She spent an enjoyable hour with Tory and Mike. After three months of living together they had found a comfortable rhythm. They had been good for her, and they were part of the reason that Sheryl hadn’t gone actively seeking an apartment on her own.
Mike excused himself for his usual Sunday afternoon nap, and the women lingered over the remnants.
“So I see you got another letter from Ed,” Tory said, pushing her plate away. She took a slow sip of her coffee, savoring it.
“Yes. He’s been writing quite a bit lately.”
“I thought he had a stroke?”
“Elise writes his letters. She always adds a little on the end.”
Tory nodded, pursing her lips. “And does she say anything about Mark?”
Sheryl shrugged, hoping her disappointment wouldn’t show. “Sometimes. He seems to be doing well.”
“You don’t sound happy about that.”
“Of course I am. Mark, well, he’s...”
“He’s a good-looking guy. And I told you to hang on to him, remember? You didn’t take my advice. You shouldn’t complain that he’s carrying on with his life.”
“I’m not.” Sheryl frowned, pulling Tory’s plant toward her.
“Leave that poor thing alone,” grumbled Tory, pulling it back. “You always leave the dead leaves lying around.”
“They make the plant look ugly.”
“It’s all part of the life-and-death cycle.” Tory grinned back. “Anyhow, the least you could do is throw them away or stuff them back into the dirt.”
Sheryl plucked one off and with exaggerated motions, did as Tory suggested. “Anyhow,” she mused, “I don’t have time for anyone right now, and I’m not sure Mark is interested in me anymore.”
“You don’t have time because you don’t make time. You mope around and pretend you want to be an independent woman and get a career, when I know you’d just as soon be living at home and having babies.” Tory pulled a leaf off the plant, inspecting it.
“I’m not moping around.”
“Oh, c’mon,” Tory chided gently. “I knew you before you went to Sweet Creek and I know you now. Something happened there, something that made you a little softer, a little less reserved and more lovable. Only you still like to pretend you’re the same person even though you’re not.”
“It was because Ed and I had a chance to straighten out a few things.”
“That might be part of it. But making up with a stepfather doesn’t put a dreamy look on a girl’s face, doesn’t make her stop what she’s doing to stare off into space, like I’ve seen you, when you’re supposed to be studying.” Tory plucked off another leaf, inspecting it as if weighing her next words. “And since you’ve come back, I’ve heard you crying. And not just once or twice.”
Sheryl swallowed. “I’ve had a lot of pain that I’ve hidden, Tory, you know that.” She stopped, then sighed. “I hadn’t had a chance to cry since I got married. Maybe it’s like pulling out these dead leaves. Maybe I’m just getting rid of tears I held back all that time.”
Tory smiled a sad smile, reaching across the table to clasp Sheryl’s hand. “Interesting comparison. But I think some of those tears are new.”
Sheryl blinked, then looked away, out the window to the gray day outside. She knew that Tory was right, but she didn’t know what to do about it. It had been three months since she’d left Sweet Creek. Mark had never contacted her.
“Have you tried calling him, writing him?” Tory asked quietly.
“I can’t do that, Tory. I can’t go running after him. Not after all the humiliation that Jason dished out. I just can’t.” Sheryl bit back a sigh, her confusion mocking her resolve. “Besides, I’m sure he’s forgotten about me by now.”
“You’re not that forgettable.” Tory squeezed her hand. “Do you love him?”
Sheryl laid her chin on her other hand, still looking out the window. “I don’t even know. I thought love was supposed to be so easy, just a straightforward emotion, but it isn’t. I thought I hated Ed, but I don’t. He said he loved me but didn’t know how to show it. Nate said he loved me, and he hurt me so badly and yet, lately I find I can’t dislike him as I should. I’m starting to feel sorry for him and bad for not paying more attention to him when I was younger.” She laughed, a soft laugh, free from its usual bitter sound. “I’m finding out that love is a complicated, frustrating business.” She risked a glance at Tory, who smiled in understanding. Sheryl rubbed Tory’s wedding ring with her finger, sighing deeply. “I still miss Mark.”
“Well that’s a good sign,” Tory replied.
