She wanted to tell him to leave her alone and to stop asking questions. But there was no mirth in his voice, and the amusement on his face had been replaced with concern.
Emma shrugged. “I’m not scared. More nervous, I guess.” She swallowed hard. “I had a heart transplant three years ago.” She unconsciously tugged at the neck of her shirt. “It took a long time to start feeling better again. But physically…Well, I’m nervous to push my heart. To tempt fate, I guess. Silly, I know.”
He leaned over the counter and touched her hand long enough to bring her gaze to his. “It’s not silly. But if you’re better, now’s the time to start working on your strength. It’s only going to help your heart.”
Emma knew he was right. At the same time, she was sick of everyone telling her she needed to change things about her life. Couldn’t they see how hard that was? She shook her head. “There’s no way you could possibly understand.”
Marty rounded the desk area and took a seat on the empty barstool beside the chair she was using. Without hesitation, he pulled up the left leg of his baggy workout pants.
In shock, she watched as it revealed a prosthetic foot and leg. “I think I can.” His eyebrows lifted. “Because I know what it’s like to come back from something that tries to physically destroy you. And all those doubts that keep you down. I can tell you, while it’s not easy, it does get better.”
Emma had no idea what to say. Her gaze went from his leg to Marty’s face. “What happened?”
“A car ran a red light. Not my fault, but that didn’t change the outcome.” He leaned over and let the pantleg drop, erasing any hint of the damage to his leg.
So she’d been right—she had seen a slight limp last week. Considering his leg, it was impressive she couldn’t tell otherwise. No wonder he only wore pants, though, and never shorts when the rest of the coaches usually did. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”
“Because my leg doesn’t define me.” He pointed at her. “Just like your transplant doesn’t define you.” He stood and did a little bounce on his left leg. “I get why you don’t want to jump into trying the obstacles. I don’t think warm-up exercises and some stretching will do any harm, though.” He motioned to the empty building. “What do you say?” When she didn’t respond immediately, the usual amusement flickered across his face. “Hey, at least we’d both be doing something to earn our keep. You try out the gym so you can recommend it to potential customers, and I’ll be coaching someone.”
Emma stood with a resolute nod of her head. She did have to start somewhere. At least there was only one person here to watch her make a fool of herself. Marty was always teasing her anyway, so how was this going to be any different? At least she was used to it.
She smiled as she shoved the phone into her back pocket and walked with him to the floor.
He motioned for her sit on the mat with him. “It looks good on you.”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “What? Not sitting behind a desk?”
“A genuine smile.”
Even as she tried to focus on the warm-up stretches, it was impossible to dismiss his comment. Did she really appear that unhappy at work? In general? Was that how she truly felt inside? The possibility bothered her a great deal.
* * *
Marty demonstratedthree stretches for Emma and then waited as she followed suit. Several times, he watched as she reached for her toes, or tried to stretch her arms as far as she could out in front of her. Her movements were awkward, and she didn’t have a lot of reach, but it didn’t matter. This right here was what it was all about: trying. Goodness knew that wasn’t an easy thing to do. Not after going through a life-changing event like she had.
There had been something about her all this time that Marty couldn’t quite put his finger on. A missing piece to the Emma puzzle. Now that he knew about her heart, that piece fell into place. No wonder he couldn’t figure her out before.
Even though he knew her situation and his own were vastly different, there was an undeniable kinship. As though the pull he’d felt toward her the last couple of months wasn’t simply a weird need to break through the barrier she kept between herself and everyone else. It had to be more than that.
Did Caleb know about her heart? Probably. He’d been right, Marty had more in common with Emma than he’d realized.
“Okay, shake out your legs and let’s rest for a minute.” Marty demonstrated by bouncing his own legs up and down and then sitting in a more relaxed position. Although anytime he sat on the floor, he was acutely aware of his prosthesis because then it was never comfortable. “Can I ask what happened that led to needing a new heart?”
Emma regarded him for several moments as though trying to decide whether to answer his question. She crossed her legs in front of her and leaned back against her hands. Her hair was long enough that the ends pooled onto the mat beneath her. “I was born with only one working ventricle. It’s a long story, with a lot of scientific mumbo-jumbo. But in the end, I had open heart surgery when I was two to try and fix it. While it helped, my blood was never oxygenated like it should be, and it was easy to get short of breath.” She shrugged. “I guess, as I got older, my body tolerated it less and less. I was sick a lot. A simple cold landed me in the hospital with pneumonia half the time.”
“Wow, that must’ve been rough. On you, but also on your parents.” He’d been a daredevil in school. Always active, he’d been the kid who broke his arm while riding his bike or falling out of a tree. He couldn’t imagine being physically unable to live his childhood like that.
Emma nodded, her gaze on a spot on the floor as if it were a window into the past. “It was. Though I didn’t know any different. I didn’t have a lot of friends since I completed most of my schooling at home to keep from getting sick. My sister—she’s two years older than me—is my best friend.”
A zing of envy struck Marty. As an only child, he’d always wanted a sibling. It was good that Emma had one. “I take it you finally got sick enough to land a spot on the heart transplant list.”
“I was on it for almost two years.” She sat up straight again, gathered her hair at the base of her neck and pulled it around in front of her. Then she tugged on the neck of her shirt again.
Marty couldn’t figure out why she did it until now. A heart transplant probably meant a wicked scar. Was that why she wore shirts with such a high neckline? Because she was self-conscious about it and didn’t want anyone to notice? It wasn’t all that different from why he refused to wear shorts. He didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention to his leg. He hated the idea of anyone pitying him. “I take it getting that heart made all the difference.”
“It did, but it wasn’t immediate. Getting a new heart was the holy grail, you know? I thought it would fix everything. But the recovery process took nearly a year. I got sick a lot, had some complications, and ended up losing the job I’d been hanging onto by a thread the previous few years.” She paused, and the relaxed posture she’d taken changed. She sat up straight and let her hair fall down her back like a wavy waterfall. “Sorry, that’s way more than you wanted to know.”
Except it wasn’t. Marty wanted to ask more questions. Learn more about why she hesitated to move forward now that she was feeling better. “Sounds like maybe you needed to talk about it.” He gave her what he hoped was an encouraging smile. “I’m actually a pretty good listener.”
