The Isaac Project Page 17

  “Oh.” It was an inane thing to say, but I didn’t know what else to say. Luke had left a life midstride for me. People he cared about, family…what else?

  I managed to gather my wits. “Is it anything serious?” My own concern mounted for this boy I had never met.

  Luke nodded. “Apparently he was in a hit and run. He was riding his bike home from school, and a car hit him and drove off. His leg is broken in several places, and they’re concerned about internal bleeding.”

  We sat there in silence a few minutes, each of us absorbed in our own thoughts.

  I rubbed his thumb with mine. “So what are you going to do?”

  “Is it crazy that I want to go see him? Make sure he’s okay?” For a man who usually spoke with such confidence, he was showing a vulnerability I hadn’t imagined existed.

  Yes! “No, not crazy at all.”

  “I have the next four days off. Maybe I’ll see if I can’t catch the red-eye tonight or something early tomorrow morning.”

  I opened my mouth to respond, but Luke practically jumped from his seat. The sudden motion caught me off guard. I lost my balance where I knelt and landed hard on my rear. Luke didn’t notice. His head was buried in his phone as he walked to the door and out of the house. I watched him go from my position on the floor.

  I wanted to bang my head against the wall. Why now? I was just starting to get…comfortable with him here. And he seemed, uh, comfortable too.

  Stop being so selfish.

  Picking myself up off the ground, I went to retrieve the vacuum from the closet. I felt incompetent to help Luke, and, honestly, he seemed to have the situation well in hand anyway. While he was capable of helping himself, my house was not. The small appliance roared to life, and I passed it back and forth over the carpet, picking up the tiny pieces of popcorn that only a short time ago served as ammunition.

  I felt like a traitor as a smile crept to my lips. A child, one very close to my husband, was about to undergo surgery, and I had a stupid grin on my face. I couldn’t help it, remembering Luke chasing me while I pelted him with popcorn, the feel of his arms around me when he finally caught me, the warmth of his hand on my hip as he sat me on his lap. My stomach did an odd little flip-flop. It was easy being attracted to the man I’d married, but the way I was reacting to him made me both nervous and excited. I wasn’t sure I could trust myself and my judgment. It wasn’t that long ago that another man had made my insides quiver, and he had turned out to be about as trustworthy as the devil himself.

  Luke wasn’t James. All men didn’t consider women just playthings. Still, a niggling of nervous doubt made my insides a little sick. With conscious effort, I turned my introspection to the bubbling excitement in the pit of my stomach. Instead of worrying, I should be thanking God. Maybe it was possible that Luke was a part of God’s perfect plan for my life, after all. I had to admit my own plan had been just to get married for Poppy’s sake. I hadn’t expected to feel my heart skip a beat whenever I looked at the man I’d married. Dates to the ballet and food fights before John Wayne movies hadn’t been on my radar. Maybe I could fall in love with my husband after all, and I wouldn’t have to settle for a glorified roommate.

  Luke walked back into the house, ripping me out of my perfect fairytale hopes.

  “Okay. That’ll be great. Thank you so much.” He pushed the End Call button on his phone.

  I looked at him expectantly.

  “That was the airline. It took all my frequent flier miles, but I was able to book a flight for tonight. I have to leave in an hour to get to the airport on time.”

  “I’ll drive you,” I offered.

  Why were my eyes burning? I wasn’t a ninny, and he’d been a part of my life all of a month. No crying.

  “Are you sure? I could just leave my Jeep in long-term parking.”

  “It’s silly to pay for parking when I can take you.” I was going to miss him. I didn’t want to admit it, but it was true. How had I become attached to him being around so quickly? I pinched the outside of my leg. This wasn’t about me. It was about Marty.

  “Thanks.”

  “Hmm? Oh. No problem.”

  It turned out the ride to the airport didn’t afford much opportunity for conversation. Luke was on his phone most of the trip, informing family he would be in town and setting up a place to stay. Curiosity had my nerves zinging when I heard him ask his aunt and uncle if he could stay with them. Weren’t his parents still in Michigan? Why wasn’t he staying with them? Just another part of my husband’s life I didn’t know anything about.

