Sara puts down the tests and shuts the drawer. She turns to Oliver. “I hate kids?”
“That’s what you’ve always said.”
“Why would I hate kids?” she asks.
“Dunno. Never thought to ask since I’m not too fond of the little buggers myself.”
“Sara,” Donovan says. “Maybe you could find a few things to take back with you. You know, reminders of home. It might help you feel more connected for when you come back for good.”
She looks around the room. “I don’t know what to take.” She turns to Oliver. “What do I like?”
He goes into the closet and comes out with a purse. “Your Prada bag,” he says. “It’s your favorite. Oh, and there’s something in the kitchen as well.”
We follow him out into the other room and watch as he pulls a large wine goblet from a display cabinet. “You got this from a bona fide Sheik in Saudi Arabia. It’s rimmed with actual gold. It’s the only wine glass you drink out of. You said it’s because the other wine glasses weren’t good enough to be held by such talented fingers.” He picks up her hand and kisses her fingertips. “And you were right.”
He plucks a throw blanket off the couch. “And this. Go ahead, feel it.” He holds it out to her.
“Oh, wow. It’s so soft,” she says. “I love this.”
“You’d better. You had it custom made. You sent it back twice before they made it to your expectations.”
She studies the blanket. “What were my expectations?”
“That it be softer than butter so it wouldn’t scratch your sensitive skin.”
“I …” She looks at Donovan and me, embarrassed. “I sent it back? Twice?”
He wraps the blanket around her shoulders. “Nothing is too good for you, luv.”
Oliver wraps the goblet in paper and packs the three items into a bag. “There,” he says, handing it to her. “All the comforts of home.”
She takes the bag from him, but it slips out of her grip and falls to the floor. I cringe waiting to hear the crack of what might very well be a priceless wine glass.
Donovan picks up her bag. “You’re getting tired,” he says. “We should get going.”
Oliver’s phone rings. He seems irritated when he looks at the screen. “I’ve got to take this,” he says. “I won’t be but a minute.”
He walks into the bedroom and shuts the door. We hear a few muffled shouts. The three of us look at each other and shrug. Then Oliver comes back into the room to see us staring at him.
“Who was that?” Sara asks.
“That? It was Ben … uh, nobody.”
“Who’s Ben?”
“I told you, he’s nobody. Do you have everything you need, hun?”
Sara looks frustrated by his lack of explanation.
“Just one more thing,” Sara says, pointing to her studio. “Do you mind helping me? I feel a little unsteady on my feet.”
Oliver helps her into the studio and they gather some more paint and brushes before we leave.
On the street, as we wait for our cab, Sara eyes something in a storefront window. I turn around to see a Nighthawks display. Sara looks over at me and smiles.
Oliver looks annoyed. “What is it with you and baseball? First you wear those silly baseball shirts. Then you ask me to tune the telly to ESPN to catch a game. And now, you’re drooling over a storefront display.”
Sara shrugs. “I just like baseball, I guess.”
He looks amused. “I wonder what other surprises you’ve got in store for me.”
“I could get you some tickets to a game, you know,” I tell them. “I’ve got connections.”
“Oh, I’d love to see a game in person. Wouldn’t that be fun, Ollie?”
He smiles at her correct use of his nickname. “I suppose it could be rather fun if that’s what you want.”
“Can we, Donovan?” Sara asks with excitement.
“You mean before you return home?”
“Yes. Another field trip. Come on, I did good today, didn’t I?”
“You did great,” he says. “Going to your apartment is one thing, Sara. A baseball game will be crowded. You could be pushed down. I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”
“Not if we’re in a suite.” I say.
Donovan’s jaw drops. “You could get us into a suite? I thought you were a fireman.”
“I am. But my brother-in-law plays baseball and two of his best friends play for the Hawks.”
“Tickets for four?” Donovan asks.
I look at Sara. “That’s up to Sara.”
She nods. “Tickets for four.”
“I’ll set it up.”
“Thank you,” she says.
“Yes, thank you,” Donovan adds, looking almost as excited as Sara.
Our cab arrives and Oliver pulls Sara close. “I’ll see you tonight, luv. Any requests for dinner?”
“Anything but tofu.”
He laughs and then leans down to give her a peck on the lips. She lets him. Oliver looks at me to see if I noticed before helping Sara into the cab. As Donovan climbs in behind her, Oliver asks them to wait for a second.
He pulls me aside. “You’re coming on kind of strong, don’t you think, mate?”
“Come again?”
“You know. The baseball tickets. The shirts. The pizza and the cheeseburgers. Maybe you should give it a rest. She’s not your fiancée, after all, now is she?”
“I’m not doing anything she doesn’t want me to do, Oliver.”
“Remember the promise you made to me the day we met? What was it you said? That you wouldn’t step on my toes? Well, if I took my shoes off right now, you’d see that my feet are nearly flat with all the bloody stepping you’ve been doing. I need you to back off. I need you to back off so she has a chance at becoming the woman she once was. Don’t you think you owe her that?”
I look into the cab to see Sara staring at me impatiently. I think about the kiss that she allowed moments ago. And I know that he’s right.
