Storybook Dad. Laura Bradford
laughter echoed around them. “Welcome to my job. Where I get to play—and help others play—all day long.”
“Sounds like heaven to me.”
“Really? Because the last time I checked these woods were in the middle of Winoka, Wisconsin,” she joked, before beckoning him to follow as she wound her way back through the trees. “If you don’t mind me asking, what made you decide to take this class, Mr. Reynolds?”
He considered the best way to respond. If he shared too much, the lift in his heart from stepping out of his reality would be gone. If he didn’t give her any kind of answer, he’d come across as rude. He opted for the safest reply he could find. “First of all, it’s Mark. Mr. Reynolds makes me feel as if you’re talking to someone much older than I want to be. And as to why I came today, I guess you could say I’m looking for something that’ll help me unwind.”
“Sounds like a good reason.”
They emerged from the woods side by side, then cut across the clearing toward the old converted barn that served as the offices for Bucket List 101. When they reached the front door, Mark tried to think of something else to say, something to allow him even a few more minutes in her orbit, but he came up empty.
“Well, thanks for today. It was really great.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it, Mr. Reynolds.”
“Mark,” he reminded her gently. At her nod, he turned and headed toward his car, the sound of the door opening and shutting behind him making it both easier and harder to breathe. Never in his recent and not-so-recent memory could he recall a woman who affected him quite the way Emily did.
Except, of course, for Sally. And even then, it was for very different reasons….
When he got to his car he reached into his pocket for his keys and froze.
“Oh, no …” He wrapped his fingers around the circular object and pulled it out, denial quickly morphing into self-recrimination. “What an idiot I am!”
Shaking his head, he retraced his steps to the barn and went inside, his feet guided down the hall by the sound of music and a pinpoint of light streaming through the crack under a door.
He knocked and heard Emily say, “Come in.”
Pushing the door open, Mark peeked inside, to find her hunched at a desk, poring over some sort of outdoor catalog. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I forgot to actually give you my compass after tracking you down in the woods. I’m a head case, I know.”
Her laugh echoed off the walls and brought his body to attention. “Considering the fact that you showed it to me twenty minutes ago and I didn’t take it, I think it’s safe to say your state of mind isn’t the only one in question at the moment. But no worries. I happen to believe momentary insanity is par for the course after running through the woods for two hours the way we did. It rattles brains, I think.”
He took a few steps into her office and leaned against the wall, her sincerity and her genuineness speaking to him on some unexpected level. “Do you ever get tired, running around like that?”
The sparkle in her eyes dimmed. “No, never.”
“Wow.” Despite his best intentions, he found himself glancing around the room, looking for any excuse to stretch out their time together. It was as if by being there, talking to her, he could almost forget the unforgettable. He pointed at the illustrations on the wall behind her desk. “Looks like you’ve got a budding artist on your hands.”
The sparkle returned. “Nope. Just a dreamer who happens to have a very sentimental friend.”
“You lost me.”
She grinned. “I drew those when I was ten. Kate, my sentimental friend, just uncovered them in her hope chest a few weeks ago, and felt the need to share them.”
He took a step toward the pictures. “And this is you in all of these?”
“Minus the freckles, of course. I hated my freckles when I was ten.”
“You shouldn’t have.” He pointed at the first drawing. “Trail riding?”
“That’ll start back up in the spring.”
Stepping to the right, he considered the second. “Nice rapids in this one.”
Her laugh sent a skitter of awareness down his spine. “If I took my customers white-water rafting without helmets today, I’d lose my license.”
“Artistic liberties, that’s all.” He matched her laugh and took in the third picture. “Something tells me I didn’t look quite as confident in the woods just now with my compass.”
“You did great.” Emily swiveled her chair a hairbreadth to study him. “Everyone did.”
Aware of her gaze, he pointed to the final picture. “I’ve always wanted to rock climb.”
“Then why haven’t you?”
He stared at the drawing, his lips forming the words he’d only recently come to acknowledge. “Procrastination, I guess. I figured there’d always be time.”
“And now?”
“I know better.” He cleared his throat of its sudden gruffness and gestured toward the line of framed pictures. “Looks to me like the dreamer who drew these hit a grand slam.”
Her silence made him turn just in time to see her open her eyes and force another smile to her lips. “Considering my sentimental friend uncovered a fifth, which I opted not to hang, I’ll settle for a home run.”
“Oh? What happened to that dream?”
She waved his question aside. “To borrow your words, Mr. Reynolds—I mean Mark—now I know better.”
Momentarily unsure of what to say, he shoved his hands into his pockets and reclaimed his spot against the wall opposite her desk. “Well, four out of five is nothing to sneeze at. Hell, when I was ten, all I thought about was being a firefighter and trying to kiss the redhead who sat behind me in math.”
“And how’d you do?”
“One for two.”
She laughed. “You’re a firefighter, then?”
“No. An accountant.”
“So the redhead inspired your academic path?”
“She inspired me to quit putting off until tomorrow.”
“Oh?” Emily’s eyebrows rose. “Does she need a job? We could use a spokesperson.”
“No. No, she doesn’t need a job.” With his good mood rapidly spiraling, Mark tipped his head forward and pushed himself from the wall. “I’d better get out of here. Lunch-making duties await.” He took two steps toward the door and stopped, a flash of color out of the corner of his eye hijacking his attention to the floor. “Oh … hey, you dropped something.”
Squatting down, he retrieved a tattered pamphlet from the carpet beside the trash can and turned it over in his hands, the headline, Multiple Sclerosis, catching him by surprise. “You know someone with MS?”
When she didn’t answer, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a business card. “I volunteer with an organization called Folks Helping Folks. We help people with disabilities by building wheelchair ramps, installing handrails in bathrooms, funding specially equipped automobiles, and that sort of thing. You know, whatever can make their day-to-day life a little easier.”
Placing the card on top of the pamphlet, he held them out to Emily. When she didn’t respond, he held them out farther. Again, she didn’t take them, her hands remaining on top of her desk as if glued to its surface. And in that instant he understood why she sat there and said nothing, why she looked at the pamphlet and business card as if they were poison capable