March Into Hell (7 page)

Scott shook his head. "I heard you call him first. That's what got my attention."

At a loss, Mark ran a hand through his hair and scratched the back of his neck. He was not up to this today. Usually he was good at making up stuff on the fly, but right now, his head felt about ready to explode and he'd give anything for a couple of aspirin. He sighed. "I just...knew."

Jen's eyes softened. "It's all true, isn't it? The stuff in the paper?"

Mark looked at her and tried to come up with a reply. She was watching him with a mixture of awe and compassion. Uncomfortable with the scrutiny, he shifted his focus to the boy's father. The man gave him a speculative look, but his eyes too, held a hint of...what? Sorrow?

Mark couldn't figure it out, and dropped his gaze to the ground. He didn't know how or why, but somehow all of his normal defenses and walls had come crumbling down and he was left with no protection. He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and swallowed hard, unable to speak.

 The dad moved up beside him and threw an arm over Mark's shoulders. "You know what? I don't care how you knew any of this. I'm just
so
grateful that our son is still alive thanks to you." He gave a friendly squeeze. "My name is Scott Palmer and this is my wife, Jen. Have you had lunch yet?"

Mark shook his head, careful to keep it lowered, embarrassed at the sudden emotion that had welled up. What was wrong with him? He hoped it was just a side effect of the concussion.

Jen took up a position on his other side and put a hand on his arm. "We were about to eat lunch just before--" She broke off and shuddered. "Well, lunch is almost ready. Please join us?"

All he could do was nod.

* * *

"Please don't mind the mess. We're in the process of moving." Scott entered and motioned for Mark to come in. Jen
followed
and set Thomas down just inside the door, and then headed through the living room, the boy toddling behind her. A sliding glass door at the end of the dining room stood open to the balcony and, with a shake of her head, she closed and locked it.

The condo was narrow, but stairs led up to another level and down to another floor below. One wall was a deep earth-tone red that complemented the polished wooden trim. It gave the room a homey
feel
. Mark noted boxes stacked along one wall, and several opened boxes scattered around the living room. Piles of old newspapers sat beside the boxes, and items wrapped in the paper lay ready to be packed, or maybe they had just been removed from the boxes. "Moving in or out?"

"Out. In fact, the reason we're moving is because we want a home that's more kid-friendly." Scott nodded towards his son. "Ever since Thomas began walking last year, it's been a nightmare." He took Mark's jacket from him and hung it on a coat tree beside the door. "This place has four levels; do you know how fast a two year old can go from the ground floor to the fourth?"

Mark smiled and shook his head. "Not really, but pretty fast I imagine."

"In the blink of an eye!" Scott snapped his fingers to illustrate his point then walked through the living room into the kitchen, waving for Mark to follow him. "Do you have children?"

"No." It was too complicated to explain that about the time he was ready to settle down and have kids, he'd been locked away as an enemy combatant. His eyes fell on Thomas, now parked in a high chair and banging away with his hands on the tray.

The child turned to him and grinned. "Eat! Hunggy!"

Laughing, Mark reached out and tousled the boy's hair. "Me too, buddy."

"Why don't you have a seat, Mark, and lunch will be ready in just a couple of minutes. Scott, could you get out another plate, please?" Jen bustled around the stove and looked at Mark over her shoulder. "I hope you like macaroni and cheese."

"Sure, that's fine." His leg bounced under the table, and he tried to control it. Why had he accepted the invitation? They seemed like nice people but with everything going on, he knew they would start asking questions. At least he'd only had the one dream about Thomas's fall. Sometimes, the camera surprised him with more than one tragedy. Good thing today hadn't been like that. The way he felt, he wouldn't be good for much more, anyway. He rolled his shoulders and tilted his head to work out a kink.

Scott opened the fridge and bent to look inside. Bottles clinked and scraped before he pulled his head back out. "Would you like something to drink? We have milk, lemonade and apple juice."

"Milk is fine." Mark made a silly face at Thomas and was rewarded with a whoop of belly laughter. The kid was cute. Slowly, Mark walked his fingers across the child's tray, watching as the brown eyes became bigger and bigger as the hand approached, then suddenly, Mark swooped in and tickled Thomas's ribs much to the child's delight.

