When she looked up, Mark waved. Sarah wiggled her fingers. Her sheepish smile conveyed her embarrassment at being caught celebrating her success at remembering how to turn on the sewing machine.
Mark rounded the corner of the door. “Hi.”
Sarah giggled. “No one was supposed to see that.”
“What else do you remember?” Mark watched the extra flush on Sarah’s cheeks brighten the sparkle in her eyes as he crossed the room. No sign of the smudges of darkness that half-mooned her eyes on Wednesday.
Sarah lowered to the chair. “This is where I choose the stitch I want to sew with and this”—Sarah expertly lifted the lever behind the arm of the sewing machine—“lifts the presser foot.”
“A quick learner.”
“Remembering how to work the machine isn’t really sewing.” Sarah gave the machine a good once-over. “For example, how do you make it work after you turn it on?”
They hadn’t gotten that far the other night. “You run the machine with the foot feed on the floor, or some people put it beside the machine and use their forearm. Would you like me to demonstrate the machine for you?”
“I would, but do you have time? I don’t want to take you away from your business.”
“Actually, my sales floor shift ended at four. I stuck around to do some special orders.” Not a lie. He’d placed two special orders while he waited for Sarah to arrive. Mark held up a finger. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
On the sales floor, Mark grabbed some lavender fabric from the remnant bin and a spool of black thread. He’d found when demonstrating the machines that dark thread on light fabric allowed the customer a better view of the stitches.
“Mark, didn’t you want to take this to your office?” Terri, one of his part-timers, held the MS envelope in the air.
“Thanks.” Mark took the envelope from Terri.
Back in the workroom, Sarah had apparently pulled her Christmas project out of her tote bag while she waited for Mark to return.
“Do you have scissors in your bag?” Mark asked, dropping the envelope on the front table.
“Yes.” Sarah peeked in her bag and retrieved them.
“We’ll practice on this fabric.” Mark took the scissors Sarah offered. He cut the wrapper off the lavender material then scooted another chair close to the sewing machine and patted the seat. “Mind switching?”
“Not at all.” Sarah slid from one chair seat to the other.
Once seated, Mark ripped the cellophane covering off the spool of thread. “This is how you thread this machine.” Aware of his adeptness at this task, Mark took his time putting the thread on the spool holder and pulling it through the necessary path to the needle.
Sarah stood so she could have a clearer view. “Looks easy enough.” She smiled at Mark.
“Since you just want to practice a straight stitch, that’s all I’m going to show you.”
Sarah leaned forward and peered around Mark. “That is the stitch the machine is set to sew.” The light scent of her perfume teased him to move closer.
“See, you are a quick learner.” Mark closed his eyes and breathed deeply, filling his memory with the flowery scent. Sarah’s scent.
Sarah sat back, and the pleasant fragrance drifted away from him. Mark wanted to follow the fading bouquet the same way hungry cartoon characters used to follow an animated cloud of food aroma into trouble.
As if on cue, Mark’s stomach rumbled. He cleared his throat. “Excuse me.”
“Am I keeping you from your dinner?”
“Not really, I just had an early lunch.” Mark reached for the lavender cotton material. A long, low growl cut through the silence in the room.
Sarah placed her hand on his, stopping his movement. “Mark, you’re hungry. You don’t have to stay and demonstrate the machine. I’ll get the manual and try to figure it out myself.”
Her concern showed not only on her face but in her voice. It melted Mark’s heart. Why would any man lucky enough to be Sarah’s type break it off with her? Anger toward her unknown ex-boyfriend sparked in Mark. The unexpected emotion shocked him back to the moment.
“I’m serious.” Sarah’s silky hand patted his before pulling away.
“Okay, I admit it. I’m hungry but…” He should have run out for an afternoon snack before she arrived. He didn’t want to leave to go get dinner now because it was evident that Sarah planned to stay and practice. How would he explain leaving and coming back when he already told her that his shift had ended? Plus on Wednesday night he’d intended to ask her to dinner, but his last-minute customer had interrupted and Mark had lost his nerve.
