by Gun Brooke
“Of course, ma’am.” The woman turned to Lark again. “Does she want this gift wrapped?”
“Why don’t you ask her? There’s nothing wrong with her mind.” Lark also became annoyed, even if she’d seen or heard worse than this while she was out and about with patients.
“Oh. I see. I apologize. Would you like it gift wrapped, ma’am?”
“Yes, please.” Sheridan’s expression was still cool.
The clerk hurried through the wrapping and charged the set of twelve silver teaspoons to Sheridan’s credit card. “There you go, ma’am. I apologize again for the misconception.”
Sheridan’s eyes finally grew warmer. “Live and learn, miss.” Sheridan shrugged. “We all forget that we should never assume. Just remember that the next time.”
“Point taken.” The girl blushed deeply, and Lark watched with fascination how quickly she fluctuated between nervous condescension and fluster.
Outside, Lark searched Sheridan’s face for signs of how she felt and knew she had to say something. “You handled that well.”
“Even I’m amazed, actually. I’m more known for biting people’s heads off. I usually don’t have any patience for fools.”
Sheridan’s pensive expression tugged at something buried deeply inside Lark. “Maybe you’ve realized that people are often ignorant, but seldom deliberately malicious.”
Sheridan blinked. “Yeah, you’re probably right. I’ve always thought that people just don’t focus, that they’re usually pretty oblivious to what life can bring. I believed they could get so much more if they only had the energy, or stamina, to reach for it.”
“And now?”
“I never quite understood before that people are different, I mean, in what they find important or desirable.” Sheridan began to roll along the sidewalk. “There’s a restaurant just around the corner that I think you’ll like. They have great seafood. All right with you?”
“Sure.” Lark didn’t want Sheridan to stop talking, but knew they couldn’t very well discuss this topic on the street with hundreds of people brushing by them. “I’ve worked up an appetite.”
A waiter guided them to a corner table and pulled out a chair without a word, to make room for Sheridan’s wheelchair. The menu included almost all of Lark’s favorite seafood, and it took her a while to choose. “I’ll have the salmon pasta, please,” she finally decided and handed the menu back to the waiter. Sheridan ordered her food, a similar dish but with shrimp, then leaned back, rolling her shoulders discreetly.
“You in pain?” Lark said, frowning.
“No. Just a bit stiff.”
“I’ll give you a massage when we’re home. You’ve worked hard the last week, and maybe we’ve been over-eager.”
“I don’t think so. I feel fine. We’d better take advantage of these weeks.”
“True. But overdoing it won’t make you stronger or give you results quicker. Just the opposite, in fact.”
“You’re the expert.” Sheridan raised her glass of iced tea. “To mutual success.”
“To success.” After sipping her water, Lark said, “So, tell me, what do you think about your new ideas regarding people’s imperfections?”
“Oh, that.” Sheridan’s laugh was brief and tinged with surprise. “I honestly can’t say. If I had to guess, though, I’d say my illness, coming completely out of the blue like it did, was life-altering.”
“I know it was. It would’ve been strange if it wasn’t.”
“Before then, I had my own idea about people who ‘succumbed’ to illness. Shows what a hypocrite I am.”
“What made you draw such conclusions in the first place?” Lark let her fingers trace the rim of her glass and wipe off the condensation on its sides.
“Many things. Being a Ward, for one. Wards bear it. They’re never sick. And if they are sick, they clench their teeth, say ‘screw you’ to any docs that suggest any treatment, and just push through.” Bitterness snuck into Sheridan’s voice. “Wards are inhuman, if you want the truth. We don’t need any help, and we certainly don’t show any discomfort or pain.”
“But that’s completely unreasonable!” Lark was shocked. She’d suspected that Ward traditions were behind Sheridan’s attitude, but to hear them put in such uncertain terms was something entirely different. “To teach a child that a person is to blame for his own illness or disability is beyond inhuman. I don’t mean to criticize your parents—”
“My daddy. My mother was a saint. She stood by his side, always defending him, and I don’t mean to make her sound weak. In fact, my mother was the strongest woman I’ve ever met.” Sheridan’s eyes darkened. “She lived two years longer than the doctors estimated, on sheer willpower. She showed true Ward grit, but my father couldn’t even admit that. He kept saying that if she stopped seeing those ‘quacks’ she’d be a lot better off. Fortunately she didn’t do as he said, but he made it so difficult for her with all his disapproval and nagging.”
