by Jill Kemerer
She didn’t know how to explain. It felt like a betrayal to Brandy and to Josh.
But Parker couldn’t call Brandy Mama. She’d never hear that word from his lips.
Maybe Sam had a point.
“I’ll think about it.” She avoided eye contact until she cleared her throat. “I’d better take off. Do you need anything? His diaper bag is right there by the couch. He shouldn’t need a change. Just watch him. He’s been putting things in his mouth, and I don’t want him to choke.”
“We’ll be fine.” He grinned, playing peekaboo with Parker. “Take your time.”
They would be fine. Wouldn’t they?
Once she reached the bottom of his porch steps, she inhaled the brisk air, tipped her chin up, pushed through a few light stretches and surged forward.
She had enough on her mind today without adding the whole mama issue. As her feet hit the gravel, she tried to forget about Brandy and what was happening after the run. The less she thought about the upcoming grocery-shopping trip, the better. Yes, a nice long run would help her forget.
Passing tall, stark trees, she rounded a bend. What were Sam and Parker doing now? She’d forgotten to mention Parker had a tooth coming in. Maybe she should go back and grab the teething ring in the fridge, just to be safe.
Her pace slowed.
They’ll be fine.
But the worries kept coming. Something told her nothing could clear her muddy mind, not even a long run through snow-topped pines.
* * *
Exactly one hour later, Sam waited next to Celeste’s minivan while she took Parker out of his car seat to strap him into the shopping cart. Looking around the packed parking lot of Lake Endwell Grocery and the steady stream of people bustling in and out of the automatic doors, Sam didn’t care this was step one toward a more mobile life. He wanted one thing. To go home to the privacy of his cottage.
The snow still fell, but it was melting as soon as it contacted the blacktop, so slush wasn’t a factor to worry about. He’d still have to be careful on the crutches, though.
Babysitting—all twenty-four minutes of it—had been fun. After a session of tickling Parker until he howled with laughter, Sam had found a fuzzy stuffed elephant in the diaper bag and, with a low voice, pretended to make it talk to Parker. Celeste had chosen that moment to return. Her flushed cheeks had done something funny to his brain, causing him to drop the elephant. Parker had flopped forward trying to get it, forcing Sam to clutch Parker to prevent him from falling. It had been difficult to keep his hold on the baby.
For the first time, he’d seriously doubted his abilities to take care of the boy.
Celeste must not have noticed he’d almost let Parker slip from his hands. All the way here, she’d been chattering nonstop about how great it felt to get outside and clear her head. He couldn’t admit he was nervous about watching Parker, not after seeing how happy running made her.
“Are you ready?” Worry lines dug between Celeste’s eyebrows. Her hands were encased with black suede gloves, but he guessed her knuckles were white under them. He didn’t want to stress her out more by admitting he was nervous. She looked nervous, too.
“Yep.” He swung forward. Watch the puddle. You’ve got this.
“It looks busy. We can come back another time if you want.”
“Nope. Let’s go in.”
With a loud breath, she pushed the cart to the entrance. He stayed by her side, carefully placing each crutch before swinging forward. What would it be like to be shopping as a couple, instead of as the result of an agreement? He liked the idea of cooking with Celeste and picking out cookies and snacks for Parker.
He really liked the idea of being able to push the cart.
Where was his head at? Had he gotten a concussion recently and not known it? They weren’t a couple. Never would be. And Celeste would see why in roughly six seconds, because he recognized almost every person inside this buzzing beehive. They entered the produce section, and Sam girded himself.
The bright, spacious store felt like a football field compared to his cottage, and Christmas music—“Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree”—played over the sound system. He smelled pumpkin pie and fried chicken. Both made him hungry.
“Well, I’ll be.” Alma Dartman, a woman in her eighties from church, nudged her husband. “Look, Irv, it’s little Sam.”
“Who?” Irv’s hunched back and thick glasses prevented him from seeing far. His hearing aid buzzed, and he yanked it out of his ear. “Blasted nuisance.”
