His brow wrinkled. “That must be tough for you. How old is she?”
“Fifty-seven. There’s a type that starts young. She’s needed care since I was twenty.” Her raised chin and set expression dared him to comment.
So this was Sarah’s secret. Such a huge thing for her to deal with alone. More than ever, he wished she’d open up to him.
“That’s why you’ve taken your teaching course part-time. To look after her.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. “And she’s the reason you’re late to school some days or skip off early on others.”
She nodded. “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t feel I could tell you why.”
“Sarah? Is that you, lass?” a woman’s anxious voice called from inside the house. “Who’s there? Is someone with you?”
“We need to go in. She’ll get upset,” Sarah hissed, grabbing his arm and pulling him into the hall. “Coming, Mum. I’ve brought a friend from church.”
She hurried him down the hall and into a small cluttered sitting room.
Unsure what to expect, he whispered a silent prayer, stomach clenching. Growing up with Brodie should have made him more comfortable around sick people. Instead fear of messing up made him want to run.
He’d stay, for Sarah’s sake.
As they walked into the room, the middle-aged woman sitting in the armchair peered up at them uncertainly, her forehead creased above faded blue eyes. Her blonde hair held as much silver as gold now, but she and Sarah were unmistakably mother and daughter.
“Sorry I’m late home, Mum.” Sarah bent and kissed her cheek, then perched on the sofa arm. “This is Fraser. We’ve been working on the garden at the kirk today, and we teach together at school too. You haven’t met him before. Fraser, this is my mother, Isabel.”
Her mother had the same sweet smile as Sarah.
“Hello, Mrs Browne. I’m pleased to meet you.”
He hadn’t ever imagined going home to meet the parents of the girl he wanted to marry, but it seemed this was it.
The thought didn’t bother him as much as it would have yesterday. Though if Sarah didn’t want to spend more time with him, feeling that way changed nothing.
“Fraser.” She nodded. “Please, call me Isabel. Mrs Browne makes me feel so old. Can I make you a cup of tea?”
He grinned. “I never say no to a cup of tea.”
She didn’t seem odd so far, just a nice ordinary mum.
“I’ll come help you.” Sarah struggled to her feet. She still looked far from her usual healthy bloom.
“You should sit down.” He turned to her mother to explain. “We’ve been gardening all day, and you know how hot it was. Sarah nearly fainted. She needs to rest.”
“Was it hot today?” Isabel’s face puckered in a puzzled, unfocused expression.
He pointed to the wash basket full of neatly folded clothes in the corner. “Hot enough to dry your laundry.”
“Oh, yes, that’s right. But my Sarah never faints.” Her voice rang with pride. “She’s strong as a horse. She runs, you know. She was a champion.”
“I know. But she worked hard in the sun. My sister, a nurse, said she has mild sunstroke.”
Isabel scooted to Sarah and laid a hand on her forehead. “Sunstroke can be serious. You rest. As if I can’t make us a simple cup of tea!” Her laugh tinkled like little bells.
Sarah slumped into the sofa as her mother bustled into the neighbouring room.
“She’s having one of her better days, but Mum can’t make tea on her own safely,” she muttered over the sound of water running and a kettle being switched on. “She can’t be trusted with boiling water.” She tried to push herself up from the seat.
He gently pushed her back. “You stay there. Will she let me help?”
Sarah bit her lip and frowned. “I don’t know. You can try. Sneak some cold water into her cup if you can, so it’s not too hot.”
As he moved toward the open door, her mother came out of the kitchen, holding a mug. A frown pinched her forehead. “There’s something wrong with those new tea bags you bought, Sarah. I can’t get the tea to brew properly.”
Fraser touched the mug. Stone cold. The milky liquid was about the colour of Sarah’s pale face. He eased the mug from Isabel’s hand and smiled at her. “Could I help you? There’s a knack to using these.”
“Okay.” She peered up at him. “Do I know you?”
He tried not to let his surprise show. “I’m Fraser, a friend of Sarah’s. We work together and go to the same church.”
