Love Is More Than Skin Deep (A Hidden Hearts Novel Book 4) (11 page)

Mark has gone out of his way to pamper me in a million different ways, from making sure that I have access to all of his online periodicals to getting all of my favorite foods when I was staying with him. I still can’t get over the fact that he routinely cooked and cleaned for me as if it was nothing. I realize that the role models that I saw growing up were not the social norm, but to see the difference demonstrated in front of me, day in and day out, was nothing short of mind blowing. Ketki could sense my utter amazement and she keeps reassuring me that her dad’s behavior was not unexpected – but, let me tell you, you could’ve fooled me. These characters in the romance novels have nothing on Mark Littleson, he should star in one for sure.
 

Just as I’m having that decadent thought, Mark enters the room. I was beginning to wonder what was taking him so long and now I’m even more concerned because the expression on his face is absolutely thunderous. I wonder if Ketki did something to get into serious trouble. But over the last couple of months that I’ve known them, I’ve never seen her do anything overtly wrong. She can have an irreverent sense of humor sometimes and get a little obstinate, but I’ve never seen her intentionally misbehaving.

I pat the end of the chaise lounge and motion for Mark to sit down as I ask, “What’s wrong? Is Ketki okay?”

For a moment, the dark expression clears from Mark’s face and a slow smile emerges as he quips, “Ever heard the expression two peas in a pod? I don’t think I’ve ever seen it applied so aptly until Tristan and Ketki met. It’s like they have their own language. Ketki is positively animated. She has found her spirit guide in the human form. I’d guess Tristan is equally fascinated with Ketki.”

“That sounds like a positive development. So, why do you look like you are about to toss someone in jail and throw away the key?” I ask, studying his face as it grows dark with emotion again.

Mark pulls over one of the barstools and sets it beside me before he haphazardly straddles it. “Before I answer your questions, I want to know a few answers myself,” he replies, looking me over carefully.

I squirm under his perusal before I finally reply, “What? Stop giving me the once over. I’m basically fine for somebody who had major surgery. This isn’t anything they didn’t tell me about ahead of time.”

“Okay, fair enough,” he answers with the tight nod of his head. “Now, instead of telling me what you think I want to hear, tell me how you really feel.”

“How I feel is
frustrated
. I want to be able to throw my hands up in the air, but I can’t because it hurts to move my arms. I want to take a nice long hot shower, but I can’t do that either, because I’m supposed to be taking sponge baths until my incisions heal completely. I’m not even allowed to walk around or do my yoga because I might tear my incisions open and they would have to re-do them.”
 

I have to stop as a violent shudder rolls through my body. Mark whispers in a low growl, “Oh God Shel.” I don’t even know that he is aware he uttered a sound as he scoots even closer to support me.
 

That little innocuous act gives me strength to continue my story. “Do you know that I had to use a wheelchair when I went in to have the little drains removed from my incisions because they didn’t want me to bear much weight on my legs? I’m really ashamed of myself. You know, I thought that I wasn’t really a vain person—but what does all this say about me? I have this freakin’ cancer because I was pursuing some ideal sort of skin color that may or may not even exist in nature. I haven’t even figured that out. I wasn’t happy with who I was so I pretended to be somebody else and because I did that I have cancer. How stupid is that? So you would think I would learn my lesson.”

“You need to —” Mark starts to interrupt.

 
I plow right through his words and continue speaking. I need to get my story out and tell him about how I feel before I can’t. “But now…now I can’t even stand to look at my body in the mirror. The health nurse is supposed to come by and check things out. I can’t even bring myself to show her my skin. I’m afraid of what she’s going to say— and I don’t feel strong enough to look. She might just pack up the hospital bed that Tristan so generously rented for me and make me go back to the hospital. When I told her my symptoms, she wasn’t real pleased with how some of my incisions seemed to be healing. I swear, I’ve been very compliant with Dr Charleston’s instructions. I’ve tried the best I can. I am so scared.”

Mark gently gathers my hand in his own and kisses the back of my knuckles as he declares, “
Immokalee
, I am so sorry. If I could take the fear from you, I would.”

His simple straightforward declaration makes me smile through my tears. “You know, I’m not prone to believe the promises of other people. I’m pretty self-reliant, but I honestly believe you would if it was in your power. You’ve done so much for me, it’s absolutely incredible. I am so grateful that you and Ketki are in my life.”

“We are at that, aren’t we — but I guess the question is what role do you want us to play in your life?”

For a moment I’m completely stunned into silence. Although, for the life of me I can’t understand why. I should’ve expected this from Mark. He is the kind of person who tackles every problem head-on. If he doesn’t understand something he will ask you a million questions until he knows the answer —Ketki definitely gets that skill from him. I guess it shouldn’t surprise me that he would transfer that skill over to his personal life as well. I smile as a thought occurs to me: it certainly isn’t one of those fluffy, light romantic scenes from the romance books that Jade and Rogue got me to pass the time since my surgery. Nothing at all flowery and ethereal about this. This is purely a fact-finding mission. Facts. If I examine the facts, there is only one conclusion that I can draw. Mark looks almost stoic as he waits for me to process his question — stoic — but with a tinge of worry, if that is possible.

Smiling at him, I gently squeeze his hand as I announce, “Well, that’s the easiest question I’m likely to answer all day. If you’re willing to have me with all of my problems and drama in your life, I’d like to be part of yours.”

Mark seems a little shell-shocked by my answer. I can’t say I blame him. I have been a little erratic in my approach. That’s a bit of an understatement. I have given him more faulty starts than a yo-yo on an elementary school playground.