“But what? I’m sure I can figure this out.” Doubt flickered through Sarah’s dark eyes as her gaze left his and rested on the sewing machine.
“I promised to help you.” Mark didn’t intend on breaking this promise. After all, Sanders men only broke big promises, not little ones. “Have you eaten dinner yet?”
“No.” Sarah never took her eyes off the sewing machine.
“I could order a pizza.” Mark hoped Sarah would go for his idea. “We could continue the demonstration while we wait for it to be delivered.”
Happiness skipped through Mark’s heart when Sarah’s eyes met his and she nodded. “I’d like that.”
The squeak of the folding chair’s legs reverberated through the room as Mark stood. “What do you like on your pizza?”
“Anything and everything.”
“I’ll be right back.” With a quick flick of his wrist, Mark pulled the thread off the sewing machine and handed it to Sarah. “Try rethreading the machine while I’m gone. If you succeed, go ahead and celebrate.”
Sarah gave him a lopsided grin as she took the thread.
Once back in his office, Mark, looking through the wall window, watched Sarah thread the machine as he ordered the pizza. When she looked up and saw that he was watching, she smirked, fisted her hand, and pulled it back in victory. Mark erupted in laughter, confusing the pizza place employee on the other end of the line.
Mark came back into the workroom. “Pizza is ordered.” He checked the machine. “Victory celebration deserved. Now I’ll show you how to wind the bobbin.”
By the time the pizza was delivered, Sarah had practiced sewing a straight stitch several times. Mark placed the pizza on the first table in the workroom, along with two cans of soda and napkins.
“I think I’ll do a few more practice runs then start on my pillow.” Sarah moved from the folding chair in front of the sewing machine to a folding chair across the table from Mark.
He lifted the lid of the pizza box.
“That smells great. What’d you order?”
“All meat.” Mark used a plastic fork to serve Sarah a piece of pizza. She placed it in front of her then clasped her hands and lowered her eyes. Mark hadn’t prayed before meals since his mom passed away. Not because he wasn’t a believer. He’d just gotten out of the habit. Following Sarah’s good example, Mark bowed his head.
Thank You, Lord, for this nourishment and the blessings of new friends. Amen.
That felt good. He’d have to remember to say grace more often. Mark lifted his eyes to find Sarah patiently waiting for him to finish.
She smiled. “Next time we’ll have to say grace out loud.” She lifted her pizza to her lips.
Mark retrieved a piece of pizza for himself. Next time. That was a good sign.
“What’s Gert’s Gang?”
He raised his eyebrows in question as he chewed a bite of pizza. Had he been daydreaming and lost a thread of conversation?
Sarah used her pizza slice like a pointer, motioning toward the envelope lying on the table.
“Oh.” Mark sipped his soda before he continued. “That’s a team packet for the MS walk. My mom had MS. A few relatives and friends still participate to raise money in her honor. Her name’s Gertrude Sanders.”
“Your mom had MS.”
Sarah’s comment was barely audible. Or was it a
question? Mark couldn’t tell. Her eyes focused on the envelope, and her expression sobered.
“Pardon me?” Mark searched Sarah’s face as she turned her attention back to him.
She cleared her throat. “You said she had MS.”
“She passed away two years ago from”—Mark looked down, breaking Sarah’s compassion-filled gaze—“natural causes.”
“I’m sorry.” Mark’s forearm warmed where Sarah rested her palm.
“Thank you.” He lifted his eyes.
Sarah patted his arm. “Tell me about her.”
Disbelief swirled through Mark. None of the other women he’d dated since his mother’s death had asked that question. They talked about themselves, and he let them. It was all part of his dating system.
“It’s okay if you’re not ready.” Sarah had apparently mistaken his silence as reluctance.
“No, it’s okay. I don’t mind talking about her.” Mark smiled. Sometimes Sarah reminded him of his mom. Not in looks or stature but in her gentle caring way. The Christian way, his mom always said—putting others first.