“The youngest Sheffield boy.” Her voice carried, and she spoke louder. “The one in the accident. Sam.”
Sam closed his eyes for a split second. Why didn’t she just announce it over the loudspeaker? Then everyone would know he was here, and that, yes, he’d been in an accident. A few people turned to see what Alma was talking about, and before he knew what was happening, Sam had four people in line to ask him questions. His first instinct was to look for Celeste. She hung back.
“You’re walking.” Ms. James, Lake Endwell High’s retired gym teacher, stopped in front of him. After more than thirty years, she still looked like a gym teacher in her black tracksuit and short gray hair. The only thing missing was a whistle hanging from her neck. “Haven’t seen you out in a long time, Sheffield. How’ve you been?”
“Hanging in there.”
Ms. James noticed Celeste and nodded at her. “You in the accident, too?”
Celeste ducked her chin and shook her head. A surge of protectiveness had him taking a clumsy step closer to her.
“Oh, sorry. I assumed...the scars...but that’s right. Jeremy was in the boat with you. I heard he made a full recovery and is back in Cheboygan.” Ms. James hefted the bag of potatoes in her hand. “Well, I’ve got to motor. Before you get back at it, there’s a run on stuffing mix, so if you’re here for Thanksgiving staples, you might want to hit aisle five first.” She gave him a knowing look, then walked away.
For a moment he thought the questions were over, but he’d forgotten about Alma and Irv. “How are you doing, dear? We haven’t seen you in a while, have we, Irv? Why are you still on those crutches?”
If there was ever a time he wished he could disappear, now was the time. “Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Dartman.” He wanted to rub the back of his neck, but he didn’t dare let go of the crutch. “I’ve been back in the wheelchair for a few months. Hurt my knee.” He tried to smile, but his face felt crumbly, as did his noodle legs. Coming here was a mistake.
“We’re praying for you, honey.” Alma patted his cheek. “We’ll keep praying. And who is this young woman and baby?” Alma clapped her hands and stood in front of Parker, making kissy faces. “Hello, baby.”
“This is Celeste Monroe, my new neighbor, and her son, Parker.” He smiled at Celeste, but her hair hid half her face from view, and the side he could see was paler than the white bakery bags he could just make out from the corner of his eye. “It was nice to see you, Mrs. Dartman, but we’re going to have to keep going. Parker’s due for a nap soon.”
“Oh, yes, dear. I remember how cranky babies get without a nap.” She wiggled two knobby fingers at Parker, smiled and joined Irv, shouting, “He hurt his knee.”
“What?”
“His knee...”
Sam moved next to Celeste. “Are you okay? I’m sorry about that.”
“I’m fine,” she said in a strained voice. “Nothing to be sorry about. How are you holding up? It’s nice of her to pray for you.”
He hobbled in the direction of the grapes. “It is nice of her to pray. Alma Dartman is sweet. Loud, but sweet.” He flashed a grin to Celeste, but she glanced away. “What’s wrong?”
“Um, I guess being out. It’s kind of new for me.” She paused to place a bunch of bananas in the cart.
“If it makes you feel bett
er, it’s new for me, too.”
“It does.” The gratitude shining in her eyes slammed into his chest. He’d felt so useless, his life had seemed so pointless until she’d come along. And she was the one who was grateful?
They slowly gathered fruits and vegetables. Sam had to fight his irritation at not being able to select and bag everything himself. If he tried, he would drop a crutch. He couldn’t take that chance. So he told Celeste which tomato he wanted and how many apples to buy. As they made their way to the bakery, he sensed her relaxing.
“Should we get something decadent?” He stopped in front of the row of desserts. A line of shoppers waited in front of the bakery counter. Boy, this place was crowded.
“You should definitely get something decadent.” She pointed to a Black Forest cake.
The pumpkin pie aroma from earlier hit him full blast. “What are you doing for Thanksgiving, by the way?”
