Dakota Love (26 page)

“No, it’s okay. I don’t mind talking about her.” Mark smiled. Sometimes Sarah reminded him of his mom. Not in looks or stature but in her gentle caring way. The Christian way, his mom always said—putting others first.

Sarah slid a slice of pizza from the box and offered it to Mark. His previous thought and her action widened his smile.

“We moved in with my grandma Bea when I was five, and Mom opened a tailor and sewing business in the basement. She was a good seamstress, and it didn’t take long until she had quite a clientele list.”

The lilt of Sarah’s laughter filled the room. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but no wonder you looked so shocked when I said I didn’t know how to sew.” The crinkles around Sarah’s eyes deepened when she laughed, and merriment shone from her dark eyes.

Mark chuckled. “I have to admit most of the women I grew up around sewed—my grandma, my mom, our neighbors Caroline and her mom. I was literally surrounded.”

“Is that why you run a fabric and quilt shop? Because of the ladies in your life?”

“Actually, I inherited it from Mom. When her tailoring business grew, she opened a fabric store.”

“Where did the quilting come in?” Sarah crinkled her napkin in her fist and lifted her soda can.

“Mom decided she needed a quiet hobby to help her cope with her MS. She ended up with lots of scrap fabric from her tailoring business, so she began quilting.”

Sarah’s eyes widened, then she began to cough. She lowered the soda can and covered her mouth with her napkin.

“Are you okay?” Mark pushed his chair back and started to rise.

“I’m fine.” Sarah spoke through the napkin. “Just went down wrong.”

“Are you sure?”

Sarah nodded. Mark lowered to the chair.

“Do you mind my asking how old your mom was when she was diagnosed with MS?”

“Not at all. Twenty-five. Tell me about your parents.” Mark grabbed another piece of pizza from the box.

“They live in Brookings. Dad’s a retired professor at South Dakota State University and Mom’s a legal secretary. Three more years and she’ll retire, too. Believe me, she’s counting the days. They plan to do a lot of traveling.”

“Good for them.”

“I think so, too. My older brother and his family live in California. Do you have siblings?”

Mark shook his head as he stood. “Would you like any more pizza?”

“No, thank you.”

He closed the lid on the pizza box and slid it to the end of the table. “I’ll put it here so I remember to take it home.” He gathered their used napkins and the soda cans and walked to the waste can.

“What’s your dad like?”

Mark stopped midstep. He never got used to answering this question. He turned and shrugged. “I don’t know. He left when I was five.”

Sarah leaned back to avoid the steam as she poured boiling water into her china teapot. In seconds the clear water turned pale brown and fragrant as the liquid released the flavors and aroma of the dried tea leaves. Her mom would be here any minute with their once-a-week calorie splurge—bakery cinnamon rolls.

After transferring a wicker tray filled with her pansy-patterned tea service from the counter to the kitchen table, Sarah yawned and stretched. She’d spent a fitful night reliving her question to Mark. Not because of the answer she’d received when she asked about his dad—that he’d deserted his family. It was the timing involved.

It didn’t take a genius to do the math. His dad must’ve left the same time Mark’s mom was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. Karla’s cruel remark about men not committing to a woman with health problems had instantly echoed through her mind at Mark’s admission. Karla’s haunting statement kept Sarah wary of her and Mark’s actions the remainder of the night. Was it flirting or friendly banter? She didn’t want to mislead him like she’d been misled so many years ago. When she told him that she had MS, would he prove Karla right? Would his interest in her wane?

“I hope not. I like Mark.” Happiness tickled her heart at her verbal acknowledgment.

Sarah smiled and traced the lettering on the Granny Bea’s bag lying on the table. She trusted God just like Job had, that good could come out of her situation, and that might include Mark. She hoped it included Mark.

The roar of a car engine overtook the chirping birds and neighborhood sounds filtering through the open kitchen window, announcing her mom’s arrival. Sarah opened the back door and waved a welcome to her mother.

Dressed in skinny jeans and a long blue T-shirt, her mom appeared ten years younger than her actual age. She pecked Sarah’s cheek as she passed through the doorway. “How are you, dear?”

“Fine, a little tired. I didn’t sleep well last night.” Sarah looked down at her grungy but comfortable exercise outfit, wishing she’d inherited her mom’s casual dress style. Sarah closed the door and took a seat at the table.

“Is it from your MS?” Her mother set the bakery box in the center of the table, slid her purse from her shoulder, and stashed it on an empty chair as she sat across the table from Sarah.

“No, something was bothering me. But if I don’t take a nap the loss of sleep might aggravate my symptoms.”

“I worry that you’re doing too much.” Her mom added a lump of sugar to each cup and poured the hot tea over it.

Sarah reached for the saucer and carefully placed it in front of her. “Not you, too.” Sarah punctuated her sentence with a sigh as she reached over and snagged a cinnamon roll.

Her mother scooted back into her chair. “What do you mean?”

Sarah leaned forward, resting her elbow on the table and her chin in her hand. “Karla’s against my job, my hobby, and…”

Her mother’s raised eyebrows prompted Sarah to continue.

“My interest in a gentleman.” Sarah pinched a bite off the cinnamon roll and nibbled on it while she watched her mother’s reaction.

Her mother pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. “We’ll get back to him later. How against everything is Karla?”

“Enough that it’s straining our relationship.”

“That’s too bad. You’ve been friends since kindergarten. Is it really a strain or just a difference of opinion?”