Sarah slid a slice of pizza from the box and offered it to Mark. His previous thought and her action widened his smile.
“We moved in with my grandma Bea when I was five, and Mom opened a tailor and sewing business in the basement. She was a good seamstress, and it didn’t take long until she had quite a clientele list.”
The lilt of Sarah’s laughter filled the room. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but no wonder you looked so shocked when I said I didn’t know how to sew.” The crinkles around Sarah’s eyes deepened when she laughed, and merriment shone from her dark eyes.
Mark chuckled. “I have to admit most of the women I grew up around sewed—my grandma, my mom, our neighbors Caroline and her mom. I was literally surrounded.”
“Is that why you run a fabric and quilt shop? Because of the ladies in your life?”
“Actually, I inherited it from Mom. When her tailoring business grew, she opened a fabric store.”
“Where did the quilting come in?” Sarah crinkled her napkin in her fist and lifted her soda can.
“Mom decided she needed a quiet hobby to help her cope with her MS. She ended up with lots of scrap fabric from her tailoring business, so she began quilting.”
Sarah’s eyes widened, then she began to cough. She lowered the soda can and covered her mouth with her napkin.
“Are you okay?” Mark pushed his chair back and started to rise.
“I’m fine.” Sarah spoke through the napkin. “Just went down wrong.”
“Are you sure?”
Sarah nodded. Mark lowered to the chair.
“Do you mind my asking how old your mom was when she was diagnosed with MS?”
“Not at all. Twenty-five. Tell me about your parents.” Mark grabbed another piece of pizza from the box.
“They live in Brookings. Dad’s a retired professor at South Dakota State University and Mom’s a legal secretary. Three more years and she’ll retire, too. Believe me, she’s counting the days. They plan to do a lot of traveling.”
“Good for them.”
“I think so, too. My older brother and his family live in California. Do you have siblings?”
Mark shook his head as he stood. “Would you like any more pizza?”
“No, thank you.”
He closed the lid on the pizza box and slid it to the end of the table. “I’ll put it here so I remember to take it home.” He gathered their used napkins and the soda cans and walked to the waste can.
“What’s your dad like?”
Mark stopped midstep. He never got used to answering this question. He turned and shrugged. “I don’t know. He left when I was five.”
Sarah leaned back to avoid the steam as she poured boiling water into her china teapot. In seconds the clear water turned pale brown and fragrant as the liquid released the flavors and aroma of the dried tea leaves. Her mom would be here any minute with their once-a-week calorie splurge—bakery cinnamon rolls.
After transferring a wicker tray filled with her pansy-patterned tea service from the counter to the kitchen table, Sarah yawned and stretched. She’d spent a fitful night reliving her question to Mark. Not because of the answer she’d received when she asked about his dad—that he’d deserted his family. It was the timing involved.
It didn’t take a genius to do the math. His dad must’ve left the same time Mark’s mom was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. Karla’s cruel remark about men not committing to a woman with health problems had instantly echoed through her mind at Mark’s admission. Karla’s haunting statement kept Sarah wary of her and Mark’s actions the remainder of the night. Was it flirting or friendly banter? She didn’t want to mislead him like she’d been misled so many years ago. When she told him that she had MS, would he prove Karla right? Would his interest in her wane?
“I hope not. I like Mark.” Happiness tickled her heart at her verbal acknowledgment.
Sarah smiled and traced the lettering on the Granny Bea’s bag lying on the table. She trusted God just like Job had, that good could come out of her situation, and that might include Mark. She hoped it included Mark.
The roar of a car engine overtook the chirping birds and neighborhood sounds filtering through the open kitchen window, announcing her mom’s arrival. Sarah opened the back door and waved a welcome to her mother.
Dressed in skinny jeans and a long blue T-shirt, her mom appeared ten years younger than her actual age. She pecked Sarah’s cheek as she passed through the doorway. “How are you, dear?”
