Out of the corner of his eye, Mark saw a man with sandy brown hair sweep the boy up and bury his face against Thomas's neck. A woman, only a step behind, rushed up, her eyes wild with terror. He wanted to reassure her that her son wasn't hurt.
'Is he okay? Is he okay?' Frantically, she sought to hold Thomas. 'Oh, my baby.' Her arms went around the boy and the man wrapped one arm around her, encompassing them all in an embrace. Her shoulders shook with sobs as she clutched her son.
'He's fine. Shhh…it's okay, hon. He's fine.'
Finally, Mark was able to take a shaky breath. He reached around to rub the back of his head. Drawing another deep breath, he moved to sit up.
'Wait! Don't move! You could be hurt.' The man relinquished his son to the mother and knelt at Mark's side. Putting his hand on Mark's chest, he gently held him down. 'Do you have any pain anywhere?'
'I'm okay. Just had the wind knocked out of me.' Mark shrugged off the restraining hand and sat up, but he had to blink hard when everything tilted crazily. He sagged back onto the ground and threw his arm across his eyes. Maybe he just needed another minute or so.
'Jen, call 911!'
Mark's eyes snapped open. 'No!' This time, he sat up and ignored the spinning. The last thing he needed to do was go to the hospital. If the press got wind of that…well, it hurt his head to even contemplate what would happen then.
'I don't know, buddy. I saw you fall and it looked like you took a heck of a knock.' The man cocked his head. 'Do I know you?'
This was Mark's cue to leave. 'Ah, no, I don't think so.' He stood, trying his best to pretend his knees weren't wobbling. 'I'm sure I'd remember if we'd met before.'
He started edging towards the street. If he could have, he would have bolted, but he was afraid he'd fall flat on his face after two steps.
The man scratched behind his ear. 'But I'm sure I've seen you before.' He turned towards the woman. 'Doesn't he look familiar, Jen?'
Jen stopped examining her son long enough to look at Mark and he knew the instant she recognized him from the way her eyes widened and her mouth rounded into an 'O'.
'You're the guy in the newspaper today! I read about you over breakfast! Scott, remember I showed you the article?' She hiked her son up on her hip and then swept a wayward strand of hair out of her eyes. 'You're Mark Taylor, right?'
Mark darted a look around to see if anyone had heard her and was thankful that no one else was nearby. 'Yeah, but that article…it isn't true…I'm just…' He backed away, trying to come up with a graceful exit.
'Hold on, don't go yet. We didn't get a chance to thank you.' Jen approached him, hugging her child close. Thomas's thumb was planted in his mouth, and he regarded Mark with large brown eyes.
'That's okay. No thanks are necessary. I'm just glad Thomas is okay.' Mark smiled and began to turn away. He was almost home free.
The dad stepped close and tugged on Mark's arm. 'Wait! How did you know my son's name is Thomas?'
Mark stilled then slowly turned back. 'I guess I heard you calling him.' His reply came out sounding more like a question.
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.