I nod at him as I duck into the back seat, making sure to keep Donovan in the middle.
Chapter Eighteen
222-555-7591: Hi, Denver. It’s Sara.
I find it difficult not to smile when I read the text. I don’t want to admit how hard it was to stay away from her today. To walk away from her this morning. I didn’t know what to do with myself. For three weeks now, if I haven’t been at work, I’ve been by her side. But this morning at her apartment, I realized that’s not my place anymore. Maybe it never was.
I quickly add her name to my contacts.
Me: You got a phone!
Sara: Oliver brought me one today. At least phones haven’t changed much in the past three years.
Me: They’ve just gotten a lot more expensive.
Sara: You left awfully quickly this morning. I wanted to see if everything was okay.
I look down into my half-empty beer bottle, searching my mind for an explanation.
Me: I had to help a friend.
Sara: Well, it’s something you’re good at. Helping friends seems to be your strong suit.
I watch Bass grab a beer from the kitchen on his way back from the bathroom. It’s a lie. I didn’t need to help a friend. Unless you call Oliver a friend and I’m helping him by staying away from his fiancée.
Sara: We’re friends, aren’t we, Denver?
Me: Of course.
Sara: So, you’d tell me if something is wrong.
Me: Nothing’s wrong, Sara.
Sara: Do you think you’ll be able to come by tomorrow? Nobody plays Go Fish as well as you do.
I laugh. How did that become our thing? A game five-year-olds play. But somehow, every time I visit, we end up playing.
I think about coming up with another excuse. Being called into work, maybe. I’m afraid, however, that if I miss seeing her two days in a row, it would be more than obvious. I don’t want to hurt her. She needs all the friends she can get. But I don’t like the way I’m starting to feel around her. Asp
en warned me about this. Hell, everyone warned me about this.
Oliver was right to ask me to back off. When I try to put myself in his shoes, I’d be pissed at me, too. I wouldn’t want another man spending that much time with my girl. Even if she’s not sure about him at the moment, she was before. She was in love with him.
Sara: Denver, what is it? Is everything okay?
Me: Everything’s fine. Any requests for lunch tomorrow?
Sara: Pizza.
Me: Pepperoni?
Sara: Is there any other kind?
I laugh.
Me: You got it. See you tomorrow, then.
Sara: Have a good night, Denver.
Me: You, too.
I put my phone down and find Bass staring at me. “Trouble in paradise?” he asks.
“Very funny,” I say, turning to watch the baseball game on TV. “Caden’s up.”
“Don’t change the subject,” he says.
“I wasn’t aware there was a subject.”
“That was Sara, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah. So?”
“So I can tell how much you care about her.”
“We’re friends,” I say.
He eyes me skeptically. “Are you sure that’s all there is to it?”
“Yes, I’m sure. She engaged, Bass.”
“To a man she doesn’t know. And you spend every waking minute together.”
“I haven’t seen her since this morning,” I say.
He laughs. “Yeah, I can tell. You’ve been in a piss-poor mood all night long.”
“No I haven’t.”
“Oh, but you have. Did you have some kind of falling out?”
“It’s not like that,” I say.
“Then tell me what it’s like, man. Because you’ve been acting so differently these past few weeks.”
“I have not.”
“Denver, cut the shit. Do you remember last year when I came back from Hawaii? Remember what a pain in the ass I was because I couldn’t be with the woman I loved?”
I get up off the couch and walk into the kitchen. Bass follows me.
I throw my beer bottle into the trash. “What the hell are you saying? You think I’m in love with her?”
“I’m just saying it’s like looking in a mirror, that’s all.”
“My situation with Sara is nothing like the one you had with Ivy.”
“There’s a situation?”
I twist off the top of another beer. “There’s no situation. I’m helping her with her rehabilitation. I’m being a friend to her. End of story. Now, if you’re done giving me the third degree, mind if we watch the rest of the game?”
He shakes his head. “Sure, brother. Whatever you want.”
~ ~ ~
Sara holds up her hand to stop me from walking into the room. “Wait!” she yells from the bed.
“What is it?”
“Just wait there,” she says.
I stand here holding the box of pizza as I watch her get out of bed by herself. By herself. Without any help from me or Donovan or a nurse. It takes her a minute to steady herself on her feet, but then she walks slowly over to me, her left leg dragging behind her right. She’s still weak on her left side.
She makes it all the way to me, takes the pizza box out of my hands, and then walks back across the room, putting the box on her table before sitting down in her chair.
She smiles proudly across the room at me. “Don’t tell Donovan I did that. He’s afraid I’ll fall. He still makes me wear this stupid belt. Says it’s required.”
I make a lock-and-key motion across my lips. “I won’t say a word. That was fantastic, Sara. You’ve made so much progress.”
She shrugs. “I won’t be running marathons anytime soon, but it’s an improvement.”
“I’m really proud of you,” I say, pulling a chair up next to hers. “I meant to tell you that yesterday when you got in the cab like you didn’t have a care in the world.”
“What do you mean?”