  We pulled into the airport, my truck rumbling beneath large signs indicating which airlines were serviced in each terminal. Technically, it wasn’t a fantastic time to start a more-than-superficial conversation, but my curiosity got the better of me.

  “You must be really close to your aunt and uncle.” I hedged around the real topic of my inquisitiveness. After all, his parents might be dead like mine, and I didn’t want to put my foot in my mouth.

  “Yeah, they’re real great folks. Kind of like a second set of parents.” Luke’s voice held a warm quality as he spoke of his family.

  “What about your mom and dad?”

  “They’re great too.”

  I huffed. This was getting me nowhere. At least I knew they were still alive, or he would have talked about them in the past tense. So why not stay with them?

  “Do they still live in Michigan?” I changed lanes to avoid a car stopped in front of me. Cars were only allowed to park in the right lane for drop-offs, but that didn’t stop vehicles from congesting the other lanes as they stopped to let their passengers disembark.

  Luke turned his head to look behind him, pointing with his thumb over his shoulder. “I think that’s where I needed to get out.”

  I groaned and then flushed, offering a sheepish smile and small shrug. “Guess we’ll have to go around again.”

  “I don’t mind,” he winked. “But to answer your question, no, my parents don’t live in Michigan anymore. My mom was tired of the cold and retired to Florida. My dad was tired of my mom, divorced her, and now lives in Nashville with his new wife.”

  The comment was made as a matter of fact, but the residual bitterness was etched in Luke’s tone.

  As the truck looped around again, and I took in the same scenery I had just witnessed minutes before, I chastised myself for letting my curiosity get the better of me and starting this conversation when there wasn’t enough time to see it through.

  There were so many new questions now. How old was he when they got divorced? How come he decided to stay in Michigan instead of moving closer to one of his parents? Logically, I knew I could answer that question—because he was a grown man with a steady job and a life of his own. The sentimental side of me, the side that still remembered what it was like growing up without a mom or a dad, couldn’t quite grasp living so far away from one’s parents. Did he resent them for their decision to split up? Did he still have a good relationship, or any relationship for that matter, with either one of them? I certainly hadn’t heard him talk about them before.

  “You can just drop me off at the curb,” Luke said.

  I pulled the truck over when an opening appeared, and we both hopped out. As Luke grabbed his bag from the back, I walked around to the passenger side to join him. The low but loud hum of twin jet engines flying overhead shook the air around us.

  “I’ll be praying for Marty,” I said, bringing the conversation back to the reason he was leaving.

  “And me too, I hope?” he asked with a half smile.

  I nodded as I looked up at him and he looked down at me. I was beginning to feel awkward and self-conscious. Should I shake his hand? Give him a hug? A little wave and drive away? All options were a far cry from a Hollywood good-bye scene.

  Luke set down his bag and cupped the side of my face with his hand. His thumb caressed my cheek bone. “I’ll miss you,” he whispered.

  You will? My heart fluttered.


  “Will you miss me?” he asked.

  I couldn’t speak past the lump in my throat. I nodded again.

  His smile seemed satisfied, and the dimple in his cheek peeked out. His hand inched backward into my hair at the nape of my neck. With gentle pressure he pulled me forward. I watched in slow motion as his lips descended. My eyes closed involuntarily the moment I felt the fullness of his mouth on mine. With one hand still in my hair, he draped his other hand around my waist and pulled me close to his body until there was no space left between us. Angling his head, he deepened the kiss. My arms rose of their own accord and wrapped themselves around his neck. Besides the few brotherly kisses to the forehead and the one chaste kiss at our wedding, this was the first physical contact we’d shared as man and wife.

  A car horn blasted nearby, and I jumped back. Peeking around Luke’s arm, I spotted a black Mercedes with its blinker light on waiting to pull in to the spot my truck occupied. The driver looked none too patient as she tapped her manicured nails on the steering wheel, the shine from the diamond on her ring nearly blinding me.

