Dream Runner

by Gail McFarland

  “What makes you think it was me, that it was my car?”

  “Saw some pictures in the paper. She had a silver Accord. Vehicle height ’bout matches your damage. Then, too, I found this.” The man held up his hand, displaying the silvery patina adhering to his fingertips. Parker blanched. He looked at Desireé, and her greedy eyes glittered as she slipped her arm through his, pulling him close. “He can fix anything, baby. He’ll make that car better than new. You just pay him, and life will be good—just pay him whatever he asks.”

  “How much?” The number given was staggering, and Parker felt his life spinning further out of control. “That’s far more than the dealer would charge.”

  “Yeah, but I won’t call the cops on you.” The shadetree mechanic sucked at the inside of his cheek and looked amused when Parker stumbled back a few steps.

  When the ‘car genius’ kept his saliva to himself, Parker looked relieved. Then he looked at Desireé on his arm.

  “S’up to you,” the ‘car genius’ said.

  Parker was aware of the cloud that slipped between him and the sun, and he prayed that it was not an omen.

  Chapter 11

  How many nurses does it take to draw blood? Doesn’t much matter, because it always hurts when they do it for the fiftieth time. Marlea poked at the cotton ball taped over the sore spot on her arm. At least I’ll be out of here soon, and I won’t have to go through this much longer.

  Out of here and back to my own life. She turned to face the window; the morning sun was still high in the sky. “…blue skies, sunshine, please go away…” The start of an old song by the Temptations…but the words felt right. No day should be this bright and sunny when your life held so little hope.

  A small bird landed on the windowsill. Though it sat outside, she could hear its quick chirp. Looking for its mate, or just glad to be alive, she thought. Me, I’ve got nothing to sing about.

  I always knew that I wouldn’t be fast forever. I just thought that it would be long enough to…I know that nobody stays competitive forever, but I came so close this time. I had this one last chance. I know that I should be grateful to have survived, and I am, but I thought that if I wanted something so badly and worked so hard to get it…

  I get out of here; I go back to my life. At least I can still teach. Nobody can take that away from me. I get to work with the children I love…and then what? She closed her eyes and tried not to dwell on the depression she felt shrouding the beginning of her day. Marlea Kellogg wrapped her arms around herself and wondered what else she would do for the rest of her life.

  Before this accident, everything was always so clear. I had a path and an identity. I never worried about sports or classes at the gym. I knew that I was a runner and a teacher—now I’m only half of what I once was. I’m a teacher who loves what she does and that’s going to have to be enough.

  She opened her eyes. A small package rested beside her on the bed. What the heck is this? She picked it up and read the return label. It was from Katie Charles. Katie. She must be…maybe twelve years old now? She was a brave kid. Marlea smiled, remembering the little girl powering her way through the halls of the Runyon School in her specially built wheelchair.

  She opened the package and found a videocassette—and a note.

  Hi, Ms. Kellogg,

  I know it’s been a long time, but I heard about what happened to you. I am sorry to hear about it, but I know that if anybody can hold her head up and make the best of a bad situation, it has to be you. You have a way of making good things better and finding your way around bad things. I know that you will find your way around this, too.

  Your friend,

  Katie

  P.S. Do you remember that time our class sang for assembly? We sang ‘Tomorrow’ and my mother taped it. This copy is for you. Don’t forget, the sun will come up tomorrow.

  Marlea folded the note, and let the cassette slide from her lap. Katie was just a kid, maybe two years away from believing in Santa Claus.

  It was sweet of her to think of me. Marlea’s palms pressed the note flat and tucked it back into the package. She leaned over to slip the package into the drawer of her bedside table and caught motion from the corner of her eye.

  “Is it okay for me to come in?” A white cloth fastened to a stick crept through the slight opening of her door. Moved from side to side, it looked like some kind of flag.

  Cocking her head, half-waiting for the rest of the show, Marlea hesitated.

  “You decent?” The flag waved again.

  “Uh, yes?”

  With a final wave, the flag disappeared, only to be replaced by the strong figure of AJ Yarborough. “How are you today?”

