need to be handled subtly,” Dana said. “Give him the proper incentive to sell.”
“The right offer should do that,” Emily said, scooting forward in her seat, once again showing her eagerness.
“There’s more—something else Mrs. Usinger told me.” Dana looked from me to Emily and then back again.
“More?” I asked.
She hesitated, to the point that I leaned forward myself, wondering what she had to say. “Mrs. Usinger mentioned that Nick and his brother were involved in a terrible car accident a year or so ago, just before her friend passed.”
“Oh no.”
“The accident killed Nick’s younger brother. She wasn’t aware of the circumstances, just that the younger of the two died at the scene. From what she understood, Nick was with his brother at the time.”
“Oh dear.” Emily’s eyes immediately filled with sympathy. “Now I feel terrible.”
“Why should you?” I asked. “He was a jerk to you.”
“He was,” she agreed, “but this sort of explains his attitude.”
“That’s no excuse for speaking to you the way he did.” I wasn’t nearly as forgiving as Emily was.
“You mentioned the dog.”
“Elvis. What about him?” Emily asked.
“Apparently, he belonged to Nick’s brother, the one who died.”
“A constant reminder,” Emily whispered, and seemed surprised that she’d spoken out loud.
“Well, one thing we do know,” I said after sipping my lemonade. “We’re dealing with a wounded soul of a man. Now all we need to do is find a way to convince him to sell the house to Emily.”
Emily surprised me by shaking her head. “I don’t think so.”
“You don’t want the house?”
“I’d love it,” she said sadly, “but the timing is wrong.”
I could hear the disappointment in her voice.
“Nick Schwartz needs to stay exactly where he is,” she continued, “at least for now. I’ll find another house that will suit my purposes.”
I studied the woman who was my boarder and viewed her with fresh eyes. Although she’d been with me only a short while, she’d said very little about herself and her past. In that moment I recognized something I should have seen much earlier. This was a woman who understood emotional pain. She, too, had suffered loss. Only someone who understood grief would so readily identify with another in like circumstances.
“Mark. Wake, my friend, wake.”
Mark did his best to open his eyes but instantly squinted against the harsh, unrelenting blaze of the sun. He knew they were close to the border, close to freedom. He was weak, weaker now than he’d been before. The infection was worse than ever. As hard as it was to give up, the time had come to accept his fate. What little strength he possessed was gone. For days he’d been trying to convince himself he was healing, getting stronger. He had to convince Ibrahim to leave him, otherwise his friend and his family would be at risk. His fever raged; his body felt like it was on fire. He’d lost track of the days. What little memory he had was of Shatha bathing his forehead with a cold rag. She spoke in whispers to Ibrahim. Mark couldn’t hear her clearly, but the worried tone of her voice told him he was in worse shape than he’d been in before. Ibrahim should have listened to him and left him behind, but his friend was stubborn and Mark hadn’t the strength to argue. They were hiding with Shatha’s relatives a hundred miles from the border. Ibrahim was unsure how long they would remain undetected at Shatha’s cousin’s. Neither Mark nor Ibrahim were comfortable putting another family at risk.
“We are close to the border,” Ibrahim told him, speaking in Arabic. “You must remain quiet,” his friend told him.
Mark did his best to hold Ibrahim’s look, thinking he must have been groaning aloud without realizing it.
“You talk,” Ibrahim clarified. “You call out for this woman you love, Jo Marie. Again and again you say her name in your sleep.”
Despite the pain, Mark managed a grin. Jo Marie was never far from his thoughts. He felt her presence in a dozen different ways. It was her hand that soothed his brow, her worried face that stared down at him, her whispered prayers he heard in the darkest part of the night.
“Once we cross the border we will get you to a hospital,” his friend promised.
Although half out of his mind with fever, Mark’s dry, cracked lips tried to speak and failed. The best he could do was a simple nod of appreciation. The chances of getting him into Saudi Arabia in his current condition weren’t