Heartache and Hope (6 page)

So, he'd added some additional runs to this training session, though his schedule remained tight. As for the rest…he'd leave that to God to figure out.

Patrick was thankful to his mom and to each and every one of the generous souls who'd joined Dash for their support and selfless contributions. When the going got tough, their boundless generosity and compassion buoyed him.

Now, he focused on finishing his introduction and moving into the meat of the meeting. As he handed out training schedules filled with details concerning both large and small group activities, a round of giggles drew his attention to the table where Aubree and his mom sat with Daylin. Aubree appeared to be enthralled as she scratched a tic-tac-toe grid onto the back side of her menu and commenced to drawing Daylin into a game. Heads bowed together, they looked as if they'd known one another for a lifetime. Patrick's lips clenched as his pulse jolted with the sensation that he'd just begun a slow, inevitable descent on a one-way coaster downhill. Where would it take him?

He kept one eye trained on Aubree and Daylin as they finished the game to a flurry of laughter before diving into a second and then a third game which he imagined amounted to a tie-breaker. He was impressed with Daylin when she didn't, just for the heck of it, let Aubree win but went after the victory herself. He'd never allowed Aubree to win just for the sake of winning, either. He felt that learning to lose gracefully was an important and valuable life lesson.

Aubree clapped and as Patrick tied things up with the crowd he heard her congratulate Daylin with a joyful, “Good job,” just the way he'd taught her to do. It was uncanny how, since Aubree had been born, he'd learned to listen to the goings-on around him in stereo and even, sometimes, in surround-sound.

Not to mention while sleeping, driving, and even during long runs when she accompanied him.

As if remembering the purpose of coming to the diner, Daylin lifted her gaze and tilted her head to drink in the information Patrick shared with the group. Aubree seemed transfixed on him for a moment, as well, before she did something completely unexpected. She pushed the tic-tac-toe paper aside and crawled into Daylin's lap, wrapping her arms loosely around Daylin's neck.

Obviously shocked and delighted by the gesture, Daylin hesitated only a moment before draping her arms around Aubree in return. Aubree pressed her cheek to Daylin's shoulder and yawned hugely, seemingly melting into Daylin as she relaxed. Daylin's lips moved in a gentle murmur and Aubree's eyes fluttered closed.

Daylin eased back against the cushioned booth and glanced at his mother. A look of understanding passed between them, and Patrick felt a quickening in his gut that might be the result of hunger or the knowledge that something bigger than him—a beast he wasn't quite ready to battle—had just taken up residence.

Hair the color of sun-kissed wheat Patrick had seen growing in the fields during his long runs along the back roads outside of Knoxville spilled over Daylin's shoulder. Straight and glossy, the strands shimmered like a luxurious waterfall beneath the diner's fluorescent lights. Her eyes, deep brown as chocolate cream and wide-set with a sense of wonder, lifted to connect with his.

Her smile melted him.

Despite his apprehension, Patrick returned the radiant smile with a sense of warmth he hadn't felt for a year's worth of full moons. He could hardly blame Daylin for falling under Aubree's spell. It happened wherever Aubree went—the hospital, swim lessons, school before he was forced to withdraw her and convert their great room into a classroom. It's what had earned Aubree the nickname of Little Charmer. She could hold her own in a conversation, too, scoring off the charts when it came to language skills. She took after Sandra in that department—never meeting a stranger and more comfortable in her own skin than anyone he'd ever known. Patrick, on the other hand, considered himself an introvert; he preferred to keep his thoughts—and his feelings—tucked up one sleeve. It was a wonder he'd managed to grow Dash for the Dream. The very fact stood as a testament to the people who'd stood by his side through the rough and unsettling patch of the past few years.

Now, he was oddly drawn to the woman who held his daughter as if they'd been joined together since birth. It was beguiling to watch Daylin cradle Aubree as if holding his daughter, soothing her, was natural—effortless, even welcome. Other women—the few dates he'd been shoved into—seemed more than interested in him, yet treated Aubree as if she was a china doll who might shatter if touched. They lost interest quickly enough once they learned that he and Aubree were a packaged deal.