"You're good with kids," Scott said as he tugged out a chair and sat opposite him. He placed a tall glass of milk in front of Mark and handed a sippy cup to his son.

Feeling self-
conscious
, Mark pulled his hand back. "I like kids, but the only ones I see are in front of my lens usually.

Scott shrugged. "Still, you're good with 'em." He cleared his throat. "I hope you don't take this wrong, because I mean this in the most sincere way, but there is some truth to the article, isn't there?"

He knew this was coming and probably should have declined their invitation to lunch. Mark sighed and glanced at Jen, who was standing with the serving spoon frozen above the pot of mac and cheese, awaiting his answer. "It's not like the article says. I sometimes get a little...warning of some things that will happen, that's all. If I can, I try to change things to prevent the bad stuff."

"Like Thomas's...fall?" Scott and Jen
exchanged
a look and remnants of their recent terror still lingered in their expressions.

Mark nodded unable to meet their eyes when he knew that right now they were imagining what would have happened if he hadn't been there. Even though he had prevented the tragedy, he was sure they would be haunted by the sight of their son falling and being too far away to help.

Some of the dreams he had haunted him even after he'd prevented the tragedies. If only he could have gotten here sooner, he could have just gone to the front door and let them know that the balcony door wasn't shut all the way. They could have shut it and never known what would have happened.

 "I'm sorry. I should have been here sooner." A drop of milk traced a path down the side of his glass, and Mark wiped it up with his finger.

"Sooner? What would that have mattered?" Jen set plates piled with gooey pasta in front of each of them and a small plastic bowl of the same in front of Thomas before taking a seat at the other end of the table.

"I could have warned you and you'd have just locked the door. That would have prevented the...the fall." Mark shrugged, still feeling too guilty to look at the couple. He picked up his fork and ate a bite. It was good, but his appetite had dwindled as his guilt increased.

Scott regarded him for a long moment, his brown eyes thoughtful then he set his fork down and leaned towards Mark. "Maybe there was a reason you were late. Perhaps you were meant to catch our son not just prevent the accident."

Mark thought of the media circus back at the studio and smiled bitterly. "Yeah, there was a reason all right, but I don't think there was a purpose to it."

"Everything happens for a purpose, Mark." Scott said quietly. "I truly believe that."

Mark's head shot up, and he met Scott's eyes. "You sound just like my partner, Lily. She says that, too."

"You should believe her." Scott took a bite of his lunch, nodding. "She sounds like a wise woman."

"If you hadn't been late, we wouldn't all be eating lunch together. You would have warned us and then gone about your day, wouldn't you?" Jen smiled at Mark. "So, see? There was a purpose. You were meant to meet us." She winked at him to lighten the mood. "And eat this delicious meal."

Mark shrugged, a reluctant smile escaping as he conceded the point. "This is good. I haven't had homemade mac and cheese since I left for college." He took another bite, his appetite suddenly returning.

The rest of the meal was filled with stories of the other situations the couple's son had managed to get himself into. Mark snorted with laughter when they told him about the time Thomas had gotten into the fridge and threw one egg after another on the floor. Before each throw, he had said, "Ball!" They had heard him, but just thought he was playing with his favorite toy. It wasn't until they went to investigate the funny noise that followed each 'ball' declaration that they discovered a slimy mess all over the floor.

For dessert, Jen brought out a package of cookies. "I know it's not fancy, but with the move and all, the pickings are slim."

"Hey, nothing wrong with store bought cookies, is there, Mark?" Scott snatched a cookie off the plate and handed it to Thomas. "There you go, little man."

"Oh, Scott! I was going to give him an animal cracker. He's going to be a mess after eating that."

Mark glanced at the boy, who had cheese smeared from ear to ear and several pieces of macaroni stuck in his hair. He guessed mess was a relative term when it came to kids.

"Sorry, hon." Scott grinned at her and looked anything but sorry. Jen just shook her head and playfully punched him on the shoulder.

