Yuletide Redemption

She gazed at the wall, a faraway look in her eyes. “Well, like I said, running. I’d run for miles whenever I wasn’t working. And we had a café I loved going to. I’d buy the latest David McCullough biography and just sit and read, sipping a latte. No one would bother me.”

She glowed as she spoke, and he wanted to give it to her—her old life—but he could no more fix hers than he could fix his own.

“With the weather getting colder, you won’t run outside anyhow, will you?” He couldn’t imagine running when it snowed. He’d never been an exercise fanatic. Played basketball now and then, and that was about it.

“Are you kidding? Of course I run in the winter. Ice and negative windchill are the only things stopping me.” She waved. “Well, until Parker came along, that is.”

Her words gave him an idea. He didn’t know if it would work, but he wasn’t about to overanalyze it at this point. “What if I watch Parker for you so you can run?”

“What?” She shook her head. “No. I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“I realize I’m not the best babysitter material. But if you brought him over here, there’s really not anywhere he could go. It’s a big open space for him. And I’ve got a television. We can watch cartoons.”

“But your cabinets aren’t babyproofed.” She stood, crossing her arms over her chest. “What if he falls or something and you can’t get to him?”

“I’m not paralyzed. I get in and out of my wheelchair fine, and you know I’ve been using my crutches longer each day for the past couple of weeks.”

Regret shone in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“No offense taken. I understand. If you’re worried about babyproofing, we can empty the cupboards. I never use them.” He tightened his hold on Parker, so warm against his chest. He wouldn’t mind taking care of the little guy for her, not at all. “How long do your runs last?”

“Thirty minutes to an hour. When I trained for marathons, I did longer runs, but I’m not training now.” She began to pace. He liked watching her graceful movements.

“Do you want to?” he asked.

She stopped, turning to him. “Do I want to what?”

“Train for a marathon.”

“I don’t know. I haven’t considered it.”

“Why not?”

“Well...” She returned to the couch and gave him a frank look. “My life revolves around Parker. And I’m having a hard time fitting everyday activities and work around him. Even taking a shower has gotten complicated.”

He didn’t doubt that was true, but he guessed her insecurity about her scars was the bigger problem.

“Let me take him off your hands a few mornings a week so you can fit your runs in.”

He could see in her face how tempted she was to take him up on his offer.

“You can drop him off first thing Tuesday morning, and afterward we’ll go grocery shopping together. Look, you miss running. I miss work. I want to go to the Friday meetings. I want to inspect the cars on my dealership lot, talk to my employees and sell vehicles to my customers. I miss the reports, the quotas, the rush of meeting our sales goals. I need to get back. I might never walk on both feet again, but I can work. I want to work. But I need to do this, first.”

* * *

Celeste clasped her hands tightly. She had to say yes. She knew it. How could she deny Sam this? But how could she agree?

He didn’t know what he was asking.

“I want to help you, Sam, but there’s a reason I don’t go to the coffee shop and read anymore, and it has nothing to do with Parker. People don’t just stare. They ask questions, and sometimes it hurts.”

If she took him with her, he’d see how other people viewed her. He’d said she was beautiful—of all the wonderful things he could say!—but he’d see for himself no one else thought she was pretty.

“Maybe you’re wrong. They don’t know you, but they know me. If you take me with you, the people we run into might not notice you because it’s been so long since I’ve been out.”

She hadn’t thought of that. “Yeah, and then a mom will stroll by with her young kids and one will say, ‘Mommy, why does she have all those marks on her face?’ It’s embarrassing, Sam.”

His lips lifted in a grin. “I can handle that if you can handle, ‘Look, Marge, isn’t that the Sheffield boy? What a shame it’s been this long and he’s still not walking.’”

She giggled. She didn’t mean to, but it came out. “Do people actually say that?”