Home for Christmas (Willow Park #5) (12 page)

Mark was so tense he was almost shaking with it, but then he
finally let out a long sigh and pulled her back into his arms. “Oh, baby. I
never wanted you to hurt at all. In any way. I hate that you’re hurting now.”

“Now you know how I feel. I feel the same way about you.”
She pressed kisses against his chest. “Why don’t you want me to hurt for you?”

He didn’t answer her, but he pulled her more tightly against
him. He seemed to need her—desperately, urgently, as much as she needed him.
And it wasn’t just about sex, either. He needed her emotionally. He needed her
touch and her presence.

Neither one of them went back to sleep for a really long
time. They just huddled together in the dark, under the covers, while the snow
fell outside and covered whatever it landed on with a blanket of white, like it
was hiding all that was ugly and broken in the world. If only for a moment. If
only for tonight.

He might not want it to be like that. Who would want their
spirits, their relationship, to be broken in the way they had? But he was
letting her hurt with him now, and he was letting her comfort him.

And he was doing the same for her.

And Sophie knew this was right. She’d done something right.
They both had. Because this was what love looked like.

This was what marriage was about.

At just after one in the morning on
Saturday, Sophie was awakened by the sound of Mark shouting.

It was a muffled, wordless shout, but the sound pierced
right through Sophie’s sleeping mind. She jerked awake, breathless as she sat
up in bed.

She heard another helpless, guttural sound and turned to
look down at her husband, who was jerking under the covers.

Terrified, Sophie reached over to turn on the bedside lamp.
In the warm light, she saw in relief that Mark was still asleep. He must have
been having a nightmare.

As she watched him, though, her relief vanished quickly. He
was still tossing in the bed, making those sounds that were almost like shouts.
His skin was wet with a sheen of perspiration, and his expression appeared
anguished.

She’d been told he might have nightmares, but he’d never had
one before. Not like this, anyway. It was intense. Violent. She felt helpless,
trapped, not sure of what she should do.

After a minute, her mind cleared enough to remember the
information she’d been given on his return about what to expect. If she woke him
up now, he might not know who she was. He might accidentally hurt her. But she
didn’t want him to keep dreaming like this. It looked like he was in agony.

She jumped out of bed and turned on the television, turning
the volume up loud. It was tuned to an old sitcom with canned laughter that
echoed gratingly through the apartment.

Finally, Mark made a harrumphing sound and sat up straight,
his eyes wide. He was clearly disoriented for a minute, staring at the
television and then around the apartment until his eyes landed on her. At last,
his face relaxed enough for her to be sure he knew where he was, who she was,
and that he wasn’t still in the dream.

She ran to crawl into bed beside him. “Are you okay? It
sounded like you were having a terrible nightmare.”

He mopped at his face with the sheet, clearly trying to pull
himself together. “Yeah. Yeah.”

“I didn’t know what I should do, but I didn’t want you to
keep dreaming whatever it was, so I tried to wake you up.” She reached over to
take his arm, but he pulled away from her touch.

“Yeah. Thanks. Yeah. I’ll be right back.” He got up, wincing
like his muscles were stiff, and he limped into the bathroom. She stared at the
closed door as she heard the shower come on.

He’d been all hot and sweaty. It wasn’t strange that he’d
want to take a shower. She just wanted him to talk to her too. He was
suffering. She couldn’t let him suffer alone.

But there was nothing she could do if he never let her in.

She glanced down and saw that he’d nearly torn the sheet
from the mattress on his side. There was a damp spot from his perspiration.
Glad for something to do, she got up and changed the sheets on the bed,
listening for when the shower went off.

She was just pulling the comforter up over the clean sheets
when the sound of water stopped. After a minute, Mark came out with a towel
wrapped around his waist. He walked over to his drawer and pulled out a clean
T-shirt and a pair of old sweatpants. She watched as he dropped the towel and
pulled the clothes on.

She was praying for him silently when he walked back toward
the bed. He was trembling so violently she could see it, even from several
feet’s distance.

“Are you okay?” she asked, pulling the covers down to invite
him in.

He got back in bed, drawing the comforter up high over him.
“Yeah.”

“Do you need something? I think they told me that sugar
could help—do you want hot chocolate or hot tea or something?”

“No.” His teeth were practically chattering.

She didn’t care if he looked a little closed off. He was
hurting, and she needed to help him. She scooted over beside him, trying to
wrap her body around him.