She nodded. “My Sarah’s a bonny lass, isn’t she?”
“She is. Will we make this tea now?” He led her out through the door, throwing a quick and hopefully reassuring glance at Sarah.
She shrugged, drooping with weariness and probably grief. He couldn’t imagine how bad it would feel to see his mum like this. And Sarah already endured years of it.
In the tidy beige kitchen with blue gingham curtains, he tipped the cold tea down the sink.
“I’ll boil the kettle.” Isabel picked it up and yelped. “It’s hot.”
“Did you spill water on yourself?”
“A little.” She held out a hand. Redness blotched her palm.
“Let’s run that under cold water, make sure it doesn’t burn.”
Taking her soft hand, he spun on the cold tap. “The water will take the sting out.”
He picked up the kettle. Heavy enough to make three cups of tea and then some. “There’s enough water in the kettle. I’ll boil it up again and use it for the tea.”
So she’d switched on the kettle, but used cold water for the tea. He reached past her to empty the other mugs and popped fresh tea bags in them.
“Where do you know our Sarah from?” she asked.
She’d forgotten. The same question again, in less than five minutes. He bit back an irritated reply.
“We work together. I’m a sports teacher at the high school where she does her teaching practice.”
Isabel smiled sweetly. “She’s a bonny lass. So good at sports.”
“She is.” His smile felt pinned on his face, but he kept it there.
Lord, give me patience and make it right now!
He’d thought Sarah embodied 1 Corinthians 13. He hadn’t realised how much. His heart twisted for her.
Looked like she’d meant it when she said it was her, not him. Or not so much her, as her mother. This was why she couldn’t run on Sunday or stay late after school or take Saturday off to go crag hopping.
Knowing that gave him a spark of hope. And the desire to help her. She deserved more from life.
“I thought you said you knew her from church?” Isabel said. “Have I met you there?”
At least she’d remembered something.
“I prefer the later service.” He poured hot water into the mugs, a little less in one so he could add cold, as Sarah asked. “You go to the early service, don’t you?”
“Oh, that explains it. I like the good old-fashioned hymns. I can remember the words. Can I take my hand out from under the tap now?” Her puzzled frown returned. “Why am I doing this?”
“You picked up the hot kettle and burned your hand. Let me check.” He gently dried her hand with the tea towel. No sign of redness. “It looks good now. Why don’t you go sit with Sarah, and I’ll bring us all tea.”
He found a tray for the teacups and a tin of biscuits and carried it into the sitting room. They chatted about the garden and what was on the telly, though just as she had in the kitchen, Isabel repeated things. Flashes of irritation suggested she could get cantankerous at times.
Sarah stayed patient. Despite two cups of tea and three chocolate digestives, she still looked pale and desperately exhausted.
Isabel yawned. “I think I need to go to bed. I don’t know why I’m tired. I had a lovely sleep last night.”
Sarah pushed herself out of her seat. “I’ll just wash these mugs, Mum, then I’ll get you tucked in. You can always watch TV in bed
for a while.”
“I’ll help.” Carrying the tea tray, he followed Sarah into the kitchen.
“I’m not surprised Mum’s tired.” Her wry smile held compassion, but little humour. “She was up three times last night. She’s started wanting to have her shower and make breakfast at two or three in the morning. I can usually persuade her back to bed. Then she wakes at six thirty, just like she did back when she made our breakfasts and got Dad off to work and me to school.”
Under cover of the running water, Isabel probably wouldn’t hear him, but he made sure to keep his voice low, anyway. “Is your dad around? All the burden shouldn’t be on you.”
Her head shot up. “Dad left, not long after her diagnosis. Anyway, Mum’s no burden. I love her.”
Seeing Sarah’s love in action humbled him. No matter how much he loved someone, he wasn’t sure he’d manage this.
“She’s blessed to have you. No wonder the sun hit you hard today. You need sleep.” He added a squirt of Fairy Liquid to the sink and swished the mugs through the suds.