  I looked back at Luke shyly. “Guess I better go.”

  He kissed me once more. A quick peck on the lips.

  “To remember me by,” he said with a cheeky grin. Like I’d forget.

  “You rogue!” I hollered to his retreating back. No one would have believed my words. The smile on my face told a different story.

  The black Mercedes honked again. I jumped back in the truck, and pulled away. Something white in my peripheral vision snagged my attention as I merged onto the freeway. Reaching over, I grabbed the small piece of paper lying on the passenger’s seat. I unfolded it on the top of the steering wheel. My eyes flitted back and forth between the words on the paper and the road. The note was in Luke’s handwriting, a quote from the Bible.

  I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine.

  Usually I would balk at such possessiveness, my independent streak running deeper than the San Andreas Fault. Normally I wouldn’t want anyone saying I was theirs, like some object to be obtained. I was my own woman. Or so I’d thought.

  But as I read those words, instead of recoiling at the idea of being owned, my soul seized the feeling of belonging. I was not so naïve as to think this note did not hold some significance. The knowledge of its meaning and the memory of his kiss warmed me and sent shivers through my body at the same time.

  24

  Luke

  ONCE I’D RETRIEVED my carry-on from the overhead compartment, I whipped my phone out and sent a quick text to Sam while waiting in the narrow, crowded aisle of the plane.

  Just landed. C u soon.

  Seven hours in a cramped seat had left me stiff. It felt good to be able to stand up, even pressed as I was by bodies on either side of me. The line of people shuffled forward, and I followed, waiting impatiently till I got off the aircraft and could stretch my legs in a normal stride.

  Sam stood waiting in front of security. He thumped me on the back. “So how’s married life, old man?” The corners of his eyes crinkled with the upturn of his lips.

  “Just wait and see,” I teased back. “I’m sure Lisa is more than willing to make an honest man out of you.”

  Curiosity oozed out of Sam, but I remained tight lipped. I wasn’t kidding myself to think I’d survive the few days among family and friends without getting grilled about my new wife and the life we were starting to share together. But I also wasn’t prepared to have such a conversation in the South Bend Airport.

  “Lisa wanted to come with me to pick you up, but she had an early class she couldn’t miss this morning.”

  I nodded.

  “Don’t think you’ll be able to blow her off like you did me though, man. She won’t let you off the hook that easily.”

  “I didn’t blow you off.”

  Sam raised his eyebrows. I chose to ignore him.

  I tossed my bag in the back of his sedan and slid into the passenger’s seat.

  “Do you want to stop for a bite to eat first, or do you want me to take you straight to the hospital?” Sam asked as I buckled my seat belt.

  “I can always grab something in the hospital’s cafeteria. I want to see Marty as soon as I can. I’m not sure if they’ve been able to reach Mrs. Stabler, and I don’t want Marty to be alone if they haven’t.”

  Sam rolled down his window and paid the airport parking attendant.

  “Speaking of Mrs. Stabler…” Sam let his sentence die.

  “What about her?” I tried not to get defensive but could feel my hackles rise.

  “Two questions. One,” Sam held up one finger in the space between us. “Did you tell Becky about her? And two”—a second finger rose—“what are you going to do about her if she’s there?”

  “I hope for Marty’s sake she is there.”

  “It would save you some trouble if she wasn’t.”

  “True, but this isn’t about me.”

  Sam nodded and glanced at me before returning his eyes to the road. “You still haven’t answered either of my questions.”

  I sighed and pushed a hand through my hair. I couldn’t wait to see Marty. His mom, on the other hand, was a different story. “I guess I’ll do what I always did—try to keep my distance.”

  Sam harrumphed his disapproval. “And Becky? Did you tell her about Colleen?”

  “There is nothing to tell about Mrs. Stabler.”

