by Trumbo, Kari
She opened her eyes, swung the mouse up to the send button and hit it before she could talk herself out of it.
“Try to arrange that one, Duncan.” She laughed, but it held no humor. She was on thin ice. If he took that to mean she wanted to kiss him, he might try. Then what? What if he read it and decided she was weird…or ugly…or unworthy? She clenched her fist to her waist, her coffee burning like acid in her empty stomach.
She rushed to click open the unsend function on her email. It was too late, he’d already opened it.
* * *
Isla hadn’t answered his text, but he knew she was awake. She was a creature of habit as most athletes were. She got up every morning, precisely at 6:30 AM, and did her stretches to combat clots in her legs. He still wasn’t sure how she managed that alone, but every time he broached the subject, she would get frustrated and he’d drop it. After she stretched, she got dressed and ready for the day, then made coffee. He figured if he timed his email just right, she’d at least gotten her first sip before he shocked her, which was exactly what he hoped to do.
The ping of a new email came through. As he opened the app, he held his breath. How had she done it so quickly? It had taken him an hour to make his own list of only ten and he’d been thinking about it beforehand. He scanned down her list, and his eyes caught on number five. Get kissed under the mistletoe. His mouth fell open, and he gripped the arms of his chair. Could she possibly be feeling what he had? It seemed too good to be true.
He hit reply, but refused to broach the pink elephant that was number five on her list.
Isla,
That’s great, but you’re not even half done. Keep thinking. I’ll drop by after work, and we can talk about how to make some of these things happen. Only three weeks until Christmas!
Duncan
He drummed his fingers against his chin, then picked up his phone and dialed his boss, the head pastor at the Cornerstone Church.
“Hey, Pastor Paul, this is Duncan.”
“Good morning. What’s up?” Paul’s voice had a natural low timber, especially so at that early hour.
Duncan smiled. The senior pastor was very laid-back in approach, making him easy to talk to. It wasn’t that he couldn’t tell you right from wrong, or that he wasn’t out to show you where you might need conviction. He simply chose to speak it in such a plain and honest way that you knew it wasn’t him convicting you, but Him.
“You know Isla Flores. She helps sometimes with music in the Spanish service?”
“I do. Didn’t she start a small group at one point?”
Duncan didn’t want to get Pastor Paul in the weeds, and that particular venture hadn’t gone well for Isla. Some small groups worked, others failed, but not for lack of trying. “Yes, that’s her. She’s been working…training…very hard to try to qualify for the Paralympics, and as her coach, I’ve got to admit it’s a very long shot. I was looking for ways to maybe bring her focus back to the church a little. What better time than Christmas, right?”
“What do you have in mind?” Paul knew him too well. As the associate youth pastor, they’d spent many hours deep in conversation about the direction of both youth and adult ministries and how they had to connect, or children would never believe that what they learned was important.
“I’d like Isla to be a part of the student’s pageant, reading Luke 2 at the end. I know that’s a special role and usually reserved for an older child, but if she were doing it, she might be able to recite some of it, whereas the children couldn’t. They also would have a chance to be around someone they would classify as, you know, different, and see that she really isn’t.” Duncan bit his lip and waited. Paul didn’t just slap the okay on anything if he thought it needed more thought. It was one of the things Duncan respected about his boss the most, but he needed this to happen. For Isla.
“As long as she isn’t needed in the Spanish service, I don’t see any reason why she couldn’t, though maybe consider having her sing instead, so one of the children can still read.”
Duncan pumped his fist in the air. One down. “That’s a good idea. Thank you, sir.”
“Let me know if you need anything else, Schmitz. The pageant is in two weeks; I hadn’t realized you hadn’t chosen parts for everyone yet.” Back to reality. The children had been practicing some music, but they hadn’t really planned on doing a play.
“Plans have changed a little over the last day. I’ll get right on it this Wednesday night.”
“Sounds good.” Paul hung up, and the line went dead.
