Love Inspired August 2014 – Bundle 1 of 2 (28 page)

“July. And what’s that got to do with anything?”

Luke pulled up closer. “How many dates have you had since then?”

Max suddenly wasn’t interested in playing notch-on-the-post with this guy. Not that
he was a long-term-relationship guy himself, but he hadn’t realized a legend like
Luke Sullivan took the phrase “wheeling womanizer” to a new level. “Enough.” Was Sullivan
for real? JJ lectured him on taking Heather to dinner when there were guys like
this
rolling around the world?

Luke’s chuckle of disbelief annoyed Max. “Yeah, just like I thought. Not one, huh?
You need to play to your strengths, Jones. Pity perks are all we get around here.
Don’t go believing that rehab nonsense about rich, full lives with all the same things
we’d have had before the chair. We’re out of that race—you don’t see too many of us
rolling down the aisle.”

Max halted his wheels, a bit stunned. Of all the guys in chairs to garner a full social
life, Sullivan should top the list. “Wait a minute—you’ve been in a chair for, what,
six years?”

“Seven and a half.”

“And you’re telling me no woman has ever gone out with you for just—”

Sullivan cut him off with a laugh and waved his hand as if the thought were ludicrous.
“Pity perks are all you get, dude. Best to own up to that now.”

“But...”

Luke angled to face Max. “Sure, there are the ones that talk a great game. Acceptance,
accessibility—oh, the social workers are really good at that one—and they’ll stick
with you for a little while. Then you get sick or they want to go on vacation somewhere
you can’t go, or worse yet, their family gets wind of it. Then it’s bye-bye.”

Max was sorry he could still feel enough of his gut for it to knot. “Don’t mess with
me. Come on, you’re like G.I. Joe in a chair. If somebody like you only gets dates
out of pity, what hope is there for the rest of us?”

“That’s just it, dude. There isn’t any hope. Don’t get sucked in. In the end, you’re
just the compassion merit badge. And it feels like being dropped a mile. You want
my advice? Don’t even try to do the relationship thing. It doesn’t work.”

It was the first time Max had ever found anyone more cynical than himself, and it
wasn’t a pretty sight. “That’s harsh, man.”

“Better to know now. Relationships do not work out for guys like us. Let me guess—your
rehab therapist told you not to start a serious relationship for the first year, right?”

Max tried to remember the speech he’d received and mostly ignored. “Well, yeah. I
figured it wouldn’t be all that easy, but I didn’t take myself totally out of the
market. I mean, there have to be women who can handle this.” His thoughts went to
Heather and the bright future she’d painted for Simon. She thought it possible.

“No,” Luke said with a dark certainty Max practically felt run cold down the back
of his neck. “Only women who
think
they can. And everybody finds out how ugly that can get.” Luke pulled up to his regular
chair and shifted himself out of the racing model with a strength and agility Max
had to admire. The guy was the best in the world, and an Adonis on wheels to boot.
If anybody knew the rules of the game, it was Luke Sullivan. “Sorry to be the bearer
of grim news, but better you know now. It just isn’t possible.” With a bump of his
fist on Max’s shoulder, Luke wheeled off in the direction of the athlete’s tent.

The entire concept of Adventure Access was that anything was possible for someone
with a disability. Well, almost anything. Then again, Max knew that JJ had a bucketload
of veteran friends whose marriages and relationships hadn’t survived the injuries
soldiers brought home. Granted, he hadn’t been at this very long, but now that he
thought about it, he hadn’t run into one happily married man in a chair. He’d just
figured they weren’t into the sports and outdoor pursuits AA sponsored—the company
had a decidedly young demographic—but what if they weren’t out there at all? What
if Luke was right?

Luke Sullivan, you’re pretty much a jerk, aren’t you?
Max thought bitterly. Luke couldn’t be right. The guy’s paralysis just started at
his heart, that was all. He’d known men who attacked their dating life with that “take
no prisoners” attitude—he’d been one himself, for crying out loud. Max decided he
no longer admired Luke Sullivan very much—the guy’s handicap went a lot further than
his legs.

Until he remembered something an old friend of his had said—one of the many friends
who had fallen by the wayside, unable to cope with the new world of “Max on Wheels”—that
now rang disturbingly true:
Sometimes it’s the jerks who say out loud what we all wish weren’t true.