“Maybe. I’m afraid of him, too.”
Tory clucked. “Why should you be?”
Sheryl was about to speak again when the phone rang, making both of them jump. Tory got up and Sheryl looked back outside.
December in the city was a dismal affair. The snow piled along the streets was streaked with gray and black, and everyone, including the cars, looked like they’d sooner be someplace else. The Christmas lights strung along buildings and houses provided the only cheerful note.
“Sheryl.” Tory stood beside her, holding on to the handset. Sheryl looked up, surprised to see pain on her face. “What’s the matter?”
“It’s for you. It’s Elise.”
Sheryl’s heart tripped, then raced. Ed. It had to be Ed. Sheryl grabbed the phone. “Hello, Elise?”
“Hi.” Elise paused, her voice strained. “I’m glad you’re not by yourself. I have some bad news.”
Ice bloomed in her chest. Mark? Was it Mark. “What is it?” she asked through lips gone stiff with fear.
“I’m phoning to tell you that Ed passed away.”
Sheryl sagged back against her chair, her hand covering her eyes. It wasn’t Mark. It wasn’t Mark. “When?”
“Last night.”
She drew in a shaky breath, trying to slow her heartbeat. “I’m so sorry to hear that but I guess it wasn’t so unexpected, was it?”
“No.” Sheryl could almost hear Elise swallow her tears. “But it’s still hard.”
Sheryl nodded, a knot of sorrow building in her throat. “When’s the funeral?” she managed to whisper.
“Thursday. Can you come?”
“Of course. I’ll take the bus.” Sheryl pressed her hand tight against her eyes. “Tell Nate I’m sorry for him.”
“I’ll do that. Are you going to be okay?”
In spite of her sorrow, Sheryl felt a rush of love for this considerate and caring person. “I’ll be okay. How about you?”
“My mom’s here and Mark’s coming later.” Elise drew in a shaky breath, audible to Sheryl. “I know I shouldn’t be sad. He was waiting for the end. I should tell you that he told me, just before he died, that he was so glad you came and very thankful for your letters. He...he wanted me to tell you that he loved you."
Sheryl bit her lip, wishing she could say goodbye and retreat to her bedroom. “Thanks.”
Tory knelt beside her, her arm around her as she handed her a tissue. Sheryl smiled weakly at her and wiped a tear that drifted down her nose.
“I’ll let you go, Sheryl. We’ll see you on Thursday then?”
“I’ll be there. Bye.” Sheryl waited until Elise hung up, then pushed the button ending the connection. For a moment she stared at the phone, a heavy sorrow dropping down on her.
Without a word Tory gathered her in her arms. Sheryl dropped her head on her shoulder and wept.
Mark hooked his finger between his tie and his collar, stretching his neck. He disliked wearing the thing. And he disliked funerals. The music was always so dreary, so slow.
We really should be rejoicing, he thought. Ed has gone to the place he’s wanted to be for the past four months. Instead the church was hushed, the music sombre. No one spoke.
Quite a few people had come out on this cold December day, and Mark was glad for Nate’s sake. Here and there he heard a sniffle, saw someone wipe away a surreptitious tear.
But Mark cou
ldn’t summon tears. He had spent enough time the past few weeks with Ed to know that he yearned to die. He had made his peace with Sheryl, and she had forgiven him fully.
Mark turned his head ever so slightly, looking for her. She was sitting behind Nate and Elise, beside a sister of Ed’s Mark hadn’t even known he had. Sheryl’s head was bent, her hair loose, and Mark felt again the weight of longing press against his heart.
Three months had made no difference.
His only contact with her had been that intercepted phone call and the little bits of her life she wrote in her letters to Ed that he would read when he found one lying around Elise’s place. As usual she gave him nothing. As usual he wondered why he still cared about her.
He shifted his weight, trying to catch a glimpse of her face, trying to make some kind of connection. They had shared so much. He knew what she had to live with, and he didn’t know how to make a connection with her.
He didn’t even know if she would want it.
He caught his mother’s puzzled look, and he looked ahead again. He should feel guilty for thinking only of Sheryl when he should be contemplating Ed’s life, but he couldn’t dredge up the proper emotions.