“After my parents’ accident, I was terrified of cars. I only got in them when absolutely necessary. For an entire year, I rode my bike to work. And that’s not easy to do in Kansas City, Missouri. You made me feel like a wimp when, not four weeks after your accident, you got into a car like it was no big deal.”
She shakes her head. “Why would I be scared, Denver? I don’t even remember the accident. One minute I was road-tripping with Lydia and the next, I was looking up at you, barely able to move or speak.”
I motion around her room. “Yeah, but you see what it did to you. It took years from your life. It made you forget the person who was most important to you. Doesn’t that make you angry? Aren’t you pissed at the world? At God?”
“I’ll admit it sucks having to learn to walk again.” She touches the right side of her head. “And I have a six-inch scar as a permanent reminder. And who knows if I’ll ever be able to paint again the way I once did. But the fact is, since I don’t remember those years, there’s nothing to be upset about.”
She nods to a bag in the corner of her room. I recognize it as the bag Oliver packed some of her things in yesterday. “That stuff—Prada bags, gold-rimmed wine glasses from Sheiks—that’s not me. I can’t believe it was ever me. I mean, I know I was a bit self-centered growing up, and maybe I was over-confident. But sending back a blanket two times because it ‘wasn’t soft enough for my sensitive skin?’ Who does that? And maybe I don’t want to be that person anymore. So, no, I’m not pissed at God. Maybe this is God’s way of making me the person I was meant to be before I got sidetracked.”
I grab some napkins and serve us each a slice of pizza.
“Well, I’m glad you forgot how much you liked tofu,” I say. “No way would I have put that on a pizza.”
She laughs. “Me, either.”
“How did it feel seeing your apartment yesterday?” I ask.
She glances back at the bag of stuff she didn’t unpack. “The only thing that really felt like home was my studio. Nothing else seemed right. That wasn’t my furniture. Those weren’t my clothes. It felt like I was in a stranger’s apartment.”
“I’m sorry. I hope it will get easier for you. I think it will.”
She nods. “Maybe. The good news is that something seemed to change with Oliver yesterday.”
“Change?”
“When he came for dinner last night, he let me feed myself. And he brought cheeseburgers.”
My eyes go wide. “He did?”
“And he brought me some more clothes. Clothes that fit. Go check them out.”
I walk to her closet and open it. I look at the shirts hanging on the rack. I pull one out and hold it up with raised brows. It’s a t-shirt with the flag of Great Britain on it. “Wow,” I say.
“That’s not even the worst one,” she says.
“Oh, Lord, there’s more?”
I pull out another one. “Viva las London?” I say, laughing as I read the front of the shirt.
Sara laughs with me. “Apparently Oliver has no fashion sense, but he’s trying. And he no longer makes me eat tofu or black beans, so that’s huge.”
I make a face. “Nobody should have to eat those.”
We finish our lunch and then Donovan comes to get Sara for her afternoon therapy. He has her trying to do squats and jumping jacks and other things that are very hard for her to do with her weak left side. On the surface, she seems almost back to normal. But when it comes right down to it, I realize she still has months of therapy. Maybe more. And she may never walk perfectly again. She may never run marathons. She may never paint.
It’s the last thought that worries me the most.
~ ~ ~
Back in Sara’s room, she settles into her bed, worn out from physical therapy.
“Something is wrong,” she says. “You’ve been acting differently all day. Is there something you aren’t telling me?”
I could lie to her on the phone, but somehow, I find it difficult to lie to her face.
/>
“This has something to do with Oliver, doesn’t it? When he pulled you aside at the cab yesterday, he said something. Or you did. But both of you changed after that.”
I contemplate telling her that he asked me to back off. But what good would that do anyone? The objective here is to acclimate her back into her life. Getting her mad at Oliver would not accomplish that. And besides, he’s just looking out for her. He loves her. He brought her cheeseburgers.
“I just told him I had more responsibilities I needed to deal with, and I wouldn’t be able to spend as much time with you.”
Huh. Turns out I can lie to her face.
“Oh.” She looks sadly at the deck of cards.
“Hey, that doesn’t mean I’m not going to visit,” I say. “I just can’t be here all the time. No biggie. You want to play cards?”
She shrugs. “I’m kind of worn out. I was hoping you could read to me.”
“But we finished the book a few days ago.”
“I have a new one. In fact, I have a lot of them.” She nods to a cloth bag next to the bed that I didn’t notice before.
I pull out some of the books and notice a familiar name. My eyes snap to hers. “Baylor came to see you?”
“She did. And she brought me those. Your friend Ivy came with her. That’s where the daisies came from. They said you were all out to dinner the other night and my name came up. What a coincidence that I was doing a painting for her.”
“I know. Small world, huh. And Sara, you are doing a painting for her, not were.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“I’m never wrong. You wouldn’t know that about me yet, but I’m not.”
“Oh, really? Now who’s being the self-centered one?” She laughs.
I peruse the blurbs on the back covers of Baylor’s books. “You don’t really want me to read you one of these, do you?”
“Sure. Why not?”
Sparking Sara (The Men on Fire Series) Page 16