Chapter Seven

M
ax wasn’t back in town more than twenty-four hours before JJ insisted he come with
her and Alex to attend the funeral of Mort Wingate, an older guy in town who’d been
sick for a while.

“I know who Mort is...was...but it’s not like I was close to the guy,” Max argued
with JJ outside the church entrance.

“That doesn’t matter,” JJ retorted. “You know his daughter, Melba, and her husband,
Clark, and this is as much about them as it is about Mort.” JJ went all motherly on
Max, an odd soft tone in her voice as she found something to brush off his shoulder.
“This is how community works, Max. Everybody’s there for everybody else.”

His sister and her new husband had really made Gordon Falls home in a way that even
he hadn’t, although he’d lived there longer. In fact, JJ had been house-sitting for
him when she’d first met Alex, who’d been on a sabbatical of sorts in Gordon Falls.
They’d met, they’d become friends, they’d grown close...and then they’d watched it
all fall apart thanks to Max’s injury. Adventure Access was born from the ashes of
Adventure Gear, Alex’s old company that had made the new, experimental climbing line
from which Max had fallen. Anger, blame and guilt had separated Alex and JJ for a
time in the aftermath, but they’d worked it all out.

As for himself, Max had long stopped caring whether the injury was the result of faulty
equipment or his own recklessness. JJ would say that was God’s healing. To Max, it
simply didn’t seem worth the energy to point fingers now that all that business had
been settled. Especially since Alex and JJ looked so happy that Max could almost believe
the stuff JJ spouted about how God had worked that whole mess for good.

That was easy to believe when the “for good” had really changed your life “for good.”
Sure, his job at Adventure Access was far better than anything he’d done before the
accident, but it didn’t quite even out in Max’s view, nor could he really believe
that it would. It had all left him on not very friendly terms with God, which was
why it made him so antsy to be wheeling into the Gordon Falls Community Church for
this funeral.

“There’s a spot for chairs up front,” Alex said, knowing Max hadn’t set foot in the
sanctuary despite living in Gordon Falls for nearly two years.

“Up front? Can’t the newbies sit in the back?”

“What, so you can cut out early?” JJ chided. “Come on—I promise it won’t hurt.”

The church was packed. Max couldn’t help but wonder—if he hadn’t survived his fall,
would his funeral have been packed the pews like this? Max mostly avoided pondering
the reason why he was still here. For a few seconds there with Simon, however, he’d
felt a glimmer of what he supposed Alex would call “purpose.” He certainly was doing
good at Adventure Access—people told him every day how he changed their perceptions
of what was possible after an injury like his. That was satisfying to hear, but it
wasn’t the kind of thing a guy could build a life on. What Luke Sullivan did accomplished
the same thing, but Max had no desire to end up a bitter, manipulative skeptic like
Sullivan, even if it did mean a packed social schedule.

“You’re here,” Heather Browning said with a disturbing air of surprise as she walked
up the church aisle. She looked over at JJ. “Can I sit with you all?”

“Sure,” Max said before JJ had a chance to respond, rolling his chair back a bit to
give her access to the pew next to him. Maybe church wasn’t so boring, after all.
When she’d settled into her seat, he leaned over and whispered, “Melba is friends
with you and JJ, isn’t she?”

Heather nodded. “She’s had a long go of taking care of Mort. Clark, too.” She motioned
to where Melba; her husband, the fire chief, Clark Bradens; and some other people
still stood in the back of the sanctuary. “It’s so sad.”

“Never seen a happy funeral.”

Heather looked up. “Oh, I have.”

“A happy funeral? Isn’t that sort of an oxymoron?”

The organ music softened, signaling the start of the service. “Not really. I’ll tell
you after the service.”

For a church service, Max had to admit it wasn’t that bad. Heather had a sweet singing
voice, so he didn’t mind that he didn’t know any of the songs, because it gave him
a chance to listen to her. Pastor Allen wasn’t half-bad for a minister type—he actually
seemed pretty down-to-earth. He talked about death as heading home to a place where
all the mental and physical limitations Mort had endured late in life would be gone,
where he’d be reunited with his late wife, where he’d finally see the God who loved
him face-to-face. Allen made it sound as if he looked forward to his time to go, even
though JJ talked all the time about his family and the strength of his friendships.