The waiter showed up with their food and they ate in silence for a few minutes. “Did your mother let you in? I mean, did she level with you?”
“Yes, she did. This of course only annoyed my father more, and he tried to make my mother stop. Once in a while he’d tell me her illness was mostly in her head.”
“Oh, God.” Lark shook her head. “How did he handle being ill? I mean, after all he’d said before?”
Sheridan looked genuinely cynical. “He claimed that he was experiencing a temporary lapse and denied his condition completely. Business as usual, you could say.”
“But you stayed.”
“I honestly didn’t know what to do at first.” Sheridan speared a steamed shrimp and chewed it carefully. “I had my life and my friends in Boston. I had job offers constantly, head hunters who offered me the moon and then some. But when I saw Daddy, pale, thin, and so determined to work himself to death, my choice wasn’t difficult at all. I’d already lost one parent. I didn’t want to lose him. Not without us being on speaking terms at least.”
“So what happened?”
Sheridan laughed, and now her smile was soft and kind. “During the following few years he made me work in every executive position. When he finally gave me the office next to his, I knew I’d gained his approval, perhaps even his pride. He…he actually kissed my cheek. Just that time, and only once, but I’ll never forget it.”
“And hearing this, hearing you be so clear-sighted, it still bothers me that you can be so Ward-like, so like your father, when it comes to the aftermath of your illness.” Completely absorbed with the topic, Lark put down her utensils and leaned across the table. “Why can’t, or couldn’t, you see this trend in your own reactions?”
“Oh, don’t think for a minute I acted only like my father would have expected. There’s a difference. The Ward industry, its future, its success, lies on my shoulders. My responsibility. I have no close relatives, no heirs. I have nobody that I can turn the company over to, in whole or in part. Ward Industries employs approximately 210,000 people worldwide that I—me, nobody else—am ultimately responsible for. No matter what happens or who screws up, the buck stops at my desk. So…” Sheridan extended the last word and placed her hand over Lark’s, squeezing it for emphasis, “perhaps you can understand that I can’t show weakness, perceived or real, and I have to get back on my feet, metaphorically and physically speaking. I have to.”
“I see.” Lark’s heart plummeted as she realized, for the first time, Sheridan’s point of view. This explains why she doesn’t even relate to what her neurologists have predicted. Lark wondered how Sheridan would react when reality hit, which it would, sooner or later. One day, and this would happen within the upcoming weeks, or months, she would realize that her legs would never obey her again. Granted, she had undamaged neural paths that could take over lost functions to a degree, but any hope of a full recovery was a sad delusion. There was no way Lark would discuss that topic over lunch in a crowded room. She thought quickly of what more to say and
had opened her mouth when a female voice cut in.
“Sheri, honey, you’re back!” A whirlwind, consisting of a thin, blond woman, leaned down and kissed Sheridan on the cheek. “What have you been up to, gorgeous?”
“Hi, Fergie.” Sheridan had paled considerably, but still managed to smile politely. “Didn’t think you frequented this type of place. Isn’t it too bourgeois for you?”
Her words were abrupt, and Lark expected the other woman to be offended, but to her surprise, Fergie just laughed.
“You know me well. Gaby and Mo’s is more my thing, but I was shopping for a present for my mom, and…Oh, I’m being ruder than usual. Please introduce me. Who is this doe-eyed creature?”
Lark felt her eyes grow wide as she stared at Fergie with her black leather slacks, black T-shirt, and black leather vest, along with black tribal tattoos on her wrists. Fergie in turn looked appreciatively at Lark, raking her eyes up and down her body.
“Lark, this is Fergie, a friend of mine. Fergie, this is Lark, my…associate.” Sheridan tripped over the last word, and Lark tried to figure out why she’d become “promoted.”