“Parker and I are having dinner with my parents. What about you?”
“Aunt Sally’s. It’s a tradition. I probably won’t stay long.”
A cart bumped into Sam’s crutch, flipping it out of his hand. His right foot came down hard on the floor. He sucked in a breath at the pain shooting up his leg.
“Oh, no! Sam, are you all right?” Celeste grabbed his arm to steady him.
“Sorry!” A harried-looking mom stopped with a toddler girl by her side and a baby in the cart. “I didn’t see you. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he said through gritted teeth.
Celeste bent to pick up his crutch and handed it to him. The little girl pointed at Celeste. “What’s on her face, Mommy?”
“Shh!” The mom tugged her hand and pushed the cart ahead. “That’s not polite.”
“But what are those lines?”
The mom’s cheeks turned brick red, and she disappeared around the corner, practically dragging the little girl by the hand.
At the stricken expression on Celeste’s face, Sam forgot all about the pain in his leg. This trip was turning out to be the disaster they’d both feared.
“Come on.” He couldn’t help that his tone was harder than a slab of concrete. “We’re getting out of here.”
* * *
Celeste didn’t move. The girl’s question and the mom’s escape defeated her in ways she hadn’t anticipated. It was as if she had driven them away by the way she looked.
Sam’s pulse throbbed in his neck, and his eyes had turned slate blue. Sharp, like his jawline.
“We’re taking a break. Wheel the cart over here.” He swung stiffly toward the floral department. She followed him. A small coffee shop with three round tables hid behind the flower displays. She’d never noticed the area before, probably because she hadn’t taken the time to look around. Sam carefully took a seat and propped his crutches against the wall.
“I didn’t know this was here.” Celeste pushed the cart out of the way and hoisted Parker into her arms.
“Would you mind ordering coffees for us? Cream for me, no sugar. I’ll hold Parker.”
She handed Parker to Sam and ordered the coffees. Minutes later, she set his on the table and popped the cover off her cappuccino. Sam didn’t touch his drink, though. Instead, he covered her hand with his. “I’m sorry about back there.”
Emotion pressed against the backs of her eyes, but she swallowed her embarrassment. “Don’t be. I’m used to it.”
“Well, you shouldn’t have to be used to it. I’m not. I’m about ready to make a sign that says, ‘My leg is not up for conversation.’ Why is it the first thing people comment on?”
She blew across the top of her drink. “I don’t know. I guess it’s human nature.”
“It shouldn’t be.” Sam rapped his knuckles on the table. Parker started fussing and reaching for Sam’s coffee. “Sorry, bud, you’re too young for this.” He gestured to the diaper bag. “Did you bring anything for him?”
She found a baggie of crackers and a sippy cup. Sam handed them to Parker, who took the cup in both hands and leaned back into Sam’s chest. Longing pinched her heart. Sam’s support tempted her to count on him. But how could she? The past five minutes revealed her new reality. People were uncomfortable around her because of her scars.
Was she partly to blame?
“I wish I handled things better.” She took a tentative sip of her drink. Still too hot. “I never know what to say, and I get so self-conscious.”
“I’m no help there. The last thing I want to discuss at the grocery store is my leg. It’s hard enough getting around on it.”
The tension in her neck melted. He felt self-conscious, too. It wasn’t just her.
“How is your leg, by the way? Maybe I should take you home.”
“Nah, she nailed the crutch, not my leg. I lost my balance, came down hard on my foot. It hurt at first, but it’s leveled off.” The strain around his mouth told her otherwise.
“Do you need an aspirin or anything?”
“I’ll take one at home.”
Grocery shopping shouldn’t be this complicated. And they’d gotten through only a quarter of the list. She sighed and took another sip of the coffee.
“Well, I think we hit everything we discussed last Friday. The awkward questions. Me almost falling flat on my face. What more can happen? Did we forget something?”
Celeste chuckled. She couldn’t help it. “You’re right. If someone had been listening in on our conversation, they might have thought we were being melodramatic. But clearly, we knew what we were talking about.”