When Clark stood up and read a letter Melba had written, there was barely a dry eye
in the room. When a group of older woman from the church walked up and draped Mort’s
casket with a stunning moss-green blanket of sorts, even Max got a lump in his throat
thinking of the prayer shawl the same ladies had given him. His was black with flames
on it—just like his car—and while he’d never admit it to anyone, it was one of his
prized possessions. Power of prayer or no, the thing always seemed to make him feel
better whenever he pulled it over his lap or shoulders. The gift had been the first
evidence of the Gordon Falls community he’d seen. And now Mort had been given his
last. He hadn’t thought that kind of stuff ever really happened anymore.

“That was beautiful, wasn’t it?” Heather asked when she closed the hymnal after the
final song. She wore a pretty sky-colored dress that fluttered in the breeze coming
through the open church windows. The sun coming through the stained glass cast her
hair in a myriad of colors. She—and Alex and JJ for that matter—looked so at home
in the church where he still felt like an intruder. Or worse yet, an impostor. He
couldn’t seem to drum up whatever it was that Alex and JJ and now even Heather obviously
got from the place.

“Yeah,” he agreed, meaning it. “It was really nice. I hadn’t realized all the history
Mort had with the town.” Max had been in a hurry to leave the Ohio suburb of his youth,
and while folks had been nothing but friendly when he’d opened the boat and cabin
rental business here, he hadn’t felt the deep connection other people seemed to make.
Not yet at least, but he could feel the edges of it starting to catch.

“Want to get some coffee and say hello? Simon and his dad are over there with Melba
and Clark.” Heather pointed to the large meeting room, where people were gathering
and chatting.

“Max!” Simon shouted and waved. The boy’s enthusiasm caught in the back of Max’s throat.
“I saw you earlier. Hey, guess what?”

Max wheeled up to him, offering him a fist bump and a smile that didn’t need any forcing
at all. “What?”

“I’m joining the Ping-Pong Club. Ms. Browning talked to the teacher and everything.”

Heather’s smile was wide and downright adorable. “It was Simon’s idea. Mr. Jackson
said yes in a heartbeat.”

Simon angled up beside Max. “Bailey Morton is in the Ping-Pong Club.” He said the
girl’s name with the flat-out hormonal fascination only high school boys could achieve.

“Cute, huh?”

Simon sighed. “Way out of my league.”

“Cut that out!” Max pulled back in mock shock, then leaned in to whisper, “Don’t sell
yourself short. Chicks dig the wheels.”

The resulting look on Simon’s face was priceless—until the scowl on Mr. Williams’s
face shut down the conspiracy. “An academic club is a good idea for Simon, don’t you
think?” It was clear Mr. Williams had something closer to Math Club or Chess Club
in mind.

“The way he smoked us last time, I think Simon has awesome prospects in the Ping-Pong
Club.” Max pointed at Simon. “I gave you my cell number last time, so you keep me
posted on your progress.” Just because he couldn’t help himself, he winked and added,
“On all fronts. Text me. Anytime.”

Simon grinned. “You got it.”

Heather, who had acquired two cups of coffee, nodded toward some chairs lined up along
the wall. He liked that she intuitively looked for ways to get them at eye level with
each other without him having to ask her to do so. Not everyone caught on to how hard
it was to keep craning his neck up all the time.

“Do you even realize what you’ve done for that boy?” she asked, handing the cup to
him as she sat down. She actually teared up a bit as she stared back at Simon, and
the look in her eyes lodged sharp and sweet in Max’s chest.

He didn’t really know how to respond. “He’s a good kid. Just...unsure, I suppose.”

“He thinks the world of you. You know that.”

He cleared his throat, her glistening eyes again catching him up short. “Oh, people
used to think a lot of things about me and what I did, but that kind of admiration
hasn’t ever really entered the picture.”

“It’s a gift, Max. A trust, really.” She cast her eyes back at Simon. “Just promise
me you’ll take care with it, okay?” Heather took her passion for her work to a personal
level Max hadn’t ever seen. It was as if these kids were her own kids; she cared that
much.

“Yeah, sure. I get that.” He took a sip of coffee, needing to break the intensity
of the moment. “I’m choking in this tie. Let’s go get some air.”