“Nice to meet you, Fergie,” Lark said and extended her hand.
Fergie took it, and before Lark realized her intentions, she had placed a feather-light kiss on her knuckles. “My pleasure,” she murmured, nailing Lark with intense green eyes.
Sheridan had clearly not missed Fergie’s overly polite gesture. “Behave now, Fergie.”
“I am. This is me on my best behavior.” Fergie winked at Lark. “You should know that.”
“Guess so.”
Fergie’s eyes dropped to the floor, and her quick intake of breath made Lark realize that until now the exuberant woman hadn’t realized that anything was wrong with her friend.
“Sheri? What’s happened to you?” Without asking, she pulled up a free chair and sat down, her face devoid of all flirtation or teasing. “Honey?”
“I’ve been ill. But I’m feeling better.” Sheridan looked uncomfortable, but her smile was indulgent, if a bit forced.
“When did this happen? Babe, you should’ve told us. We’re your friends, even if you don’t come around as much as you used to. We would’ve helped.”
“Thanks, Fergie, but I don’t think so. I know you’re my friend, as are the other girls, but I had so much on my plate, too much to handle, to spread myself too thin. I’ve just begun to move about this effortlessly.” Sheridan glanced at Lark, and the look didn’t pass Fergie by.
“So I take it Lark here is more than an associate. She’s the one who stands in for your friends?”
Sheridan looked flabbergasted by the sudden tone of jealousy and hostility Fergie showed toward her. This after having flirted insistently only a minute ago.
“Fergie. You know I’m a private person who doesn’t move in the fast lane like some of the crowd we hang with. I enjoy it when we’re together, but I always withdraw when it becomes too wild. That’s simply not my thing. I was trying to…well, fly under the radar a bit. Lark is my physical therapist.”
“Your…oh!” Warmth returned to Fergie’s features. “Sorry ’bout the lousy attitude, Lark. I can be such a bitch.”
“Apology accepted.” Lark had to smile. Fergie’s immediate reactions were fascinating. She seemed to be one of those people who didn’t hold anything back. An unruly, confrontational, and no doubt eccentric woman. And she’s Sheridan’s friend? It was hard to judge Fergie’s age, but Lark thought she had to be a couple of years younger than herself. “We all have days like that.”
“Days?” Fergie huffed with a sparkling smile. “Try weeks, months even. I’m surprised that Sheri wants to be friends with someone like me. But I suppose the girls and I have shown you a good time or two.” She winked at Sheridan, who suddenly blushed faintly.
Fergie laughed loudly. “Damn, never seen you blush so sweetly! Could it be because we’re in the presence of the lovely Ms. Lark? Perhaps you’re worried that I’ll share all our hot and steamy memories.”
Sheridan, looking flustered and with her lips pressed tightly together, glowered at her. “Fergie.”
“I know. I know. Behave. I’ll start now.” Fergie sighed. “But let me know when you want to hang out with the gang. Drew especially misses you. She says the rest of us are ignorant babies without any culture or manners.”
“She has a point.” Sheridan shook her head.
“So, don’t be a stranger. And feel better, gorgeous.” Fergie leaned forward and kissed Sheridan lightly on the lips.
Lark clenched her fists under the table as jealousy stabbed her in the chest. If she hadn’t known better, she would’ve sworn it made a resounding thud when it buried itself to the hilt.
“See you around, ladies.” Fergie rose and left with a casual wave. “Ciao!”
Silence hung between Sheridan and Lark like morning mist over Lake Travis. Lark studied the half-melted ice cubes in her glass and drew patterns in the condensation, as she had before.
“That was Fergie,” Sheridan said superfluously. “A friend from here.”
“I guessed as much.” The green monster still clawed at Lark’s midsection, the sensation surpassed only by the strong conviction that she was being ridiculous.
“We used to hang out, with some mutual friends. You know. The bar scene.” Sheridan shrugged.
“Actually, I don’t. Not much for bars.” Why was her tongue so stiff all of a sudden?
“No? What do you do for fun then?” Sheridan finished her iced tea only to have it refilled as soon as she put her glass down.