One down, four to go.
3
How the day dragged on and on. Isla stared at the clock on her computer for the tenth time in as many minutes. She’d only made it through one file that day and she’d had to edit it because of errors from her lack of concentration. Everyone got distracted once in a while, and thinking about what she would do with an afternoon without practice drove her crazy.
After a third attempt typing up a particularly boring portion of the court proceedings, Isla called it quits and hit save. Tomorrow would be easier, or maybe she’d be itching to go all the more. She’d been so dedicated to practicing for the past six years. Just taking time off for no reason was unheard of.
She pushed her chair into her bathroom, which was specifically fitted for a tenant in a wheelchair. The mirror and sink were at the proper height so she could use them easily, and the tub had built-in rails and a bench for her to sit on, from which, she could close the door and run the water. Without it, a bath would be very difficult. Even the toilet was made so she could easily get from her chair onto it with as much ease as possible.
Her dark eyes stared back at her from the mirror. Where had she gone wrong? Just a few years ago, she’d been the one who smiled all the time. She’d been the one the grandmothers at church would hug. She pulled down on her eyes and frowned. Aging couldn’t explain it away. Somewhere along in her life, some important piece of her had been lost, but she didn’t know what it was or how to retrieve it. Isla ran her brush through her long hair then stared at her makeup bag, covered in dust. If she tried that to give her a fresher look, Duncan would wonder why. Especially with her email. She shoved the bag farther into the corner.
Confident she looked like her normal self, Isla pushed her chair to the living room and over to the picture window. Her couch was in front of most of it, but if she slid in just right, there was room for her chair between the couch and the arm of the chair on the adjoining wall. If this was like any other day, she’d have her bag all packed, ready for a long, grueling practice. Now her belly fluttered wondering what Duncan would want to do. They hadn’t just hung out together since school. In recent years, their time together had always been about her goals, her drive, her need to win, and avoiding the truth of what she felt growing for him.
Duncan’s old blue Toyota pulled up and parked along the street. She watched as he yanked his earbuds from his ears and wound them around his fingers, tucking them into some console on his dashboard. He gathered something from the seat next to him then got out of his car. He was tall and lanky, a little quirky, his sandy blonde hair smashed under a dark beanie. He carried a small bouquet with him.
Isla’s heart waged a war in her chest. Why would he bring her flowers? Had he figured out her wish with her list earlier? She hadn’t made it exceptionally hard. She heard him open the door to the building on the other side of her wall, and she slid her chair back to rush to the security board to let him in. He buzzed her as she made it to the wall and punched in the security code. On the other side of her wall, she heard the short buzz and click of the door opening. A few moments later and a knock sounded on the door.
“Come in, it’s not locked,” she called from the kitchenette.
Duncan came in, pulled his hat off, and tossed it on her mail-sorting table by the door. “Hey!” He gave her one of his huge smiles. The kind that were so dreamy she didn’t dare withhold one in return.
“I brought these
for you, thought it might cheer you up after yesterday.” He went right to her cupboards, knowing exactly where she kept her mason jars she used as vases. He was as comfortable in her home as she was.
“Thank you, but you didn’t need to do that. Are you sure we can’t just do a shortened practice? What if I weaken? Three weeks is a long break. Too long.” She rubbed her arms, needing anything to do except watching him.
“I hear you. I thought about it last night and maybe I was a little harsh, but I still think we should limit it. Maybe Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays?” He glanced at her as he clipped the tips of the flowers into the trash.
“I suppose. You’re the coach, after all. But if I fall behind, you’re fired,” she teased. She’d never fire him, even if he were the worst coach out there. She always had to do her best for him, even though he was pleased with her no matter how she did.
“Fired, huh?” He laughed and filled the jar with water, then put the flowers in. “Where do you want these? Wait, I know, let’s put them on your desk, since we’ll need your computer anyway.” His eyes laughed as he made his way down the hall to her bedroom.