Sarah shrugged as she lifted a mug from the draining board and dried it. “Once she’s safely in bed, I can rest. At least tonight, all she did was make tea with cold water. When we had the old-fashioned kettle on the stovetop, she boiled it dry. Then she put the electric kettle on the stove, and it melted. Once she set the microwave on fire by setting the timer for two hours, not two minutes, while I was out at uni.”
Her voice stayed light, almost joking, but he sensed the pain she hid.
“You’re so good with the kids at school.” He shook his head. “But you don’t get enough sleep at night, and you have to watch over her all day. I couldn’t do it.”
“I have to do it. I couldn’t bear to put her in a home. She still has some quality of life. She’s my mum. I need to take care of her as long as I can.” Sarah closed her eyes and swiped a hand across her face. “Her doctor says eventually she’ll forget how to eat and how to use the toilet. This is the easy part.”
Her face looked so desolate and lost. His throat thickened. He hated that he could do so little for her.
She shut everyone out, and she was so alone. Only knowing Sarah probably never spoke to anyone about the reality of her life stopped him pulling her into his arms and comforting her with a hug. She needed to talk.
Besides, hugging her would make him feel better, but she’d shut up tighter than a clam. All he could do was listen, and pray God would show him how to convince her to accept help.
Chapter Eight
Sarah turned her back on Fraser, sniffing back tears and taking far longer than necessary to set the three mugs in the cupboard.
Why did he have to be so kind, so gentle? Things had been easier when she’d kept her heart closed. Now she’d opened it a chink, she wasn’t sure how she’d close it up again.
All she could do was try.
“I need to get Mum ready for bed.” Her words came out sharp and abrupt.
Fraser stepped back. Instead of running away as she hoped, he smiled. “Could I stay while you do that? I want to make sure you’re okay before I leave.”
“I’m fine,” she said, for the twentieth time today.
Clearly, it was wearing thin. If Fraser’s “Sure you are,” wasn’t enough, his raised eyebrow made sure she got the message—he didn’t believe her one bit.
She pursed her lips and eyed him as she blew out a long breath.
He didn’t say anything, just kept his steady gaze on her, the questioning eyebrow staying quirked.
“Okay, I’m not fine,” she muttered. “I’m so exhausted I could fall over. I’ll put Mum to bed, and you get five minutes. Then you go.”
“Good.” He grinned. “It’s just an excuse to watch more TV, you know. We don’t have one at home.”
She laughed, though the bitterness behind it burned her throat. “Of course. What other reason would you have to stay?”
Her mother stood as they came back into the sitting room. “I’m off to bed now. Goodnight…” She frowned for a minute. “Fraser!” she announced triumphantly.
Sarah’s heart did the little leap it always did when Mum achieved something unexpected. Then the let-down. It didn’t mean anything had changed.
She’d given up hoping for miracles long ago.
“Yes, that’s right. I’m Fraser.” He smiled at Mum, a smile sweeter than chocolate.
He’d stayed so patient. Far more than she expected. What happened to his “I only want a simple life” line, the only thing making it safe to be friends?
Caring and concerned Fraser dangerously threatened her peace of mind.
“Are you staying?” Isabel asked. “I do like having a man around the house.” Her face clouded. “When is your father coming home, Sarah? It seems he’s been away such a long time.”
“Dad had to go away for a while. I’m not sure when he’ll be back. And Fraser can’t stay. He has his own home to go to.” Her reply came out higher and faster than she wanted. The thought of Fraser staying longer panicked her, racing her heartbeat and twitching her nerves.
Not because she didn’t trust him. He wouldn’t do anything to put them in temptation’s way.
She wanted him to stay to ease her loneliness.
The strength of the longing scared her. With Mum, she was never alone. But she didn’t have companionship, either. She craved Fraser’s company like a dieter craved cake. She mustn’t let him guess just how much she’d love to have him here. Because he’d offer to sit with Mum again, and like that cake, one taste and she’d want more.
