Promise Me Forever (Debbie Macomber Classics) (13 page)

With a frustrated exclamation, Sloan rolled off her and stared at the ceiling as she raced out of his room as if the devil himself were in pursuit.

For two weeks they treated each other like polite strangers. To avoid the curious stares of Clara and Paul, Joy took long daily walks along the beach. No longer did she play her flute on the veranda at night. L.J. was her companion and friend, often hopping along behind her on a walk.

On the first night of the third week, Joy delivered Sloan’s dinner tray. He sat, his gaze centered on the ocean. Joy left it on the table outside.

“Can we talk?” he asked, without looking at her.

Joy bit into the soft, fleshy part of her inner cheek. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Us.”

“No,” she answered emphatically.

“All right, we won’t talk about us. We’ll simply talk.”

Joy moved to the railing, watching the rumbling sea. The scent of the ocean filled the early evening. A gentle breeze brought in a salty spray. She turned and propped her elbow against the railing. “I don’t know if we have anything to say to each other.”

“That’s a negative thought. I’ve never known you to be pessimistic.”

“Oh, I can be,” she admitted, with a sad smile.

“Yes, I noticed.”

“If you don’t eat, your dinner will get cold.” Her mouth felt suddenly dry, yet her hands were moist to the point of being clammy. She should have packed her bags and walked out the morning after she’d given in to his kisses. But she couldn’t, not before it was time. When he was walking, at least on crutches, then she’d go.

His gaze fell on the tray she’d brought with her. “Leave it. I’m not hungry.”

“Have you been busy?” She knew he met daily with his father now, and she had seen his light long into the night.

“Very.”

“That’s good.”

He came closer to her side. “In some ways, it’s helped me …” He let the rest trail away.

“Helped you how?”

His smile was wry. “You said the subject was taboo.”

“Oh,” she said, and swallowed tightly.

Paul shouted from the far side of the yard and waved. Joy gave a guilty start. She’d told him she would join him for dinner at Mobey Jake’s. They went there often now.

“I’ve got to go.”

Sloan’s mouth thinned with impatience. “I understand.”

Quickly, she moved into her own quarters and grabbed a light sweater.

“Joy.” Sloan had followed her and slid open her glass door. “Will you play tonight? I’ve missed that.” His smile was slightly off-center, and her bones felt like liquid. “Almost as much as I’ve missed having you as my friend.”

“I’ve missed it, too,” she murmured, refusing to look into his eyes.

“Hurry back, my Joy.”

The words were issued so softly Joy was sure she’d misunderstood him.

Paul brought her a double order of fish and chips and joined her at the umbrella-covered table in the sun. The large order was far bigger than Joy could manage, but she automatically bought the double fish so there would be enough for L.J.

“You and the boss getting on better?” Paul questioned. Their camaraderie and mutual respect had grown over the weeks. They were a team, pressing toward one goal—Sloan. He would walk one day, and the credit would be due them all.

“I guess so.” She wiped the corner of her mouth with the napkin and lifted one shoulder in a lopsided shrug.

“Sometimes I wonder how you two can work with each other, the ice is so thick.”

“You have a good imagination,” Joy denied uneasily.

Paul lifted one thick brow expressively. “If you say so.”

Joy dunked a french fry in a small container of ketchup. “I do.”

Later, she brought her flute onto the veranda. She hadn’t played three notes when Sloan joined her. She lowered her instrument and offered him a smile.

“Are you taking requests?”

“Sure. What would you like to hear?”

“ ‘Yesterday,’ ” he replied without hesitation.

Joy remembered the first time she’d played the song. Sloan had angrily proclaimed that yesterdays were gone forever, that they couldn’t be brought back. Bitterness had coated his words. Now his voice was filled with hope.

The sweet melodic sounds of the Beatles’ classic filled the night. When she was finished, there was a poignant pause.

“Why did you request that song?” she asked in a whisper, not wanting conversation to ruin the mood.

“Because I wanted to share with you some of my yesterdays.”

“How do you mean?”

“Follow me,” he answered cryptically, and turned sharply, leading the way through his quarters. Once he was in the hallway, he paused in front of the door that was opposite her room. “Haven’t you ever wondered what was in here?”

“No,” she answered honestly. “I assumed it was probably your parents’ room.”

“Go on, open it.”

Joy turned the knob and stepped inside. Because his chair wouldn’t fit through the narrow doorway, Sloan remained in the hall.

The interior was dark, and she felt against the side of the wall for the light switch. Once she located it, she flipped it on. Immediately, light sprayed across a room filled with awards, trophies, and sports equipment. Plaques lined one entire wall. On closer inspection, Joy saw that each one had been received by Sloan. There didn’t seem to be anything he hadn’t tried and
mastered. Baseball, volleyball, skiing, bowling, and hockey.

Confused, she turned around, her smooth brow marred in thick creases. “All these are yours?” she asked, incredibly. “It’s unbelievable.”

“I was quite the jock.”