  “Not that it matters, but I’m doing as well as might be expected under the circumstances. What’s with the flag?”

  “Just a symbol, a declaration of faith.” AJ looked at his makeshift flag. “It’s a white flag to let you know that I come in peace.”

  “Are you spelling that with an i or an e?” If pressed, Marlea might have admitted that his white smile and the clean lines of his sun-burnished skin were appealing, but nobody was pressing, and she wasn’t about to give him the break. “Why are you here?”

  “We have a date. Remember?” Stepping into the room, AJ dropped his flag on the brown vinyl chair in the corner. Still smiling, he reached for the wheelchair parked in the corner and pushed it close to Marlea’s bed. “I thought I would pick you up in style.”

  “No way.” No matter how graceful he looks, I’m not falling for it. “I’m not getting in that thing, and I’m not going anywhere with you, not today, tomorrow, or any other day.”

  “Why not?”

  “’Cause you’re no Richard Williams is ‘why not.’ ”

  “Who is Richard Williams?” Briefly stumped, AJ grinned when the answer dawned on him. “What has Venus and Serena Williams’s father got to do with anything?”

  “He got them to do what he wanted them to do, when he wanted them to do it, and you are not my daddy.”

  “No, ma’am. Think of me as a trainer.”

  Marlea fanned a hand. “I already have a trainer, thank you very much.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ve met her, and Ms. Libby Belcher is about as good as they come—for what you used to do. We talked it over and agreed that for what you are going to need in the future, I’m the one to get you ready.”

  “You talked to Libby about me? You had no right!”

  “No, ma’am. I disagree with you; I had every right.”

  “Quit calling me ma’am! You had absolutely no right to…”

  “Marlea, then. Look, when I signed on to your case, I took on responsibilities. I owe it to you to do the very best for you that I am able to, and a part of that was talking to your coach. My job, as your physical therapist, is to pinpoint your weaknesses and to build your strengths.”

  Marlea’s lips tightened into a straight line across her face. “You always showing up in my life. Is that a weakness or a curse?”

  “Marlea, I’m sorry I tripped you; I was clumsy. I’m sorry for the loss of time, but I can’t give it back to you. I am very sorry that you were in the accident; you don’t deserve this kind of pain.” AJ stepped around the wheelchair and reached forward, capturing her hands between his. Tender steel beneath his warm and certain flesh kept her from pulling her hand away. “I’m not going to apologize again for tripping you. It was an accident. Get over it.”

  Blinking, Marlea’s lips parted, and she ran her tongue over them before taking her hands back.

  “I’m not going to argue therapy or treatment with you. I’m not going to argue where you’ve been versus where you thought you were going. At this point, I am not going to ask your preferences or solicit your choices, but I am putting you on notice: You are going to work with me. You are going to walk.”

  “Oh, now you’re a miracle worker, too?”

  “No, but I am going to take a hands-on approach to my part in your recovery. You know I’v
e been called in to work with you on exercises—how to use your body to regain strength and mobility, and to prevent reinjury.”

  Eyes low, Marlea’s mouth opened and closed. No words escaped her.

  “Nothing to say?”

  “Not to you.” The corner of her mouth hitched. “Would you listen if I did?”

  “If I thought it would do you any good.” Parking a hip on her bed, AJ looked at her and waited. Marlea shrugged. “You might be able to convince me. Care to give it a try?” She shrugged again. “That’s not an answer.” His voice went low and respectful. “I saw some film on you yesterday. You were good.”

  “Yeah. I was.”

  “The way you were running, it was like you were cutting the air, girl. And the look on your face…you were a fierce competitor. I never would have figured you for a quitter.”

  Her head snapped up and AJ watched her shove pain from her face. She really was tough.

  “I’m not a quitter. I simply hate you, that’s all.”

  “You don’t even know me.”

  “I know enough.”

  Her body tense, she folded her arms across her chest and crossed her legs. Dang, he thought, Psych 101 says she’s through with me. “What do you think you know?”

  “I know that you and Dr. Reynolds think you’re going to save me from myself. You coming in here like some fifty-cent savior. I know that’s not going to work for me.”