Somehow, though, Daylin seemed different…easygoing with a laugh that said she was in no hurry to get from here to there. She leaned in to bundle Aubree close, and his breath caught at the intensity of emotion he witnessed in Daylin's gaze. It was as if she could read his mind and feel the depth of his longing while Aubree pressed a palm to her cheek and sighed.

The tenderness in Daylin's eyes mingled with a soft vulnerability that suddenly tilted Patrick's world on its axis. In that moment he was swept into a ferocious riptide and out of the control he'd worked so hard to build and maintain.

“Patrick.” The voice at his shoulder drew him back. It was Noah, another newcomer from the local community college who'd brought along his girlfriend, Tanya. “Sorry to interrupt but how do we set up the small groups? And where do we meet for those?”

Patrick tore his gaze from Daylin and turned to address Noah's questions, but Daylin's image lingered. For a fleeting moment he wondered what it would be like to share dinner with her or a walk along the waterfront near Neyland Drive. How would hair the color of sun-bleached cinnamon dance when ruffled by a gentle breeze?

He gave himself a mental slap. What was he thinking, allowing his mind to wander in such a manner? This meeting was important, professional.

Vital to Aubree's future.

Get a grip, man. You are plunging into the churning ocean in a raft without a paddle. Focus.

Patrick bobbled the proverbial ball in the red zone for a few moments before he cleared his throat and quickly redirected his thoughts. He leveled his gaze and addressed Noah's questions with a recitation of useful information he'd long since committed to memory.

“I encourage you to have at least one training partner. Two or three are better. If you can't get together with them every other day or so, set up some shorter maintenance runs on your own. The training schedule is three-tiered to suit levels from novice to advanced, and I'm available as needed to guide you along the path.

“In addition to the individual and small-group runs, we'll meet each Saturday morning as one large group for distance runs along the greenways. There's also an optional evening run each week that will focus on one particular aspect of training—such as intervals or hills—to build speed and endurance. Everything is outlined in the training schedule, and my cell, home, and work numbers are there, too, in case you have questions or need any help at all.”

“Yeah, good. I see that.” Noah nodded while his girlfriend jotted notes with a stubby pencil along the margin of her handouts. “Any suggestions on what to share with people while we're fundraising?”

“Sure.” Patrick picked up speed as he fell back into a familiar rhythm. This he could deal with easily. It was the woman across the way holding his daughter that had him stumbling. He did his best to tune her out while finishing his explanation. “It's also imperative to generate the interest of friends, family, and the community at large when fundraising. Use the marketing materials in your packet to let people you approach know that Dash for the Dream is unique in the fact that, due to the generosity of people like you and them, one hundred percent of the proceeds go directly to research. We have no overhead to speak of. It's a small organization with far-reaching effects. Over the last four years, we've raised close to a million dollars and counting. I'd like to add to that bottom line, and I hope you'll help me.” He cupped a hand, pressed it to his lips as he cleared his throat before continuing. This thought—the true purpose of Dash for the Dream—never failed to tug at his gut while holding him true-to-course. “A cure for CF is waiting to be discovered and kids like Aubree, Seth, and Jonah—and their families—are counting on you to help them have a brighter—and longer—future.

4

“I lost track of time.” Patrick approached the table where Daylin, Aubree, and Frannie were gathered and leaned into the edge, palms splayed against the surface. The scent of his aftershave drifted Daylin's way, setting off an odd little quiver in the pit of her belly as she inhaled deeply. His tie hung in a loose knot around his neck, and he'd rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt to expose corded forearms. “I guess I got a little carried away with my spiel.” His rugged good looks were a stark contrast to the low, fluid tone of his voice.

“Oh, you didn't get carried away at all.” Daylin assured him. “Every bit of that information was important. I even jotted down a few notes.” She motioned to a napkin that held a flurry of scribbles; she hadn't even thought to bring along a notepad.

“Well, regardless…I'm sorry to keep you all waiting.”