She picked up and inspected one of the smaller baseball trophies. “You were just a boy.” She lifted her gaze to his.

“My father is credited with mounting most of these things. The albums on the desk”—he pointed to a large flat-topped desk on the far side of the room—“are filled with newspaper clippings from the time I could hold a tennis racket.”

“My goodness, it’s enough to take my breath away.”

“I was good.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“I’ll never be as good again.”

Joy didn’t mince words. “No, you won’t. Does that bother you terribly?”

The look in his eyes seemed to peel away every defense barrier she’d carefully constructed these past two weeks.

“It did, but you changed that.”

“Me?” The one word echoed across the room.

“I accepted the wheelchair as my fate—until you came. It wasn’t a conscious decision, but one I can see as clearly now as if I’d signed the contract in blood. I was a winner with remarkable talent and skill, if I was to believe everything that had been written about me. I had the world by the tail; I lived the good life. And then it all came tumbling down on top of me. After the accident I decided that if I had to be half a man the rest of my life, then I’d be no man at all.”

Joy understood what he was saying. She came and knelt by his side.

“It wasn’t the pain that bound me to the chair, but the fear.” He took her hand and squeezed it tight. “I’m going to walk again, Joy Nielsen, because you had the foresight to understand what was happening to me on the inside. And just as you had your father, I have you.” Very gently he lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it.

Her heart plummeted to her stomach. Gratitude was what Sloan felt. Overwhelming gratitude, nothing more.

“You’re sure about this?” Sloan regarded her skeptically.

Joy sat on the thick blue mat on the weight room floor, her legs crossed Indian fashion. “Trust me.”

“You said that when you asked me to roll around like a man whose clothes had caught on fire.”

“Now I want you to crawl just like a baby.”

“How much longer before I can work on the parallel bars?” He eyed the set she’d brought in.

“Not long, I promise. If you want, I’ll test you for strength again today.”

“No.” He shook his head, and Joy could all but taste his disappointment.

“Don’t push yourself so hard. You’re doing remarkably well.”

“But the progress is so slow.”

“It isn’t,” she replied emphatically. “Look how long you sat in that chair—months. You can’t expect to be out running again in a matter of a few weeks.”

“Tell me what’s next.”

Joy must have repeated the procedure to him fifteen times, but she didn’t hesitate when he asked again.

“Lying to crawling, crawling to kneeling, kneeling to standing.”

“From there to the parallel bars, the walker, and last, the cane,” he finished for her.

“There’s a light at the end of the tunnel.”

“I’m just beginning to see it.”

“Good.” She smiled brightly. “I knew you would.”

“Should I pretend I’m a dog and bark?” he asked, as he moved into the crawling position.

“Go ahead.” Joy laughed. “It’ll give Clara a good laugh.”

Sloan gave an Academy Award performance that left both Joy and Paul laughing.

“Mr. Jewett’s here. I haven’t seen Dale in nearly nine months,” Clara said.

The laughter drained out of Sloan’s face and his eyes turned icy cold. “Send him away. I
don’t want to see him. Is that understood, Clara?”

“But Mr. Jewett’s been your friend since you were a boy.”

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to see anyone.”

Joy tossed a glance to the obviously flustered Clara, then back to Sloan. Angrily, Sloan reached out from the mat and grabbed the side of his wheelchair. With a violent shove, he sent it crashing against the wall. The chair tilted onto its side and fell over.

“What’s wrong?” she asked quietly, and knelt at his side. “Who is the guy?”

“A friend.”

“You have a funny way of showing it.”

“When I want your advice, I’ll ask for it,” he growled.

“That wasn’t advice,” Joy returned. “I was simply stating an opinion.”

“Then keep those to yourself.”

“Fine.” She stood and wiped the grit from her hands. Walking across the room, she uprighted the wheelchair and brought it to his side. “I want you to make the transfer yourself today.”

“I can’t.”

“Don’t give me that, Whittaker.”

“What is this? Put-the-cripple-in-his-place time?”

“Figuratively speaking, I think that’s it.”

“Kindly leave before I say something I’ll regret later.”

Joy’s mouth formed into a humorless smile. “Gladly.” Arms flying at her sides, she stormed into the kitchen, plopped down on a chair, crossed her legs, and took three deep breaths.

“What’s with that man lately? Mr. Jewett and Mr. Whittaker have been friends for a whole lot of years. Friends shouldn’t treat each other like that. It’s not right, it’s just not right. But no one pays a mind to ol’ Clara. No one,” she emphasized.

“What’s the matter with me lately?” Joy answered Clara with a question of her own. “I used to give as good as I took.”

Clara apparently chose to ignore Joy. “I said to Mr. Jewett that Mr. Whittaker’s not feeling like himself today. That’s what I said because I know later Mr. Whittaker is going to want to see his friends again. No need to offend him. I did the right thing, didn’t I?” Clara’s look was eager.

“You did fine.”

Clara clucked, and a look of relief relaxed her wrinkled face.

“Are you sure there isn’t any reason Sloan wouldn’t want to see his friend?”