The minister announced the final song, and as they stood, the funeral director motioned for the pallbearers to carry the casket out of the church.
Mark shook out the leg of his pants, straightened his suit jacket, borrowed from Nate, and turned. For a brief moment his gaze locked with Sheryl’s. Awareness arced between them, tangible, real, powerful.
Mark almost stumbled, then drew in a shaky breath and, looking toward the doorway at the end of the church, walked out.
Because of the cold weather, the graveside ceremony was mercifully brief. When it was over, Nate, Elise and the children lingered a moment. Sheryl stood to one side, as if unsure of her place. Her lips were pressed together as she reached out and plucked a flower from the top of the casket. Holding it close to her she turned.
Mark watched her go. He wasn’t going to run after her again. He wasn’t going to go where he wasn’t wanted.
Then she paused a moment at the headstone beside Ed’s grave. It belonged to her mother, Blythe.
She stared at the inscription, her hand pressed to her mouth, tears coursing down her face. Mark remembered her crying in his arms, remembered her pain, and he couldn’t stop himself.
A few steps was all it took and he was beside her, silent, waiting.
She glanced furtively at him, reaching into her pocket, and when she pulled out an old handkerchief of his, Mark felt as if he’d been hit.
He swallowed and, without stopping to think about his actions, took it from her, tipped her chin up and gently wiped the tears from her face.
He tried to be clinical about it, but his hands were shaking, and his insides were churning. When her soft green eyes, bright with tears connected with his, his restraint fell away. Slowly he drew her toward him. Fear flickered in her eyes, and she pressed her hands against him.
“Please don’t, Mark.”
Mark dropped his hands, heat rising in his face. The same words she had whispered over the phone just a couple of weeks ago. What was he? Some kind of ogre? What could he possibly have done to her that she felt she had to beg him to leave her alone.
He wanted to shake her, to give her a reason to be afraid of him. He wanted to kiss her.
“Are you coming, Sheryl?” Nate had come up beside them. “We’re going to have lunch at the house.”
Sheryl nodded, avoiding Mark’s eyes, her relief obvious.
Mark turned, staring at his brother-in-law, feeling betrayed. Three months ago he had rescued Sheryl from the uncomfortable situation of being with Nate and now, it seemed, the roles were reversed.
“Are you coming, Mark?” Nate asked.
He tried to affect a light tone, glancing back at Sheryl. “For a little while.” He paused a moment, hoping for what, he didn’t know. Some kind of sign, some kind of recognition.
When she looked down, he turned and stalked off, berating himself for being such a sucker.
All the way to Nate’s place he wondered why he was so stuck on her.
Why he couldn’t get her out of his mind. He had defended her to Nate, to Ed. Had argued for fair treatment for her. And now he had to live with the consequences.
The house was full. The scent of coffee permeated every corner, the subdued chatter of people drifted about. Mark and Nate set out chairs, talked to people. Elise sat in one corner beside Sheryl, while other ladies of the church served the coffee.
Mark made small talk, consoled some of the older folk, talked ranching with a few men, kept the kids from eating all the food and tried not to look at his watch. Ed hadn’t planned his own death, but the funeral couldn’t have come at a worse time. The Stockgrowers Convention in Calgary had been set up months ago. He had tried to find someone else to take his place as director, but no one could. The longest he could stay was another two hours.
One hundred and twenty minutes to find a chance to talk to Sheryl.
He picked up a few dirty coffee cups and with a quick glance to make sure Sheryl still sat in the corner, he walked into the kitchen to wash the cups.
Elise had a sink full of water running, and when he came close, she handed him a tea towel.
“You shouldn’t be doing this, sis,” he said, stroking her hair.
“I need to keep busy,” she replied with a faint smile. “I’m sure it will all hit me once everyone is gone, but for now I feel better pretending this is just another family get-together.” She dropped a cup on the drainboard and glanced sidelong at Mark.
“Have you had a chance to talk to Sheryl?” she asked. “You don’t have a lot of time before you have to leave.”
He shook his head, picking up the cup and inspecting the soap suds that ran down the sides. “One hundred and eighteen minutes, to be precise.” He wiped the bubbles with an angry swipe. “What am I going to say?”
