kellogg,

  My mom showed me your picture in the paper. It made me very proud, especially when they said that you were not a quitter and that you were going to run again. Looks like the sun really has come up for you. I made this bracelet so you would remember how much I love you. When you run, I think it will help you win.

  Your friend,

  Katie Charles

  PS: Don’t forget to smile when you cross the finish line!

  “Hey, that’s one of your kids, right? You gonna wear the bracelet?” Without waiting for an answer, Rissa seized the bracelet. “Hold out your arm.”

  “Like I have a choice.” Marlea extended her arm obediently and Rissa twisted the yarn into place.

  The small talisman seemed to work instantly. Marlea’s stomach stopped grinding and her heart lifted. “I can do this.” She pulled her shorts and shirt from the bag, then plunged her hand into the depths again and found her bra. “You need to go find your seat and deliver a message for me. You tell AJ for me that I’m about to blow the dust off this old field.”

  “Wow.” Relieved to see the change of attitude, a newly relaxed Rissa asked, “Anybody ever tell you that you’re sexy when you’re psyched?”

  “Yeah.” Marlea stood and unzipped her sweat jacket. “Your brother.”

  “And you believed him?” Rissa ducked when Marlea draped her jacket over her head.

  “Every time.”

  * * *

  Exhaling slowly, Marlea counted eight beats and then sucked in another big breath and let it course through her long, lean frame. Exhaling again, she pushed through the heavy metal door and stood outside. Cool, early-fall morning air pricked at her skin, raising goose bumps and her spirits. She fingered the yarn bracelet and squared her shoulders.

  Ahead of her, on a slight rise, she could see the track and the field. “Dang, I’m thirty-four and ready to giggle like an eight-year-old just because I get a chance to run.”

  “Me, too.” Tall as Marlea and thin as a racehorse, the other woman smiled. “Kendra Asaou,” she said, offering her hand. “This is your first race? I have not seen you before.”

  Marlea smiled. “Not my first race, but my first race since my…accident.”

  “The first one coming back is always a little hard.” Stepping back, setting her hands against her lean hips, Kendra’s black eyes roamed over Marlea. “What has changed? You look perfect—and fast.”

  “I’m an amputee,” Marlea said, surprised that she didn’t stutter. “I lost two toes in my accident.”

  Kendra’s eyed Marlea’s feet, inspecting her shoes. “Ah. What do you run?”

  “The 400. What’s your event?”

  “Hundred meters and relay. The 400 is too much for me.” Kendra ran a hand over her short, tight afro. “You said you had an accident?”

  “Yes, it was a hit-and-run car accident. My car was struck, hit the wall, and I wound up in surgery. ”

  “The loss of the toes must wreak havoc on your balance and speed. You must be very strong, and one hell of a runner.” Kendra realized that Marlea’s eyes looked expectant. “Oh, me? I was raised in Canada, had an accident on my family’s farm when I was sixteen. It’s my leg, and believe me, I missed out on a lot of dances and races.” She patted her thigh, the sound muffled by her long sweat pants. She smiled brightly when she saw the look on Marlea’s face.

  “I make my home in Florida now, though. The last name is my husband’s.”

  “You’re married? What about…�
��

  “The prosthesis?” Kendra laughed. “My Paul couldn’t care less about what I don’t have. He loves everything about me that he does have. I love him, too. Mostly because he taught me to celebrate the blessings.” She put a hand on Marlea’s arm. “I kind of think that that’s the reason we get challenges like this, so that we know what to appreciate in this life.” She leaned close and whispered. “I know what you’re thinking. And no, sex has never been a problem. Know what I mean?”

  Marlea grinned and looked at her feet. She thought of AJ and blushed. “Uh, yeah, I think I do know what you mean.”

  “Oh, you’re that lucky, are you?” Laughing, Kendra squeezed Marlea’s arm.

  A loudspeaker blared from the field. “Oh, my. Just when the conversation was getting interesting.” Kendra looked annoyed. “They’re calling the warm-up for my race.” She gripped Marlea’s hand and shook hard. “Best of luck on your race. Hope we’ll meet again.”

  “Me, too. Best of luck, Kendra, and let’s both qualify for the U.S. team.” Marlea had just enough time to wave as the other woman trotted to the field. “Qualify for the U.S. team. Least I’m not dreaming small.”

  Visualizing herself heading for a lane and bending to the blocks, Marlea’s fingers twisted the yarn bracelet as she concentrated on what it would feel like to release the power and run. I can do this. Sliding her hands over her sleek head, she walked to her assigned area. Ponytail intact, she tried to focus, to recall Libby’s mind/body routine.

  “Marlea!” For a moment, it seemed she had heard her name, but it was so far away, too far away to distinguish as she bent to stretch. “Marlea!” She looked up into the mass of faces above her and was struck by the abundance of movement and color.

  “Silk?”

  In her ears, the nickname made a sound like no other and claimed her immediate attention. Her head jerked high, and she saw him.

  “You know I had to bribe two security guards to get this close?”

  “But am I worth it?” Marlea straightened and jammed her fists against her hips.

  “What kind of question is that? You know you are.” AJ reached down from the stands, his fingers just close enough to brush the tips of hers. Truth was, he had handed over a couple of hundred in cash and signed a dozen autographs. But he would never complain, not when it earned him the look that danced in the liquid depths of her eyes and the smile that dawned on her face when she saw him.