He drops my hand for a moment and steps back. “I’m probably going to kick myself for this in a minute. Unfortunately, it’s just part of who I am. I need to make sure you understand where I’m coming from here, okay? It’s not because of who you are — I hope you understand that — ”

“Mark — remember, I’m a math major. Do you think I’m going to criticize you for analyzing a situation?” I interrupt, with more than a hint of amusement. “Although, your timing sucks.”

Finally, he seems to relax a little and smile as he responds, “Right. I knew there was a reason we get along so well. I just want to make sure that you know that Ketki and I are a package deal. I figure you do, but I thought that I had that understanding with someone once before and it didn’t turn out that way, so I just want to make sure I’m clear.”

Mark usually does a pretty good job of masking his emotions. I’m sure it’s a skill he has learned over time as an attorney. I don’t suppose you can let the jury see every thought that crosses your mind. Still, I can see the open anxiety on his face. It must be hard to have to live your life so shielded from everyone. I know that he tries really hard to protect Ketki from emotional extremes because it impacts her behavior. But he seems to feel like he has to keep things under wraps everywhere.

I would love to be able to hop up and give him a huge hug to let him know how much I want to be in his life and in his arms. You know what? The heck with it. I’m not going to let a little melanoma take this moment away from me. I have to stop and untangle myself from all the pillows and ice packs I’d been using to prop myself up and ice myself down to help control swelling.

Mark is watching my gyrations with concern. When he sees me trying to launch myself from the somewhat awkward chaise lounge, he dives toward me to offer me his hand to support me. “Shelby...what are you doing?” he asks with alarm, as he keeps me upright.

I’m not sure if it’s the emotional intensity of the situation, my pain medication or just the lingering effects of the surgery, but I’m feeling quite unstable. He seems to sense this and pulls me closer and tucks me under his chin. After I take a couple of steadying breaths, I step back.

“I just wanted to be able to answer you properly,” I admit. “It may not have occurred to you, but we are having a ‘moment’ here and I need to make my intentions clear.”

Mark’s eyebrows raise to an impressive height, but he says nothing.

“I know that we’re still getting to know each other, but there are a few things that are crystal clear about you. One of them is that you are a man of precise intention and integrity. You don’t leave very many things open for misinterpretation. You’ve made it clear through every word, action and interaction that you care very much about my well-being. I can’t ask for much more than that in a partner. Even so, I get so much more than that with you. I get to see you interact beautifully with your daughter and nurture her into a beautiful thriving human being. It’s not often that someone gets to see love in motion, but that’s what I get to see between you and Ketki.”

 
Mark swallows hard and draws in a deep breath.

“That’s the second thing I know without a doubt. You guys are like peanut butter and jam. I would never dream of asking one of you to be present in my life without the other. It would just be wrong. The two of you belong together. I know you’re a package deal. I wouldn't have it any other way. Anybody that thinks it could be otherwise, has never watched the two of you together.”

Mark clears his throat roughly and shuffles his feet before he asks, his voice breaking with emotion, “Shelby, I hate to — ”

I place my finger over his lips before I interject, “Stop! I can almost guess what you’re going to ask me. So you can just stop. I might be a special education teacher, but if you remember correctly, when I first ran into you, you were hanging around without Ketki. I didn’t even know about Ketki yet.”

“Yeah? So?” he asks cautiously. “What does that mean for us?”

“In case you didn’t notice, I was wildly attracted to you before I knew you were a hot dad. I liked you just fine on your own, without Ketki.”

“No, I didn’t actually notice. I was too busy making a fool out of myself.”

I stand on my tiptoes and brush a kiss across Mark’s lips as I whisper, “I think the two of us have been playing that game.”

I feel like I’m going to throw up. I can’t believe I’m back in the same spot of uncertainty again. I thought that’s why I’ve gone through this twice already. “Did they give you any more information about why they wanted to see me?” I probe as I push the delicate pieces of crêpe around my plate. I’m sure that if I actually had an appetite, that this would be delicious. Unfortunately, food tastes disgusting right now and the very idea of it seems repulsive to me.

Mark silently observes my behavior for a few moments before he offers me his plate of buttermilk pancakes. “Want to trade?”

His calm demeanor is driving me crazy. How can he just sit there eating breakfast when our whole lives may be blowing up in our face? I take a deep breath as I respond, trying desperately to stay sweet, although I feel anything but. "No, no thanks. I'm not hungry this morning.”

 
"You need to eat." Mark chastises. “The doctor said that it was important for you to keep your weight up to be able to fight off everything."

"Look, I said I wasn't hungry, okay?" I snap. "I’ve got way too much to think about to worry about whether I'm packing on calories."

Mark sighs, but says nothing.

“I don't understand what they could possibly need to talk to me about. I thought we had all the best people there helping us. The person was beyond vague on the phone. It was just some mumbo-jumbo about proper protocol being breached and records being compromised, but not to be overly concerned because it was something that they've dealt with many times before. What kind of Psychobabble is that? It all seems pretty crazy to me. What if my parents had it right all along?” I ask, my voice breaking with emotion.

Mark slides around the circular vinyl booth until he's sitting right next to me. He puts his arm around me and tucks me in next to his shoulder before he asks, "Shelby, what's going on? You've had scary visits to Dr. Charleston before and you never seemed quite this unnerved."

"I don't know. It felt like they were lying to me about something.” I reply, shivering at the memory. “I guess this is starting to feel a lot like my childhood.”

"What do you mean?" Mark asks as he pours me some tea and doctors it with honey.

"Growing up, it seems like my whole life was one big pursuit around how to make my brother better — at least that's how it started out before my parents discovered Reverend Pratchett. At first, we were a relatively normal family. We started traveling from a revival service to revival service and church to church, so that pastors could pray for him to make him better. Most of the legitimate pastors could see that there was something seriously wrong with Owen and urged my parents to take him to the hospital.” I answer as I fiddle with the teacup.