“How about, ‘I love you. I’m crazy about you,”’ Elise replied softly.
“And how would that look with what Nate has to tell her?”
“Hey it was your idea to talk to Ed about his will.”
“I know,” he replied irritably. “I just didn’t think it would jeopardize my own position with her. Besides she’s scared of me.”
“What do you mean by that?” Elise frowned at him.
The door to the porch opened and Nadine Laidlaw came in followed by Lainie Jesperson carrying a bundle of blankets, her husband right behind her, carrying a diaper bag and car seat. The baby, Mark guessed, putting down his towel to go and help her, ignoring Elise’s question.
He said a quick hello to Nadine who asked about Sheryl and then he turned his attention back to Laine.
He took the bundle from Lainie as she took her coat off and dropped it on the pile on the table. Mark shifted the bundle around and the blankets slipped open. Tiny unfocused eyes stared up at him. Soft black hair stuck up from a head no larger than the palm of his hand. It wriggled, its mouth opening up in a miniature yawn.
He couldn’t help the smile that curved his mouth.
“I didn’t know if I should bring her along,” whispered Lainie. “But I wanted to come, to see Sheryl.” She turned to her husband. “Anthony can you take Deidre from Mark?”
“That’s okay,” said Mark to Lainie’s husband. “I don’t mind holding her for a while.” Anthony shrugged, took a cup of coffee that Elise had poured for him. After offering his condolences he went in search of Nate.
The baby lay lightly in the crook of his arm, and Mark couldn’t keep his eyes away. Kids always brought out his mushy side, babies even more so.
“I’ll finish up in here, Mark. Can you take these around?” Elise pushed a plate of squares across the counter at him. He settled the baby more securely, picked the plate and carried on with his duties.
He worked his way around the living room, avoiding the corner where Lainie now sat beside Sheryl, Nad
ine on the other side.
Mark watched as Nadine held Sheryl’s one hand and Lainie stroked Sheryl’s shoulders. She looked up at him as the baby squirmed in his arms and let out a gentle cry.
Their gazes locked, and all else fell away. Gray eyes held green for what seemed like forever till the baby in Mark’s arms cried again. Sheryl broke the connection, looked at the bundle Mark held, her expression wistful.
“Here, I’ll take her from you.” Anthony came up beside him. Mark awkwardly shifted the red-faced baby into Anthony’s arms, desperately afraid that he would drop it. But she settled against her father, and Mark couldn’t resist touching the downy hair nestled against Anthony’s shirt.
“She’s beautiful,” he said softly, a smile curving his mouth. He touched the creamy soft skin of her cheek, then turned.
Sheryl’s mouth curved up in a smile directed to him. Just then Crystal tugged on Sheryl’s arm. Sheryl reached down and hugged her. Benjamin toddled up to both of them, yanking on Sheryl’s shirt Sheryl grimaced and swung Benjamin up in her arms.
“You don’t smell good, little man,” Mark heard her say with a lilt in her voice. She dropped him on her hip, caught Crystal’s hand in hers and worked her way through the crowd up the stairs.
Mark paused, tempted to follow up on the hesitant smile Sheryl had directed at him. It was the first acknowledgment she had made of his presence.
“Mark,” an older woman stood beside him, tugging on his shirt. Brenda Laidlaw, Nadine’s grandmother. “My car won’t start. I left the lights on.”
Mark glanced at Sheryl’s retreating back.
“Probably just needs a boost. Mrs. Laidlaw,” he said. He was going to ask why she didn’t ask Nadine but the simpering smile she gave him made him feel wanted. So he just let it be. “Just let me get my jacket and I’ll be right out.”
He still had time to catch Sheryl before he had to leave, he reassured himself.
Sheryl pressed Benjamin to her as she made her way up the stairs, and, undaunted by the smell of his dirty diaper, kissed him soundly on one sticky cheek.
“How can you kiss him. Auntie Sheryl, he smells so bad,” Crystal complained, holding her nose primly with her thumb and finger.
Homecoming (Sweet Hearts of Sweet Creek Book 1) Page 20