He made a strange, helpless sound and tightened both arms
around her.

It was enough.

She held him and prayed and tried not to cry as they lay
together in the lit room with the television still blaring. She didn’t relax
until he stopped shaking at last.

He lifted his head slightly to press a soft kiss against her
hair, and he finally went back to sleep.

***

When she woke up that morning, she
was back on her side of the bed, and Mark wasn’t in the bed at all.

She stretched under the covers, turning her head to see that
it was almost seven-thirty. It was Saturday, so she didn’t have anywhere urgent
she needed to be.

“Do you want some coffee?” Mark appeared in the doorway of
the bedroom, dressed in jeans and a gray cable-knit shirt.

“Yeah. Thanks.” She smiled at him, and then she tried to
smooth down her hair so it wouldn’t be so messy when he returned.

He brought her the cup of coffee, which she accepted with
another smile. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

“I’m fine. Sorry for all the drama last night.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. They said that nightmares
weren’t unusual after experiences like yours.” She wished he’d sit on the bed
with her, but he just stood beside it, looking down on her.

“I told you before. I never had that sort of a trauma. I was
just imprisoned.”

“Well, that had to be traumatic enough.” She really wished
he’d stopped minimizing what he’d been through. “What was your dream about?”

“I don’t remember.”

She was sure he was lying to her. “Everyone said it would
help to talk about it.”

“I’m getting kind of tired of hearing what everyone told
you. I’m not a lab rat or something.”

She gasped. “Why would you think you were lab rat? They were
just worried about you and wanted me to be prepared.”

He bit off whatever he’d been going to say. Instead, he just
muttered, “I know.”

“Do you?” she asked, as gently as she could. “Because it
doesn’t seem like you want me or anyone else to help you.”

“I’ve had counseling up the wazoo,” he bit out. “I might
have the occasional nightmare. It doesn’t mean I’m falling apart.”

“I’m not saying you’re falling apart. Just that everyone
needs a little help.” She got out of bed, determined to do what she was sure
was the right thing, no matter how little he wanted to hear it. She reached
into a drawer of her nightstand and pulled out a folder. “They gave me all
these resources here—and some are counselors in the area. Maybe we should give
one of them a call.”

“Damn it, Sophie, it was just a nightmare.”

She swallowed at the angry note in his voice, but she didn’t
let it intimidate her. “It’s not about the nightmare. I just think it would do
both of us good—to get a little extra help.”

“So now
you
need help too—help in putting up with
me?”

She made a frustrated sound. “Mark, don’t twist my words.
You know they said you might need more than just a month of counseling. You
went through a lot. It doesn’t mean you’re weak or helpless. It just means
you’re human. It’s silly to act like you’re invulnerable when we both know
you’re not.”

“I thought I was doing all right.” His tone was different
now—slightly insecure. He was searching her face, and she wasn’t sure what he
was looking for. “Overall, I thought I was doing all right.”

“Of course, you’re doing all right. But you’re having
nightmares, and you still don’t want to open up with me, and you don’t even
want to think about getting back to your job or doing anything at all. Don’t
you think some extra help might be…might be helpful?”

Mark stared at her for a long time. Then finally he said,
“Maybe. I’ll think about it.”

She was about to respond, glad to have the conversation
over, but he turned around and walked out of the room.

***

That afternoon, Sophie was still
worried about Mark.

He was acting normal again—at least, what had passed for
normal since he’d returned—but she could sense something brewing inside him.
And something different was brewing inside her.

She desperately needed to talk to someone, but she wasn’t
sure who she should call. If she talked to anyone in Willow Park, they would be
sympathetic and understanding, but they wouldn’t be able to give her very good
advice, since they didn’t know Mark very well themselves.

The only person who knew Mark as well as Sophie did was
John, but she never called John up out of the blue. She didn’t know where in
the world he was right now. It might be the middle of the night for him. He
might be incredibly busy. She might be the last person he wanted to talk to
right now.

But she was desperate. She had to talk to someone, so she
made herself dial his number and wait as it rang.

“Hello?” It was John’s voice, surprised and a little
gravelly. “Hello, Sophie?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s me. Sorry to bother you.”

“Is everything all right? Is Mark—”

“He’s fine,” she said quickly, responding to the immediate
urgency of his voice. “He’s fine. It’s not an emergency or anything. I’m sorry
to worry you.”