Everyone else who said they’d be there for her and Mum had abandoned them. No reason to believe Fraser would be different.
He smiled so gently and kindly at Mum. “It’s been lovely to meet you, Isabel. I’ll wait until Sarah has you tucked up in bed, then I’ll say goodnight to her.”
She didn’t hurry Mum’s bedtime routine. Mum couldn’t be hurried anyway, even when she tried. But she was glad they got through it quickly tonight.
So she could get Fraser out of the house. Not because she wanted to see him again.
He switched off the TV as soon as she entered the sitting room. “That was quicker than I thought you’d be.” His smile tore holes in her.
Sinking into Mum’s armchair rather than taking the seat next to him on the sofa, she closed her eyes. “This wasn’t one of her fussy nights. Some evenings, we need to do everything five times over, and it can take an hour or more.”
Saying it seemed disloyal, as if she’d complained. But it was a relief to tell the truth, too.
“It must be hard.” His gaze held her as he sat leaning forward, hands clasped between his knees, as if he really cared about her reply.
She nodded wearily. “It is hard to see her like this. She’s intelligent, you know. She’d do the Scottish Times crossword every day and almost always got it right out. She got so frustrated and angry when she couldn’t do it anymore. And I told you she was artistic. She did all the paintings here.”
Fraser glanced at Mum’s pretty impressionistic canvases. “They’re good. She doesn’t paint now?”
“No. She seemed to lose interest in it. She doesn’t read anymore, either. She watches TV, but doesn’t really follow what’s happening. She looks at the newspapers.” She gave a little shrug. “It’s okay. In some ways, it’s easier now. She’s past the stage of getting seriously frustrated. Her doctor calls her ‘pleasantly muddled’. The medication she takes helps, too.”
“How about you? When do you get time for yourself?”
His gentle question almost undid her. How she longed for the blessing of some quiet time. Or to get away for a few hours and run on the beach, the way she used to.
“That’s a luxury. Trish comes in every Wednesday so I can do my practical sessions at school.” She grinned. At least she hoped it looked like a grin, as it wobbled on her lips. “At this rate, I’ll be the oldest PE teacher ever to qualify.”
Fraser’s smile twisted. �
�And there I was wondering if you were a secret party girl.”
She smiled. “No parties. Maybe I need to start napping after lunch when Mum does, but it’s the best time to catch up with my course work. You know what I’d love?”
He shook his head.
“More than anything in the world, I’d love a sleepin. Isn’t it terrible, that my hopes are no higher?”
Fraser leaned forward, reached out a hand to her. “Not terrible. Normal. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
After a moment’s hesitation, she took his hand. He held hers firmly in both his. Warmth and comfort and strength flowed from him.
It felt good.
She hated that it felt good.
Lord, I’m being so weak. It will be even harder when he goes. Help me please!
But she didn’t pull her hand away.
“I have an idea,” Fraser said, eyes intent on her. “Let me sleep over tonight.” He lifted one hand to stop her voicing the protest rising to her lips.
“Hear me out. I don’t want to cause any gossip about you. But I prayed about this while you were with Isabel, and it feels right. If you exhaust yourself caring for your mum, who’ll look after her then?” His hands tightened on hers. “I’ve tried to think who else I could ask to sit with her tonight and come up blank. Mum and Dad are on their retreat, and Cat has an early shift at the hospital tomorrow. I’m sure Mary would be able to sit with her during the day, but at her age, she needs her sleep more than both of us put together.”
“Where would you sleep?” She must be insanely sleep-deprived to ask the question.
He grinned his increasingly irresistible lopsided grin. “I’m used to roughing it when I camp out. I’ll sleep on the sofa. I won’t be able to help her get dressed or go to the bathroom. But if she gets up and wants to make tea or just needs someone to talk to, I’d be here.”
“I can’t let you do that.” Every cell in her body cried out for a good night’s sleep, but she mustn’t let herself rely on anyone. Especially not Fraser.
Love Blossoms: 7 Spring-Fresh Christian Romances Page 25