“Fine, a little tired. I didn’t sleep well last night.” Sarah looked down at her grungy but comfortable exercise outfit, wishing she’d inherited her mom’s casual dress style. Sarah closed the door and took a seat at the table.
“Is it from your MS?” Her mother set the bakery box in the center of the table, slid her purse from her shoulder, and stashed it on an empty chair as she sat across the table from Sarah.
“No, something was bothering me. But if I don’t take a nap the loss of sleep might aggravate my symptoms.”
“I worry that you’re doing too much.” Her mom added a lump of sugar to each cup and poured the hot tea over it.
Sarah reached for the saucer and carefully placed it in front of her. “Not you, too.” Sarah punctuated her sentence with a sigh as she reached over and snagged a cinnamon roll.
Her mother scooted back into her chair. “What do you mean?”
Sarah leaned forward, resting her elbow on the table and her chin in her hand. “Karla’s against my job, my hobby, and…”
Her mother’s raised eyebrows prompted Sarah to continue.
“My interest in a gentleman.” Sarah pinched a bite off the cinnamon roll and nibbled on it while she watched her mother’s reaction.
Her mother pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. “We’ll get back to him later. How against everything is Karla?”
“Enough that it’s straining our relationship.”
“That’s too bad. You’ve been friends since kindergarten. Is it really a strain or just a difference of opinion?”
Sarah watched her mother bite into her roll. “It’s a vehement difference of opinion, and she just won’t let the subject matter die. She wants me to agree with her and I can’t. She thinks I shouldn’t be working and wants me to quit my job.”
“Well”—her mother nodded her head—“she has a valid point there. It’s stressful and tiring learning a new job. You should have considered that when you were searching for a different career.”
“What?” Although every fiber of her being wanted to jump up from her chair, Sarah remained seated. “You agree with Karla?” Her tone reflected her outrage; then it clicked. Sarah narrowed her eyes. “Did Karla call you?”
Her mother held up her palm. “Hear me out. She’s concerned about you, and so am I. You should have looked for part-time office work so you’d have more time to rest.”
“I already have to
o much free time to think about my future with MS. That’s why I took up quilting, to occupy my mind with something other than my illness.” Sarah took a drink of her tea. The lukewarm liquid did little to calm the anger shaking her insides.
“I don’t understand why Karla’s upset by that one. It’s a nice sedentary activity.”
Sarah rolled her eyes and pushed her roll away, no longer excited for her weekly treat. “I didn’t choose quilting because it was sedentary. I wanted to create something beautiful. I think you and Karla should attend one of my MS support groups. They encourage you to remain active as long as possible.”
Her mother answered with a shrug then sipped her tea. “Now, what’s this about a love interest?”
“He’s not a love interest.” Just a possibility. “Mark is an acquaintance that I’m getting to know better.”
“Well, don’t rush into anything.” Her mother’s features softened as she reached across the table and clasped Sarah’s hand. “Promise me that you’ll really get to know him before you get involved.”
“I promise.” She’d never repeat her past mistake when it came to love.
“And be honest about your MS.” Her mom pulled her hand away.
Sarah sighed then nodded.
“I’m your mother, and I love you and don’t want to see you hurt. Now probably isn’t the best time to get involved with someone. Some men can’t handle being a caregiver, at any age.” Concern shone in her mother’s eyes.
Maybe “some men,” but Mark seemed different. After all, he helped his mother. Sarah looked at the Granny Bea’s bag at the other end of the table. She’d been drawn to the Job’s Tears quilt pattern because she wanted a visual reminder that if you accepted the good from God, you must accept the bad. She hadn’t planned the people closest to her would expect her to give up, just like Job’s friends and family.
Mark squinted to read the thread number on the end of the spool. Probably should invest in some cheap readers. He pushed the thread into the display holder. First his hairline receded, now his eyesight was getting bad. What would be next—his knees?
Dakota Love Page 19