  Wonder if she talks to her kids like this? AJ smiled. “You know that things have changed for you. You know that you could have died in that accident.”

  “A part of me did.”

  AJ brushed the words aside. “You’re still here. When you get tired of feeling sorry for yourself, there’s some stuff you’ll need to know—for self-preservation.”

  Sullen, Marlea tried not to look directly into AJ’s face. “Like what?”

  She acts tough, but she sounds scared. “Like what will happen to your body and your quality of life if we don’t get you up and moving.”

  “I think you’re just trying to scare me into doing what you want.”

  “No, I just want you to understand the limits you’re placing on your recovery. Without therapy, you can look forward to poor circulation, infection…little things that could make your situation a lot worse.”

  “Little things.” What is he talking about? Is he trying to say that if I don’t work with him, I’ll lose the rest of my foot? Is he trying to say that I’ll be a freak? Marlea recoiled, imagining what lay beneath her bandages. That’s what he wants me to think, that I’ll be a freak.

  “It’s not like you’re going to be a freak,” AJ said, reading her mind. “I understand that you’ve worked with children who have had to learn to deal with physical and mental challenges.”

  “I have, and not one of them was a freak.”

  “Exactly. You’ve lost digits Marlea, not a limb. You’re going to do more than just survive this; you’re going to triumph over it. That’s what I’m here for—to help you over those hurdles.” He winked when she grimaced at the word hurdle. “Why not give it a try?”

  “I already told you that I’m not going to give anything a try. I don’t want to. There’s nothing you or anybody else can do to give me back my toes or my life, and I don’t plan to fake it.” Drawing back her good foot, Marlea shoved hard against AJ’s hip, bouncing him off the bed. “And don’t sit on my bed; it’s not sanitary.”

  “Inhospitable, that’s what that was,” he said, looking at the bandaged foot she tucked defensively beneath the covers. “You know, in all fairness, in any game, you get three strikes. Today’s visit? We’re just going to call it strike one. You might want to keep track of that, ’cause there will be no ‘do-overs,’ and you have two more times to tell me ‘no.’ Meantime, have a good day, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “That’s up to you,” she muttered, watching him return the wheelchair to the corner. She said nothing as he left the room.

  After the door closed behind him, Marlea flipped back the light blanket and drew her other leg up on the bed. Careful with her bandaged foot, she pulled both knees high and looped her arms around them. Mr. AJ Yarborough has a lot of nerve.

  “Who does he think he is? Telling me I have three chances. To do what? Get it right? Or maybe he thinks that he’s going to come in here and somehow save me from myself? Next thing I know, he’ll be hovering over me, saying something like, ‘resistance is futile.’ ” And with that voice, he’ll make me believe it. Chin resting on her knees, Marlea bit her lips and huffed. “That’s just ridiculous, and if he thinks that he’s going to win me over by being condescending, well, he’s just got another think coming.

  “The last time I detested any one human being this much was…” She couldn’t think of a single time, not even when Libby forced stair drills into a successful training routine. And then he had the nerve to try to recruit Libby as an ally. “Wait ‘til I tell Libby that he had the nerve to tell me that I have three strikes…” Two, she remembered.

  “Threatening me, that’s what he did.” With what? A common sense question: hard to dismiss. Unwilling to be deterred by logic, Marlea shifted her focus to her doctor. “It’s really his fault. He hooked me up with this domineering, egocentric megalomaniacal…” She had to stop when she ran out of adjectives.

  Her eyes went to the clock on her bedside table, and she recalled what AJ said about little things. Am I running out of time? He said that I had to work with him. Why him? Her mind sketched AJ Yarborough, then inspected him inch by inch. He was perfect. Just because he’s good looking is no reason to hold on to him, and her mind went immediately to Piedmont Park. For some reason, her memory chose his muscles to remember, his body to claim.