* * *

Heather stepped onto the path that led from Gordon Falls Community Church down toward
the town’s picturesque riverbank. She’d always found nature’s beauty to be the best
balm for the soul after something as heavy as a funeral, and it was clear to see Max
wasn’t at ease inside the church.

“So,” Max said as he negotiated a corner with an effortless grace, “you said you were
going to tell me about a happy funeral.”

“I did, didn’t I?”

“I’ll give you this much—Mort’s did feel happier than I expected. But I’m still skeptical.”

“It was my grandmother’s funeral service,” Heather answered. She cast her memory back
to the brisk October morning when Mom had laid her extraordinary mother to rest. “She
had the best funeral I’ve ever attended. It was like a big, thankful celebration.
She even made us have cake. She said she wanted it to be like an enormous party for
her graduation into heaven. She was an amazing woman, my Grannie Annie.”

Max eyebrow shot up at the name. “Grannie Annie? Really?”

Grannie Annie would have had a field day with the jaded look in Max’s eyes. “Oh, she
was a great lady. I hope I’m just like her at that age—she lived until she was eighty-seven
and sharp as a tack all the way until the end. Mom used to say Grannie Annie squeezed
every drop out of life every day.” Heather hugged her chest, Grannie Annie’s musical
voice and lively eyes coming to mind. “If it weren’t for her help after my accident,
I don’t know how I’d ever have made it through.”

Max put out a hand to stop her walking. “How were you burned? Where?” He motioned
to the stone wall that ran along the sidewalk. “I mean, if you’re okay with telling
me.”

She wasn’t. She wasn’t ever really comfortable with telling anyone about that year—it
let people in too close once they knew. Still, Max had told her about his own injury;
it didn’t seem fair to hold out just because it was hard. She swallowed.

“It looks like you’ve made a fine recovery, but I have no business prying if you don’t
want to talk about it. I of all people get how that feels.”

“No, it just...it’s hard to talk about. Exactly because I look fine. I mean I feel
fine, but...well,
recovery
doesn’t really seem to be the right word.” The words weren’t coming, so she decided
it was easier to show him. She walked over to the low wall he’d pointed out, satisfied
it wasn’t in wide view, and sat down. Max wheeled over next to her. With a deep breath,
Heather lifted the long hem of her skirt to just above her left knee, where the scars
started.

She was glad he didn’t say anything. He didn’t do that awful sucking in of breath,
that unedited reaction she imagined most people would have to the nasty visual of
her scarred leg. She let the hem fall back, suddenly aware of all the feeling that
had left that part of her body. The swath of numb, tough scar tissue and skin graft
the doctors had called such a victory. Most days she was grateful—she knew lots of
other burn patients who had it far worse and she still had a fair amount of mobility
in that hip. Other days she felt damaged and discarded no matter how much her faith
told her otherwise.

“What did that to you?” he said softly.

“Oil.”

“That sounds awful. I’m sorry.”

Did he realize he’d just said the very thing he disliked other people saying about
his accident? He sounded sincere, and she was glad he didn’t try to crack a joke.
There weren’t jokes to make about this, ever.

“I worked at a fried-chicken place in high school. One night a drunk driver—a senior
from my own school, in fact—plowed through the front windows. Lots of people were
hurt, and while no one lost their lives, I was standing in front of the deep fryers
when they...” She never could quite come up with the right verb for what had happened.
But the sound? The glass crunching and people screaming and the horrible hissing before
she blacked out? She could describe that down to the last terrible detail.

“I woke up in a burn unit with all kinds of patches and pads and drugs dripping into
IVs. I missed most of my junior year between all the surgeries and infections, but
I walked down the aisle to get my diploma.”

“Your grandmother took care of you?”

“Not the way you’d think. My mom saw to most of my care. My dad, well, he didn’t handle
the whole thing well. He wanted to see somebody pay for ruining his precious little
girl, and he sort of let that crusade swallow him whole. Grannie Annie found ways
to keep me happy, to keep me from making my whole life about my left leg.”

Max was quiet for a long time before he said, “I was your dad, at first. I let my
accident swallow me for a while. I wanted someone to pay.” He wasn’t siding with her
dad; he was confessing his own downward spiral. “You might have read about it in the
papers. I wasn’t exactly keeping a low profile.”