“Nonsense.” Frannie nodded toward Aubree, asleep in Daylin's arms. Her head lolled against Daylin's shoulder, one small fist lifted to her puckered mouth. “Aubree's no worse for wear. Just look at her.”

Patrick's gaze skimmed Daylin, her arms wrapped around Aubree in a sheltering cradle, and his lips curved into a satisfied grin. “It's been a long time since I've seen her so content.”

“I'll say.” Frannie stood, stretching kinks from her back. “And I'll be content, as well, after a trip to the ladies' room.”

She gathered her purse and headed down the aisle toward the restroom, calling over her shoulder. “Don't leave until I get back, Daylin. I'd like to invite you to our ladies' luncheon at church and say a proper goodbye before you head home.”

“I'll wait.” Warmed by Frannie's kindness, Daylin's smile deepened. She'd relocated to Knoxville nearly two years ago and had yet to find a home church. Not that she'd been looking. The very thought caused a flush of embarrassment to heat her cheeks. She'd become well-versed in crafting excuses, an expert at finding reasons to fill Sunday morning in ways besides worship for the only true Father she had ever known. Somewhere along the way she'd somehow lost sight of that. Now, she wondered why. Daylin smoothed a trembling hand through Aubree's hair as Patrick undid the knot of his tie and pulled the fabric through the collar. Could he read her transgression in the expression on her face? Would it cause him to turn away from the opportunity to rekindle their friendship?

“I hope you don't mind.” He apologized as he stuffed the length into the front pocket of his slacks. “It's been a long day.”

“Of course I don't mind. I'm sure it
has
been a long day.” Daylin cleared her throat as her feet protested inside low-heeled boots that were still just a bit too tight but she'd discovered on the clearance rack at the local department store. “You did a great job with the meeting. The information you presented was very impressive.”

“Well, thank you.” Patrick's grin widened, showcasing a set of perfect teeth that Frannie must have, at one time, spent a fortune to have straightened.

“I'll bet everyone's chomping at the proverbial bit to get started. I know I am.” During the mass exit, Daylin had surreptitiously surveyed Patrick as he patiently fielded a litany of last-minute questions and comments following his half-hour presentation. She was captivated by the way he carefully addressed each attendee with a measure of calm and thoroughness that evoked the confidence of a sturdy oak. She wondered if he'd been born with such assurance or had perfected it over time and through fire-singed trials.

“I am, too. This is a strong crowd. I know they'll all make it to the finish line—especially you.”

Patrick's scent drifted, filling Daylin's nose with the scents of sandalwood and pine as he leaned in toward her. The gesture, coupled with his thoughtful words, sent a wave of warmth coursing through her.

“Aubree has sure given you her stamp of approval. I've never seen her at such ease with a stranger. She's out like a light,” he murmured softly.

So as not to wake the child in her arms, Daylin matched his volume. “I'm glad she feels comfortable. Having Frannie here most likely smoothed things along. And it's no wonder she's zonked out. You sure had an arsenal of questions—good ones, too—that have devoured the evening.” Daylin felt more comfortable about the whole crossing-the-finish-line thing after watching Patrick in action. He seemed to be in control and confident, and that sense of accomplishment spilled over to light a fuse deep within her. “Are the meetings always this well-attended?”

“Usually, but this is the highest count so far. I'm shocked, to put it bluntly, given the timing and the pre-registration numbers. They were dismal, but somehow, with God's help and direction, we always seem to pull through.”

“How do you know God's directing?”

“Who else could pull this off?” Patrick's gaze deepened as he laughed, low and easy. “Prayer is a powerful thing. If everyone follows through to cross the finish line, we should have our best showing yet.”

“I can't imagine anyone could walk away and not return after listening to your presentation tonight.” Cradling Aubree, Daylin scooted carefully from the booth to stretch her legs. She swayed back and forth to a mellow country tune that hummed from the radio. The motion felt right and natural with Aubree's body tucked warm against hers as the child continued to sleep. “Your words were very, very powerful.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that.”