red-and-white-checked cloths, and everything looked ready for customers.
“Of course it’s me,” Mark finally said, not sure what else to do. Maybe Hannah just needed time to adjust. He surveyed every inch of her pixie face, searching for the subtle differences one would expect after a four-year absence. Her skin was ivory. Her bones delicate. Her hazel eyes so filled with shadows that they could have been black. She was twenty-one years old now, but looked the same as he remembered her at seventeen. He was only a few months older than her but it felt like he’d aged a dozen years since he’d seen her last.
He saw her lips move, but it took a few seconds for her question about whether he knew her to register with him.
“Of course, I know you.” Mark was stunned she would think he could possibly forget her. He understood people were nervous around him because he’d been lying in a hospital bed in a coma for a little over four years. Everyone had been expecting him to die, but he’d held on and then he’d woken up. Some of his memory had been slow to return, but he’d always known Hannah. She had been his best friend ever since she had stood in that classroom door.
They both seemed like different people today, though. Back then, the two of them hid nothing from each other. Given the way she was staring impassively at him, he figured that had all changed.
“I’m completely recovered,” Mark said and then paused. “Well, almost.”
He had to admit that he didn’t remember everything about the gun incident that had lodged a bullet in his brain and put him in the unconscious state, but he was fine. He certainly wasn’t going to worry her about the gaps in his memory.
“Ninety-eight percent, at least,” he added.
Hannah didn’t seem convinced. She was studying him. “Then what’s wrong? You had that look in your eyes when you came in—like you had something to say.”
Mark winced. He had forgotten how well she could read him. “It’s your father.”
“You’ve seen him?” Hannah’s face went blank for a moment. Then her cheeks turned pink with what looked like alarm. It was the most animated she’d been since Mark had stepped into the room. His heart sank. She could clearly be moved to concern, just not for him.
“I came from Miles City a few minutes ago and saw your father’s pickup sitting beside the freeway,” Mark said, telling himself to focus on the details. Hannah would want to know it all. “He had an accident about a mile out. I came along as the ambulance was loading him up.” Mark had gone to the florist shop in Miles City and bought a long-stemmed rose for Hannah’s first day on the job. “I was worried when I saw him.”
“But that can’t be right.” Hannah shook her head as though her hearing was faulty.
“It was him,” Mark said. She’d never questioned him before. Maybe she just didn’t believe he was mentally able to tell her what had happened.
“I just can’t believe it,” Hannah said. “I only got back to Dry Creek last night, but he was out in the field behind the barn this morning when I left. I didn’t have time to go out and talk to him then because I didn’t want to be late for work and I had to take Jeremy to—” Hannah stopped abruptly.
She swallowed. Finally she was focused on Mark, but her stricken expression gave him no comfort. Her defenses were still there. He wanted her to be his sweetheart again, but she obviously did not want the same.
“I took Jeremy to Mrs. Hargrove’s,” she said, finishing her sentence and then gathering herself together before adding, “You remember the older woman who teaches Sunday school here?”
Mark watched a new, deeper blush climb up Hannah’s neck and flood her cheeks with color. For the first time today, she looked vulnerable. Then she turned away from him.
“Of course I remember her,” Mark said, trying to keep his voice even. “I grew up here, too.” He paused. “And I know about Jeremy—our son.”
He felt a hitch in his breath when he spoke of the boy. He had learned about Jeremy’s existence only a few months ago. That’s why he had been frantically writing Hannah those letters—the ones that had all come back to him unopened.
“I’m sorry,” Hannah said softly and then looked away.
“Don’t be.” He reached out a hand to her. Her defenses were down and all he wanted to do was comfort her.
She took a step back from him. “I’m fine now.”
“Of course you are.” He withdrew his hand.
The biggest and best news he’d had when recovering from the coma had been that he and Hannah had a baby. Jeremy was four years old now. For months, Mark’s sister and father had postponed telling him about the child since the doctors had said not to upset Mark. “I’m glad to be a father. Very glad. I’m anxious to meet Jeremy.”
He didn’t want to pressure Hannah, but he could hardly wait to see the boy.
She finally met his eyes.
“He’s a good boy,” Hannah said, her voice gentle. She smiled for the first time. “He’ll want to know you, but I have a lot to talk to him about before I do anything to unsettle him.”
“Of course.” Mark bit back a retort. He didn’t want to cause his son any distress. Hannah should know that already. But he supposed he could not just show up and expect everything to be smooth. Then a suspicion came to him. “Does Jeremy even know about me?”
“He’s never asked.” Hannah gave him an apologetic look. “I read a book by this doctor who recommended waiting until a child asks about a missing parent—especially if...”
It was silent for a moment and then Mark realized what had happened. “You thought I was going to die.”
Hannah flushed guiltily. “I prayed you wouldn’t.”
“And I didn’t,” Mark said, clipping the words. He knew he was being unreasonable. Everyone else had thought that he was going to die; he didn’t know why Hannah should have believed otherwise. It still felt like a betrayal, though.
Hannah was silent a moment and then she said, “I think you must be mistaken about my father. There are a lot of white pickups that look like his. About the only thing he said to me last night was that he was going to get the last of the wheat crop in today before the rain came. I know he was doing that this morning because he had on the same pair of overalls he’s worn for years when harvesting. So, no,” she said, looking at Mark with resolve. “He wouldn’t have been going to Miles City.”
Mark didn’t know what Mr. Stelling had meant when he’d told Hannah he’d be getting in the last of the crop. Mark passed the older man’s fields almost daily. Mr. Stelling hadn’t started yet and everyone else in Dry Creek had finished their harvesting.
It was the coma, Mark thought. People, and apparently Hannah was one of them, worried that it turned a person forgetful about the things that were happening in the present. But it didn’t. He might not remember every little thing from before the coma, but he knew what he’d seen this morning.
“Maybe your dad needed to go for a new part for the combine,” Mark replied calmly. He knew Hannah had mixed feelings