“No, it’s okay. You can call any time.”

She swallowed, telling herself there was no reason to feel
nervous about calling her brother-in-law. “Do you have a few minutes to talk?”

“Sure. I was just about to turn in for the night, so it’s a
good time. What’s going on? How are you doing?”

It was nice that he asked about her, and it gave her the
opening she needed. “I’m okay, for the most part. I’m just worried about Mark.
I feel like I’ve hit some sort of brick wall. And I didn’t know who else to
talk to about it. Just tell me if it’s awkward for you or you’d rather not—”

“No, I’m glad you called. I’ve been worried about him too.
Every time I think he’s making progress, something will happen, and he’ll kind
of close down again.”

She was so relieved to hear him express exactly what she’d
been experiencing with Mark that she gave a soft little sob. “Yeah. Yeah,
that’s what happens. I think it’s me. I think I’m doing it. But I don’t know
what I’m doing, and I don’t know how to do better.”

“It’s not you, sweetheart. I’m sure you’re not doing
anything wrong.”

“I am. Not on purpose, but I always seem to trigger the
shutdowns. I don’t know why. Does he talk to you about it?”

“He talks to me almost every day, and sometimes he’ll open
up. But, when he’s in a certain mood, he won’t talk to me about anything that
goes deep. I really don’t think he can talk to anyone. It’s not that he wants
to shut us out. It’s that he’s trying so hard to deal with all the shit he’s
been through.”

She sniffed, her heart aching for her husband. “I know he
is. Things were going really well. I thought we’d had…we’d had a breakthrough
earlier this week.”

“I think you did. He’s sounded so…so hopeful this week.”

“But then last night he had a nightmare. It was…it was
terrible. I tried to help, but he just closed down again this morning, after he
was feeling better.”

“Yeah, he sounded really out of it this morning. I wondered what
was going on.”

“He seemed to need me last night. I felt like I was helping
him. I don’t understand why he—”

“Of course, he needed you. That’s why he closed down this
morning. He doesn’t want to be weak and helpless—particularly around you.”

“But I’m his wife! I don’t care if he’s—”

“I know you don’t care. But
he
cares. He wants to be
strong and healthy and have it all together for you.”

“But it’s ridiculous for him to expect himself to get better
so quickly, after what he’s been through.”

“Of course it’s ridiculous,” John said gently. “But we think
and believe and act on ridiculous ideas all the time. That’s part of what it
means to be human.”

She let out a sigh, thinking through what he’d just said.
The words rang true, but they didn’t give her the answer she needed. “So what
am I supposed to do? I can’t act like he’s got it all together when he’s still
struggling with a lot. He won’t even go to counseling.”

“Yeah, that’s another symptom of the same lie he’s telling
himself. It’s normal, Sophie. I see it all the time. He’s just got to get to
the point where he can admit to himself that he can’t pull himself together on
his own. He’ll get there. He really has gotten a lot better over the last
month.”

“I know he has. He’s amazing. I don’t know how anyone could
do better than he’s done.”

“A lot of that is thanks to you,” John said.

“I don’t think so. I think I’ve mostly just messed things
up.”

“No, you haven’t. You’ve been incredible. Mark knows it too.
He talks about you all the time.”

“He…he does?”

“Of course, he does. He’s crazy in love with you. He can’t
stop himself from talking about you.”

The words were light—almost amused—but they were balm to
Sophie’s soul. She swallowed over a lump in her throat. “Really?”

“You’ve got to already know that. He’s been a goner since
the first time he met you. But I really think he loves you more now than he did
before, if that’s possible.”

“Really?” she asked again, rather raspily.

“Oh, yeah. You’re pretty incredible. If someone as clueless
and out of touch as I am can see it, you better believe that Mark sees it. He’s
trying to show you. I know he’s been trying to show you. I know it’s hard, but
I hope you’ll…”

“I’ll what?”

“You’ll keep being patient with him. He’s trying. Don’t give
up on him yet.”

She gasped. “I’m not going to give up on him!”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. Then John
said, “Good.”

Neither one of them said anything for several seconds. Then
Sophie followed the line of her thoughts and asked, “Has he talked to you
about…about what he went through over there?”

“A little. Not much.”

“He won’t talk to me about it much either. The first time he
did was…was earlier this week, when I thought we had a breakthrough. He even
brought it up himself.”