“My computer?” she called after him. “Why?” He’d had to help her with therapy after injury so many times that she didn’t even bat an eye at him going into her bedroom.
“Because you only did half your homework, young lady.” He laughed from her room. “Come on.”
She grumbled as she rolled toward her room. She’d been in there all day. Sitting at the computer wasn’t living. Maybe thinking about racing every moment of the day wasn’t living either, but making lists was a waste of time. “Okay, so I’m here.”
“I read your first five, they’re good. Let’s make at least five more. That will give me more to choose from.” He sat on her bed, the vase of flowers already brightening her desk, and nodded at the computer.
“Fine, but what’s this sudden obsession with death? I’m not going to die tomorrow.”
Duncan’s face changed ever so slightly. “You don’t know that. No one is guaranteed a tomorrow.”
“Okay, whatever. You got my first five.” She felt heat rush up her neck as she pulled up the email. “And now you want at least five more.” The list stared back at her: being looked up to, Minnehaha Falls, dance, sledding, kiss… “I assume I’m limited to local things. I can’t say…trip to Paris?” She poised her hands over the keyboard.
“No, my salary won’t cover a trip to anywhere more exotic than the cities.” One side of his mouth quirked and her belly fluttered. Did he even realize how adorable he was when he did that?
“Dreams on the cheap.” She picked up a pencil to give her hands something to do, since she couldn’t think of anything to type, and tapped it on her notepad. “Okay. I’d like to go see a movie alone in a theater, so people don’t stare at me or give me the stink eye when they have to walk around my chair to leave.”
“You hate that chair when you aren’t racing, don’t you?” He inched closer to her. “It’s okay, you know. You don’t have to love the situation you’re in. But you also can’t let it define you. You’re Isla, child of God, amazing racer, gifted singer, and cherished daughter.”
The breath lodged in her lungs. Why did he have to say things like that, things that made her melt from head to foot? “Mama and Papi would agree with you, there. They spoil me, podrido.” Her laugh bubbled up at the thought and the look of utter confusion on Duncan’s face. Her family was everything. Sunday dinners, long talks after church. Heart-to-hearts with the one woman who knew about her feelings for Duncan, because a mama always knows.
“Podrido? That’s not a word I learned.” He slid even closer and a hint of his aftershave lingered as she breathed it in. She blinked away the pleasant thoughts that very scent brought to her mind.
“Rotten, like a week-old tomato.”
“I love your parents, and I’m glad you let someone spoil you.” He shifted in his seat, avoiding her eyes.
Duncan spoiled everyone he came in contact with, though not financially. He was a youth pastor because he’d been homeless as a kid and he wanted to do his best to make sure that the kids he saw every week knew they could talk to him. They didn’t have to run, and Duncan would be by their side through any issues they might face. The adults didn’t like that he was assistant pastor over both the children’s group and the youth group, but the church had grown so quickly that they’d needed to fill the position quickly. Duncan gave every minute he could to those kids and it showed; the youth programs now flourished.
“I’m an adult now, I don’t need to be spoiled. I need to prove I can be someone in this cold world. I need to prove I can hold my own.” Everyone else would always assume she got jobs or earned raises because of affirmative action and she hated that it might be true. No matter how hard she worked, she would always have that over her head.
“Your coach says you need a little spoiling once in a while, which is why I talked to your mom earlier and made arrangements for the four of us to go to Buca di Beppo on Thursday after practice.”
“Buca? The Italian place?” While she loved American cuisine, Italian wasn’t really her thing, but she’d never gone out for a nice dinner with Duncan, so he wouldn’t know that. Just that fact was enough to make the night enjoyable.
“Yeah, it’s really nice. Not your typical Italian, it’s family style. I think you’ll like it and I hope your parents do, too.”
Isla glanced at her list again. There were so many things she wished she could do before she died, but she’d never really thought about it. Who would at her age?