“Dinner. A movie. Walks. Sometimes dancing. Guess that sounds boring.”
Sheridan regarded her for several seconds. “Actually it sounds nice, when done with the right person. Laid back and relaxing.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“You’ll do fun things again, even bars.” Lark wanted to reassure Sheridan, despite her mixed emotions. It wasn’t Sheridan’s fault that she attracted interest from several women. Lark guessed that Austin had been a safe haven of sorts, away from her strict business circles in San Antonio.
“Somehow I doubt it,” Sheridan sighed. “I haven’t even missed it.”
“You’ll get that feeling back.”
“I may not want to.” Sheridan looked intently at Lark, then waved the waiter over. She paid the bill without listening to any of Lark’s objections and began to wheel out of the restaurant.
Lark caught up with her on the sidewalk. “Hey. Wait up.”
“I had to go outside. The walls were suddenly falling in.” Sheridan seemed out of breath. “Weird.”
Lark’s jealousy, seeming very petty now, evaporated. “Let’s go home. I’ll call for the car.”
“Good.” Sweat formed beads on Sheridan’s forehead and she began to lean in her wheelchair. “I don’t feel very well.”
“I’ve got you.” Lark stood next to Sheridan with an arm around her shoulders and squeezed gently. “Just breathe, sweetie. Just breathe.”
Sheridan leaned her head against Lark’s hip as Lark pulled out her cell phone, dialed the driver, and asked him to bring the car to their location. Sweetie? God Almighty, what was I thinking?
Chapter Seventeen
“Fetch, Frank, come on! Get the ball!”
Sheridan pulled her baseball cap down a bit to shade her eyes. She didn’t want to miss a thing as the game unfolded on the lawn. Her Irish setter, still so hesitant around her, had fallen madly in love with Lark. He followed her everywhere, often after a suspicious glance in Sheridan’s direction. Lark wasn’t overly affectionate with him. Instead she seemed set on exercising him and making sure he was walked. The Johnsons mostly let him run loose on the grounds, which according to Lark wasn’t enough.
They had discussed the situation a few days earlier. “My youngest sister has two German shepherds that she’s taken to several obedience classes. She’s a strong believer in positive reinforcement. Also, if you want to catch a
dog’s attention, you have to exercise him properly. Several walks a day, at least one long one.”
“Well, that kind of excludes me,” Sheridan had said with a smirk to hide the sting in her heart. “I’ll ask Burt if I can add this to his duties.”
“Burt’s a strong man. He can lift things and does a great job around the house. He has rheumatism though, in his knees, which limits his ability to walk a dog properly. Mrs. Johnson has high blood pressure, so that’s not a good solution either.”
“Damn, I’ll have to think of something else, then. I’ve heard of professional dog walkers, but I don’t know if they operate out here by the lake.”
“In the meantime, let me take care of him. At least while you work.”
“You wouldn’t mind?”
“I’d be happy to.”
Lark’s expression had lit up, and now she worked and exercised Frank on a daily basis. Sheridan tried to convince herself that being jealous was completely ridiculous. She knew that dogs related to people around them in a very basic way. Frank wasn’t betraying anyone. He’d simply found a new friend in Lark, one who could run with him.
Sheridan’s throat ached, and she had begun to wheel back toward the house when Lark’s voice stopped her.
“Sheridan! Wait! Check this out.”
“All right.” Sheridan turned around, a polite smile firmly in place.
“I want to show you something.” Lark sat Frank down and walked toward Sheridan. Halfway there, she dropped something white on the grass. She stopped, looked down at the item, then over at Frank. “Frank, I dropped it. Pick it up. Pick it up!”
Sheridan frowned as her free-spirited dog looked inquisitively at Lark. He wagged his tail, clearly eager to do something.
“Come on, pick it up, Frank.”
Frank bounced across the lawn and stopped in front of Lark so fast he tore up part of the grass. He dove onto the object and sat down, wagging his tail vigorously.
“Thank you, Frank. Good boy, good boy.” Lark held up the object to Sheridan. “See? He fetched my pack of tissues!”
