Storybook Dad

“We stopped eating an hour ago, when we finished the pizza.” Mark pushed his chair back and reached for his son’s hand. “Besides, if we want Emily to teach us how to rock climb in the morning, we really should let her go home and get some sleep.”

Sensing the boy’s reluctance, she took hold of his other hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Rock climbing is serious stuff, Seth. You need to be well rested so you can listen extra carefully when I tell you what you need to do.”

“Oh. Okay.”

They walked through the pizza parlor and out into the night, the answering silence of the crickets marred only by the sound of Seth’s flip-flops slapping the pavement. It was a sweet sound, one she’d never really noticed until that moment.

“I had a really nice time tonight, Seth. Thank you for including me—” A shot of pain zipped up her leg, making her drop his hand and reach for the support of a nearby car.

“Emily? Are you okay?”

She smiled through the pain, praying that would wipe the worry from the boy’s face. But it didn’t work.

In an instant, Mark was at her side, his strong arm slipping around her shoulders and drawing her close. “Hey … talk to me.”

As the untimely pain released its grip, she did her best to shrug away the incident. “I’m okay. I just had a quick pain is all.”

“Do you get those often?”

Wiggling out from beneath his arm, she did her best to sound nonchalant as she made her way across the parking lot. “Yeah. Well, sometimes, I guess. It’s no big deal.”

Mark jogged to keep up, her pace quickening as she neared her Jeep. “No big deal? Are you kidding me?” He pointed at the nearest lamppost while studying her face. “Even in this lighting I could see your color drain away.”

She shrugged. “It happens from time to time. And it always stops.”

“If that happens again, maybe you should call your doctor. You know, to get it checked out or something.”

And just like that, the magical spell that had transformed the evening was gone, wiped away by the reality of her life. Turning her back, Emily reached into her purse and pulled out her car keys, her response barely audible to her own ears. “I can’t do that.”

He took hold of her shoulders and spun her around, raising her chin with his hand. “Why not?”

“Because I can’t call him every single time I get a pain. I can’t call him every time my arm goes numb. I can’t call him every time a bout of fatigue decides to rear its ugly head and confine me to bed for three days. I have a disease, Mark. It’s life.”

MARK TIGHTENED HIS GRIP on the steering wheel and resisted the urge to close his eyes. When he’d picked the multiple sclerosis pamphlet off the floor of Emily’s office that morning, it had never dawned on him that it was she who had MS. She was too beautiful, too energetic, too much of a go-getter to have such a debilitating disease.

Yet now that he knew, so many things made sense. The angst she’d exhibited over accepting his business card wasn’t denial over a loved one’s condition. Her refusal to let him help her with the kayak wasn’t some over-the-top display of feminism. And her insistence at racing Seth from the car to the restaurant, even though Mark had pointed to their unexpected dunk in the lake as a reason to take it slowly wasn’t about some bottomless well of energy.

No, Emily Todd was angry, and she was determined to show anyone within a stone’s throw that she had things under control.

He understood that stage. He’d been there once, too.

“Daddy?”

The sound of his son’s tiny voice from the backseat derailed Mark’s thoughts and forced him to focus on the moment. “What is it, little man?”

“Is Emily gonna die like Mommy did?”

The question was like a punch to his gut, grabbing hold of the arm’s-length thoughts and bringing them much too close for comfort. Sneaking a peek at his son’s worried face peering at him through the rearview mirror, Mark did his best to change the subject.

“You know what? I think it’s time we dust off your bike and start working on getting rid of those training wheels sometime soon. What do you say?”

He released a sigh of relief when the little boy nodded and turned his gaze toward the passing scenery, leaving Mark to his own thoughts once again.

It was still so hard to believe. How could someone who looked like Emily be sick?

The same way Sally was …

Just the thought of his late wife brought a lump to his throat. Sally had been so healthy one minute and so sick the next, her all too quick downward spiral made even quicker by the way he’d handled everything. Burying his head in work might have made much of what was happening seem more distant, but it had also robbed him of the little time they had left.

Instead, it was Seth who had been by her side day in and day out, watching his mother slip away until she was gone for good. The memory made Mark sick. What kind of father placed a burden like that on a little boy?

A coward, that’s who …

Somehow, some way, Mark was going to make things right. He had to. He owed that much to the boy. And to Sally.

But try as he did to engage Seth in conversation for the remainder of the ride home, the worry he’d seen in his son’s eyes in the rearview mirror was still there when they returned home. It was there when they’d shared a bowl of ice cream at the kitchen counter. And it was still there when he kissed Seth’s forehead and tucked him under the sheets for the night.

Mark had seen that worry in his son’s eyes for far too long. He’d watched it eat away at the pure joy that had been Seth’s existence prior to Sally’s cancer diagnosis. And he’d sat by, virtually paralyzed by his own fear, while that worry had morphed into a steely determination to be what Mark himself seemed incapable of being.

But no more.

Seth had suffered enough for one lifetime.

It didn’t matter how hot Emily Todd was. It didn’t matter that her enthusiasm and boundless energy breathed life into Mark’s stagnant world.

All that mattered was Seth.

All that mattered was keeping his son from ever reliving the kind of grief that had consumed his young life to this point.

Pulling Seth’s bedroom door shut behind him, Mark wandered across the hall and into his own room, where the picture of Sally with Seth on his third birthday brought a familiar mist to his eyes.

With fingers that knew the way, he lifted the frame from his nightstand and slowly traced the contours of his wife’s face. “His heart is safe with me, Sally,” he whispered. “You have my word on that.”

Chapter Four

Emily pressed the intercom button on the side of her phone, working to make her voice sound casual and upbeat. “Trish? Any sign of Mr. Reynolds and his son yet?”

“Still nothing, boss.”

“Oh. Okay. Thanks.” She pulled her finger back, only to shove it forward once again. “Um, Trish?”

“Yeah, boss.”

“My next class is at noon, right?” She glanced at the clock on the wall and noted the rapidly approaching hour.

“Noon it is.”

Her shoulders sank along with the tone of her voice. “Okay. Thanks.”