“I’d like to find a way to pay my parents back for the racing chair. I don’t expect you to do that in the next three weeks, but maybe after we qualify you could help me find a way?” That way, if she didn’t make it to the Paralympics, she could at least use that as an excuse to continue seeing him. She neared an age where she would have to give up soon. It was hard on her body, especially her legs, and the younger racers had an edge.
“How much was it, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Isla’s throat hardened as it always did when she thought about the sacrifice her parents made for her. They’d told her it was the money they would’ve spent to send her to college. She’d wanted the racing chair more, even more than the electric wheelchair they’d offered in its place.
“It was fifteen thousand dollars plus an insurance policy for another five that covers repairs. That policy expires in one year. That’s when I’ll quit. I have to have my chair adjusted often if I gain any weight or if anything gets bent. We aren’t exactly gentle with them.”
He ducked his head and sighed. “I didn’t realize you’d already decided on an end date. I was worried you’d just keep trying. I’m praying for you Isla, because I worry that you’re so driven you won’t be careful.”
Her heart melted at the thought of Duncan praying for her, of thinking of her outside of their time together. Of course he would know her fears right down to the very core of her. He knew her better than anyone. “I don’t want to get hurt, but I also want something to show for everything my parents and you have done for me over the years. You’ve all given so much.”
Duncan glanced at the silver medals hanging on the wall. “Don’t those matter? I’ve been proud of every one you’ve earned. I know your parents are too.”
Those medals didn’t count. Not anymore. Not since she’d set her heart on the Paralympics. “You asked me to write down twelve things I want to do before I die, Duncan, and you’re missing the one I want the most. I want to race in the Paralympics. I don’t even care if I place. I just want to be able to say I made it. I competed. I did something normal.” She heard the emphasis she’d put on that all-important word and flinched.
“What’s so great about being normal? And, by the way, if normal is what you want, then you’d best put any thought of the Olympics out of your head. Normal people don’t compete at that level. Normal people don’t do extraordinary things. Stop try
ing to hide who you are just so people don’t stare. You’ve always been self-conscious with that chair, sure that people stared at you because of it. Did you ever stop to think that maybe they gaped at you because you’re gorgeous?”
Her hands dropped to her lap as she let the flood of heat start in her cheeks and flow right to her belly. No, she wouldn’t analyze his words too deeply. If she did, she might actually believe that’s how he felt. “You’ve never sat in this chair, you’ve never felt what I feel.”
Duncan looped a finger around the arm of her chair and turned her toward him, his blue eyes intense as they sat knee-to-knee. She could see every plane and valley on his face. “No, I haven’t been in your position, but I am one of the people who look at you. A lot. I don’t stare, and I don’t think others do, either.”
She didn’t want to be angry with him, but he just didn’t understand. “Fine. Number six: you’ll come with me on my next trip to the grocery store and you can use one of the push wheelchairs they have there. No one ever uses them because they all use the electric carts.”
He leaned forward slightly and she caught her breath, half hoping he would keep leaning and make one dream come true right then and there.
“You’re on.”
If she didn’t turn away from him, he’d see her thoughts and desires on her face. Isla backed her chair and turned to her computer, typing up number six. “There, six more to go.”
“Well, there are lots of things we can do, winter and Minnesota go together like peanut butter and jelly.”
She laughed. Duncan would eat something ordinary like PB and J, and probably enjoy every second of it. “Well, we’re too early in the season to see the Winter Carnival ice castle, but maybe it’s warm enough to go horseback riding? If that’s even possible.”
“That’s a great idea!” Duncan said, looking as enthusiastic as ever. “I’m sure it will be fun and I’ll be there to help you.”
One more for the list that seemed to take forever. Isla bit her lip and thought about all the things she could do. There were plenty that she wanted to try, someday, like parasailing and even skydiving, but those kinds of activities would probably be better in the spring or summer. “Maybe we should stick to these six. If I think of more and we have time, then we can do more. But we’re still practicing at least three days a week and you work Wednesdays and Sundays.”