“You can say that again.” Sam lifted the cup to his lips, and Celeste let out a teeny sigh. What was it about this man that had her heart tying itself up into knots? He leaned back. “Since we’ve survived produce—and I use the term survived loosely—are you up for heading back to the bakery?”
“I think so, but will it bother you if people stop us and ask more questions?” She couldn’t ask what she really worried about. Did it bother him when people pointed out her ugly scars?
“I guess I’ll have to get used to it.” He tilted his head. “I can’t change the fact my leg doesn’t work right.”
“No, I didn’t mean about your leg...” She twisted a napkin, darting her eyes to the side.
“Hey.” He reached forward and lifted her chin with his finger. “You’re the most beautiful woman here. You can’t help that people notice you.”
His words seeped into her soul, leaving a splendid emptiness where she’d been storing a full supply of insecurities.
“You’re a terrible, wonderful liar, Sam Sheffield. And I love you for it. Thank you.”
His face went blank.
“We’d better get back out there before the bakery sells out.” Celeste forced a teasing quality to her tone. “There’s a Black Forest cake with your name all over it.”
Maybe she shouldn’t have mentioned love. She’d meant it casually. He obviously didn’t realize she’d said it as a joke.
Or had he guessed the truth? It would take all of three seconds for her to mean it for real.
Chapter Five
“Were you expecting the football team or something, Aunt Sal?” Sam handed the heaping platter of turkey to his sister Libby. Even though he’d had his misgivings about the holiday with his family, it felt good to be back. Getting around Aunt Sally’s house on crutches was a welcome change from being alone at home. The best part? His siblings were treating him less as a trauma patient and more as their brother. Maybe he’d stay longer than he’d originally planned.
“What are you talking about, Sam?” Aunt Sally’s blond hair was pulled back with an orange headband, and glittery pumpkin earrings dangled from her ears. “Football ended two weeks ago. Too bad varsity didn’t make it to the play-offs. Do you need a dinner roll, hon?”
/> “Already have one.”
She widened her eyes at the butter dish in her hand. He nodded, and she passed it over. Aunt Sally had been like a mother to him. He had no memories of his own mom, who died giving birth to Libby when he was two. But between Aunt Sally and his older sister, Claire, he figured he had the mom thing covered.
“So I heard you were at the grocery store this week, Sam.” The twinkle in Libby’s eye sent warning flags soaring. “And I heard Celeste and Parker were with you.”
Since it wasn’t a question, he saw no reason to reply. He shoveled a mound of mashed potatoes into his mouth. He was just glad his foot was okay from the impact of that lady’s cart hitting his crutch. He’d iced the leg when he got home, and so far, he suffered no lingering side effects.
“You went to the grocery store?” Claire set her fork down. She sat across the table and to the right of him. “I don’t remember the last time you went anywhere other than a doctor’s appointment.”
Again, no need to reply. He bit into his roll.
“I also heard you weren’t in the wheelchair.” Libby rested her chin on her fist, and her blue eyes twinkled. “Celeste is clearly a genius.”
He fantasized about throwing his napkin on the plate and leaving the table in a huff, but it would take too long to get up with his crutches. Besides, the food was really good.
“Or maybe you’re the genius,” Claire said softly. “Celeste has had a rough time of it. Her mom’s friend Nancy told me how difficult it’s been for her to go out in public.”
“Right. Let’s change the subject.” He looked to his brothers, Tommy and Bryan, for some backup.
“Who’s Celeste?” Tommy asked. His daughter Macy sat next to him, and little Emily was on the lap of his wife, Stephanie.
“Really, Tom?” Stephanie sounded exasperated. “I told you she moved next door.”
“The one living in Claire’s cottage,” Bryan added, giving his wife, Jade, the basket of rolls.
“Oh, that’s right,” Tommy said. “She’s taking care of her nephew. Didn’t you say something about her being in an accident, too?”