  Sam turned and gave me the same look my father used to give whenever he was disappointed in me. I used to wish he’d yell at me, or slap me on the back of the head, or call me stupid. Anything besides regarding me with that look and the small shake of his head. Guilt and shame washed over me as I sat in Sam’s sedan, the same way it had when I was a kid.

  “What was I supposed to tell her?” I asked weakly in my defense.

  “The truth.” Sam snorted.

  “What? That the woman came with her own theme song, which so happened to be ‘Maneater,’ and she wanted me as the next course?”

  “I don’t know if I’d have been that dramatic, but, yeah, something like that.”

  We drove into the hospital parking lot, and Sam pulled up beside the curb to let me out. I was opening the car door when he spoke again. “It’s not too late, you know.”

  I didn’t pretend not to know what he was talking about. I was sure he meant well, but I didn’t see his logic. Why would I needlessly worry Becky about a woman that I couldn’t even stand? If Mrs. Stabler had been an ex-girlfriend or something, sure, I would have seen the need to inform Becky about her. But Marty’s mom was nothing more than a nuisance I had to deal with in order to try and make a difference in her kid’s life. Becky had too many other things to worry about that were real concerns. She didn’t need anything else on her plate.

  “I’ll see ya tonight,” I said right before I shut the car door and walked through the automatic doors of Lakeland Hospital.

  ***

  I felt a little out of place in the sterile environment of the hospital without my uniform. Shaking off my discomfort, I walked past the semi-circle desk with a sign marked Information hanging above it. I’d had enough stitches and burns tended here that I knew my way around fairly well.

  I strode purposefully down a long corridor and turned to the right. When I reached post-op, I stopped in front of the nurses’ station. A plump nurse with her hair tied back in a tight knot and wearing Scooby-Doo scrubs was hunched over some paperwork, a pen in hand.

  I cleared my throat and she looked up at me over thick-framed glasses.

  “Can you tell me which room Marty Stabler is in, please?”

  Without a word she rolled her chair over to a computer. The click, click, click of nails on a keyboard drifted through the space between us.

  “Marty Stabler. Room 1672.” The nurse read off the illuminated screen.

  “Thank you.”

  The room was almost at the end of the hallway. I knocked on the door, opening it only after an adolescent ans
wered “Come in.”

  Marty’s hospital bed was raised in a sitting position, with its patient propped up with extra pillows for support. The only color contrasting the white of the bed was the bright-blue cast that started on the boy’s left foot and covered his leg all the way up to his thigh. Even the pallor of Marty’s skin matched the starkness of the sheets he lay on. It reminded me of the vanilla ice cream cones he liked to eat in the summer.

  Marty’s arm rested palm up next to the top of his cast. A small tube, secured with clear medical tape, protruded from a vein in the soft underbelly of the boy’s elbow. An IV dripped clear liquid into Marty’s arm.

  “How’s it going, squirt?” I made my voice light.

  “Mr. Luke!” Surprise etched Marty’ features as he leaned forward in his bed.

  “You know, you didn’t have to go to such drastic measures to see me. You could have just called.”

  A faint smile touched Marty’s lips, but there was no light in his eyes. I wasn’t sure if he was in pain, tired, or just plain bored of being cooped up in bed.

  “Where’s your mom?” I kept my tone casual.

  A conspiratorial sparkle entered his eye. “I talked her into sneaking me a cheeseburger.”

  I made a show at looking at my watch. “It’s only eight thirty in the morning. You’re more likely to get an Egg McMuffin than a Big Mac this time of day.”

  Marty shrugged his shoulders. A hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

  Pulling up the only chair in the room to face the same direction as Marty, I sat. The phone in my back pocket was uncomfortable to sit on, so I leaned to the side, withdrew it, and set it on the small side table by the very stiff-looking love seat.

  “So what are you watching?” I inclined my head toward the mounted television.

  “iCarly.”

  “Oh yeah? I’ve never heard of it before.”

  For the next hour I learned more than I ever wanted about the Nickelodeon Channel’s apparently very popular TV series. It was just my luck that it was having some sort of iCarly marathon. I could feel my IQ dropping with each episode.