  The crush of her nipples, then her breasts, against the hard wall of his chest, his breath hot against her skin couldn’t be ignored. Hands on sweaty skin, pulses shared, locked in motion and in time, made her heart beat faster. The rush of their sudden impact, his arms closing around her as they folded against each other, was undeniable. His leg climbing hers, his dense and commanding weight moved her as no man ever had. Marlea closed her eyes and swallowed hard, feeling him again, hating that he stirred her. It was damned near orgasmic.

  Why him? Why did Dr. Reynolds pick AJ Yarborough? And why did Libby go along with him? What makes AJ Yarborough the ‘one’ for me? “Has fate just got it in for me?”

  “I’m sorry, what did you say?” The gentle voice snagged Marlea’s attention and made her jump. It was Jeanette, the nurse who had called Libby. Entering the room, she used her hip to open the door wider.

  “Just talking to myself,” Marlea improvised.

  “A little prayer goes a long way.” The nurse dimpled when she smiled. “I came by to change the dressing on your foot.”

  Knowing that it was a job that had to be done, Marlea slid her legs free of the covers. Jeanette pulled a short stool forward and sat. She deftly snapped open the cover of the plastic tray she had brought with her and went to work. “This doesn’t look too bad,” she said pleasantly.

  Marlea turned her eyes away from her foot. “I met the PT that Dr. Reynolds wants me to work with.”

  “Mr. Yarborough? Yes, this is the first time he’s worked with us. I hear he’s very good, though.” Jeanette winked up at Marlea. “You’re a lucky woman, getting all that attention from a fine specimen like him.”

  “Lucky? You think so?”

  “Humph! It could be a lot worse. I broke my ankle last year, and you should have seen the frog I got stuck with. All chunky and bent over, shriveled up like a raisin, whistled through his false teeth when he talked, and he had the nerve to try to feel me up, too. Kept saying he was trying to maintain the circulation around my damaged joint, walkin’ his fingers up my leg, like I wouldn’t notice.” She gave a final turn to the bandage and smiled. “Honey, I’m a nurse and I know where my ankle is. Don’t you think that old fart could have come up with something better to tell me—anything but that?”r />
  “Like what?” Marlea giggled.

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Jeanette began to tidy her supplies. “At least he didn’t have to treat me like a blonde nurse.”

  “A what?”

  “Okay, here’s what I mean.” Jeanette crossed her legs, obviously ready for a visit. “Why did the blonde nurse take a red magic marker to work?”

  Marlea shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “In case she had to draw some blood…get it?”

  “Uh, yeah…”

  “I actually tell better jokes than that.” Jeanette leaned forward and whispered, “How ’bout this one? These two women, Maisey and Daisy, were having a glass or two of wine and talking about their boyfriends one night. Maisey wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, but she mentioned that her boyfriend had dandruff. Daisy didn’t see where this was such a big deal, so she said, ‘When my boyfriend had dandruff, I gave him Head & Shoulders.’ Maisey thought about it and thought about it. She didn’t want to sound too stupid, but she finally had to ask, ‘How do you give shoulders?’” Jeanette slapped her thigh and whooped, tickled by her own joke.

  “Anyway,” she wheezed through her laughter, “any man who wants to feel me up should buy me jewelry, or be able to tell a good joke, or…at least be as good-looking as AJ Yarborough.”

  Sharing the laugh, Marlea tried not to wonder if AJ Yarborough would ever have the nerve to feel her up.

  Chapter 12

  Why him? The question still nagged at Marlea as she rode along in the sticky vinyl-seated wheelchair. AJ Yarborough is not the only PT in Atlanta, and he surely is not the only man left in the city, yet here we are together again. The irony was not lost on her as AJ moved her smoothly across the threshold into Grady’s green-walled physical therapy area. She tried ignoring him and the therapy tables and machines.

  Cutting her eyes toward a mirrored wall, she watched him. Muscles bunched in his arms, and his white shirt was molded nicely across his chest as he pushed her chair. Judging from the pleasant expression on his face, AJ either didn’t notice her ignoring him or was ignoring her back—she couldn’t tell which. Parking her next to a leather exam table, he didn’t seem to mind her silence. With his back to her, he pulled a white sheet from the basket next to the table and snapped it efficiently into place.