Sarah watched her mother bite into her roll. “It’s a vehement difference of opinion, and she just won’t let the subject matter die. She wants me to agree with her and I can’t. She thinks I shouldn’t be working and wants me to quit my job.”

“Well”—her mother nodded her head—“she has a valid point there. It’s stressful and tiring learning a new job. You should have considered that when you were searching for a different career.”

“What?” Although every fiber of her being wanted to jump up from her chair, Sarah remained seated. “You agree with Karla?” Her tone reflected her outrage; then it clicked. Sarah narrowed her eyes. “Did Karla call you?”

Her mother held up her palm. “Hear me out. She’s concerned about you, and so am I. You should have looked for part-time office work so you’d have more time to rest.”

“I already have too much free time to think about my future with MS. That’s why I took up quilting, to occupy my mind with something other than my illness.” Sarah took a drink of her tea. The lukewarm liquid did little to calm the anger shaking her insides.

“I don’t understand why Karla’s upset by that one. It’s a nice sedentary activity.”

Sarah rolled her eyes and pushed her roll away, no longer excited for her weekly treat. “I didn’t choose quilting because it was sedentary. I wanted to create something beautiful. I think you and Karla should attend one of my MS support groups. They encourage you to remain active as long as possible.”

Her mother answered with a shrug then sipped her tea. “Now, what’s this about a love interest?”

“He’s not a love interest.”
Just a possibility
. “Mark is an acquaintance that I’m getting to know better.”

“Well, don’t rush into anything.” Her mother’s features softened as she reached across the table and clasped Sarah’s hand. “Promise me that you’ll really get to know him before you get involved.”

“I promise.” She’d never repeat her past mistake when it came to love.

“And be honest about your MS.” Her mom pulled her hand away.

Sarah sighed then nodded.

“I’m your mother, and I love you and don’t want to see you hurt. Now probably isn’t the best time to get involved with someone. Some men can’t handle being a caregiver, at any age.” Concern shone in her mother’s eyes.

Maybe “some men,” but Mark seemed different. After all, he helped his mother. Sarah looked at the Granny Bea’s bag at the other end of the table. She’d been drawn to the Job’s Tears quilt pattern because she wanted a visual reminder that if you accepted the good from God, you must accept the bad. She hadn’t planned the people closest to her would expect her to give up, just like Job’s friends and family.

Mark squinted to read the thread number on the end of the spool.
Probably should invest in some cheap readers
. He pushed the thread into the display holder. First his hairline receded, now his eyesight was getting bad. What would be next—his knees?

On Saturday afternoon, he’d toyed with the idea of calling Sarah for a last-minute date. The gorgeous April temperatures beckoned him outside. He’d heard the falls were rushing from the spring snowmelt and thought maybe Sarah would like to take a walk through Falls Park with him. She’d listed her phone number on the class registration, but that was for emergencies, like a class cancellation. In the end, Mark felt it might be an unethical use of the form. Besides, it was easier to say no over the phone, so he planned to ask her tomorrow night before or after class, whichever time worked better.

The jangle of the door buzzer echoed through the room. “Be with you in a minute,” Mark called as he shelved another spool of thread. He lifted the empty thread box and turned. Sarah stood at the end of the aisle.

Delight replaced Mark’s dismay of the aging process from seconds ago.

“Hi. I came to practice before tomorrow night.” Apprehension dotted Sarah’s features as she held up her tote bag. “I’m going to start my pillow.”

The soft pink blouse she wore complemented the rosy glow of her skin. The hoops of her dangly earrings and sandal straps matched the color of her shirt, dressing up her denim crop pants.

“As good as you did on Friday night, I’m sure you’ll finish the pillow tonight.” He used the empty box to motion toward the back of the store. “After you.”

“I don’t really think I’ll need your help tonight.” Sarah glanced over her shoulder.

Mark’s balloon of happiness popped. He liked being in the same room as Sarah. He liked being able to help her learn something new. He liked being needed.

“That didn’t sound quite right. I appreciate the instructions you gave me on Friday.” Sarah stopped in the darkened workroom doorway and turned to face Mark. “I’d just like to try this on my own tonight.” Her voice held a determination that didn’t match her expression.

“Excuse me.” Mark reached around Sarah and flicked the light switch. He momentarily closed his eyes to savor her flowery perfume before backing up to allow her entry into the room. “You want to test your skill?”

“Exactly.” Sarah smiled. “I feel confident when you’re right beside me, but you won’t be in class with me tomorrow night.”

Mark followed Sarah into the workroom. “I understand.” He did, too, but that didn’t stop the searing disappointment of not being able to stay close to Sarah. Have a conversation with her. Ask her out. Mark watched Sarah turn on the sewing machine and pull her project from her bag.

Aware of his hesitation, he turned to take the box to the garbage can when he saw the Gert’s Gang envelope that he’d forgotten to take home. He walked over to the table and picked it up.

“Mark.” Sarah stepped closer to the table. “I meant to ask you the other night if you accept new members in Gert’s Gang. I’m going to participate in the MS walk and thought it might be more fun to have people to walk with.”

“Sure! The more the merrier.” Joy fueled Mark’s exuberant response. Why hadn’t he thought of inviting her to join their group last Friday night? This meant more time to spend with Sarah. Mark opened the envelope to pull out an individual pledge sheet.

“Thanks for doing this, Sarah.” He handed her the paper. “The money that walkers bring in goes a long way in helping with MS research.”