"That's okay. Today is special so he can make a mess if he wants." She stood and crossed to a drawer, pulling out a package of baby wipes. "At least I can keep the damage to a minimum."

After eating a second chocolate sandwich cookie, Mark looked at his watch. "Wow! I had no idea it was this late." He pushed away from the table and stood. "I have a couple of errands to run, but thank you for the great meal."

"It was our pleasure. Really. I'm so glad Scott and I got to meet you, Mark." In that way mothers had, Jen seemed to focus on Mark, but all the while, she swiped at her son's face and hands with the baby wipes, somehow managing to efficiently clean the little boy in just a few quick passes. Finished, she pulled the now sleepy Thomas out of his chair. "Can you say good-bye to Mark?"

Thomas smiled, his head resting on his mother's shoulder, but he stretched a hand out to Mark. "Bye, Mawk."

"Good-bye, Thomas." Mark reached out and squeezed a little toe. He felt a lump come to his throat as the little boy popped a thumb into his mouth and turned to rub his nose on his mom's shoulder. Mark shifted his gaze to Jen, catching her watching him with a soft smile turning up the corners of her mouth. Embarrassed, he shrugged. "He's a sweet kid."

She smoothed back Thomas's hair. "Yes. We're very lucky." She looked at Mark. "Thanks to you. You'll be in my prayers tonight."

Surprise flooded him. He wasn't the religious sort, but he was deeply touched at her sincerity. "Thanks. I could use all the help I can get."

Scott clapped him on the shoulder. "Here's your jacket. Do you need a ride? I can give you a lift wherever you need to go."

"Oh, no. That's okay. I'll just take the 'L'; it passes right by where I'm going. Besides, you're in the middle of packing, and I've already taken up too much of your time."

"You didn't take up any of my time." Scott walked with him to the door and once outside, his mood became quieter, pensive even. They stopped in front of the building. Scott reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. For a horrified moment, Mark thought he meant to offer him money, but all he did was pull out a business card.

"Here, Mark. Take this. If you ever need anything, don't hesitate to call me."

Mark glanced down at the card. Dr. Scott Palmer, Board Certified in Psychiatry. "You're a psychiatrist? I...I don't think I need one just yet." Humiliation burned through him. He had thought they were different. That maybe, for once, someone had believed him with no questions asked. He tucked the card in his wallet. "I'll do that." He stuck out his hand, barely able to suppress the hurt he was feeling. "It was nice meeting you and your wife. You have a great family."

Scott shook his hand, but regarded Mark with concern. Instead of letting go of Mark's hand he tugged on it until Mark met his eyes. "I didn't give you the card because I think you're crazy. I gave it to you because, with the move, it's the only number that won't be changing soon." He released Mark's hand. "I want to keep in touch and if you ever want to talk, officially or unofficially, please call me. God only knows, you probably need someone to talk to."

Mark nodded, feeling stupid that he had mis-interpreted Scott's motives, but also relieved. "I'll remember that, Scott. And if you're ever in the River North neighborhood, stop in the studio and say hello."

CHAPTER SIX

The Chicago cityscape slid by in a blur but Mark didn't notice. His mind wandered back to the time he'd spent with the Palmers. Their home, even with the mess created by moving, was comfortable and inviting. It was the kind of home he'd always imagined he would have one day. A home filled with love and laughter and kids. At least a couple of them. And a dog. Gotta have a dog. He shifted on the hard train seat in an attempt to ease the discomfort in his back. When he thought of the reason for the soreness, he smiled. Thomas's face, with his big eyes and mop of sun-streaked hair, popped into his mind. A little stiffness was a small price to pay.

"Polk Street!"

The announcement pulled Mark from his reverie, and he stood and headed for the doors. Several other passengers also prepared to exit and he noticed a few studying him curiously. He zipped his jacket higher and turned up his collar in hopes that it would conceal a bit of his face. He'd tried on a baseball cap, intending to use that to help hide his identity, but the edge of it rested right on the place he'd received his stitches and he couldn't tolerate the irritation. Maybe he should have worn sunglasses. He glanced up at the steel gray sky, the clouds threatening to either deposit snow or rain any minute. Sunglasses would have just called attention to him.