Foster Avenue . He hadn't planned on cutting the timing so close but the late start due to the visit from Jessie and Dan had thrown him off schedule. The condo should be right on this block, and he just hoped he reached it in time. His lungs burned and little stabs of pain shot through his head in time with the pounding of his footsteps.
The neighborhood was a mix of new condos and older two-flats, but the child was going to fall from the second floor balcony of one of the condos. Pushing his legs to their limit, he skidded around a corner and into a parking lot behind the address that had been listed. Mark stopped and scanned the half-dozen balconies above the U-shaped lot. Motion on the third one caught his eye, and he started in that direction. His heart jumped into his throat when he saw the toddler, his blue shirt bright against the red brick as he balanced precariously on a stack of cardboard boxes. Mark wracked his memory for the boy's name. Timmy? No, but it was something with a T, then it came to him. "Thomas!'
Faintly, he could hear another voice echoing his own. "Get down, Thomas!'
There was a flash of blue as the boy lost his balance and tumbled over the railing. Mark's final burst of speed put him in the right spot at the right time, and the little boy fell into his arms. The impact against his chest knocked Mark onto his back, his head thumping against the asphalt as his breath whooshed out.
He had tried to soften the fall for the child and managed to cradle the boy's head in the crook of his arm, his other arm beneath his knees. Dazed and the breath knocked out of him, Mark lay still, vaguely aware of the sound of feet running towards him. Thomas rolled out of Mark's arms and stood, and a second later, the child's wail sliced through Mark's head.
He knew he shouldn't let the boy wander off but was powerless to prevent it. His lungs still refused to work, and for what seemed like an eternity, he fought to take a breath, feeling for all the world like a fish out of water.
"Thomas! Oh, thank God!"
Out of the corner of his eye, Mark saw a man with sandy brown hair sweep the boy up and bury his face against Thomas's neck. A woman, only a step behind, rushed up, her eyes wild with terror. He wanted to reassure her that her son wasn't hurt.
"Is he okay? Is he okay?" Frantically, she sought to hold Thomas. "Oh, my baby." Her arms went around the boy and the man wrapped one arm around her, encompassing them all in an embrace. Her shoulders shook with sobs as she clutched her son.
"He's fine. Shhh…it's okay, hon. He's fine."
Finally, Mark was able to take a shaky breath. He reached around to rub the back of his head. Drawing another deep breath, he moved to sit up.
"Wait! Don't move! You could be hurt." The man relinquished his son to the mother and knelt at Mark's side. Putting his hand on Mark's chest, he gently held him down. "Do you have any pain anywhere?"
"I'm okay. Just had the wind knocked out of me." Mark shrugged off the restraining hand and sat up, but he had to blink hard when everything tilted crazily. He sagged back onto the ground and threw his arm across his eyes. Maybe he just needed another minute or so.
"Jen, call 911!"
Mark's eyes snapped open. "No!" This time, he sat up and ignored the spinning. The last thing he needed to do was go to the hospital. If the press got wind of that…well, it hurt his head to even contemplate what would happen then.
"I don't know, buddy. I saw you fall and it looked like you took a heck of a knock." The man cocked his head. "Do I know you?"
This was Mark's cue to leave. "Ah, no, I don't think so." He stood, trying his best to pretend his knees weren't wobbling. "I'm sure I'd remember if we'd met before."
He started edging towards the street. If he could have, he would have bolted, but he was afraid he'd fall flat on his face after two steps.
The man scratched behind his ear. "But I'm sure I've seen you before." He turned towards the woman. "Doesn't he look familiar, Jen?"
Jen stopped examining her son long enough to look at Mark and he knew the instant she recognized him from the way her eyes widened and her mouth rounded into an 'O'.
"You're the guy in the newspaper today! I read about you over breakfast! Scott, remember I showed you the article?" She hiked her son up on her hip and then swept a wayward strand of hair out of her eyes. "You're Mark Taylor, right?"
Mark darted a look around to see if anyone had heard her and was thankful that no one else was nearby. "Yeah, but that article…it isn't true…I'm just…" He backed away, trying to come up with a graceful exit.
"Hold on, don't go yet. We didn't get a chance to thank you." Jen approached him, hugging her child close. Thomas's thumb was planted in his mouth, and he regarded Mark with large brown eyes.
"That's okay. No thanks are necessary. I'm just glad Thomas is okay." Mark smiled and began to turn away. He was almost home free.
The dad stepped close and tugged on Mark's arm. "Wait! How did you know my son's name is Thomas?"
Mark stilled then slowly turned back. "I guess I heard you calling him." His reply came out sounding more like a question.
Scott shook his head. "I heard you call him first. That's what got my attention."
At a loss, Mark ran a hand through his hair and scratched the back of his neck. He was not up to this today. Usually he was good at making up stuff on the fly, but right now, his head felt about ready to explode and he'd give anything for a couple of aspirin. He sighed. "I just…knew."
Jen's eyes softened. "It's all true, isn't it? The stuff in the paper?"
Mark looked at her and tried to come up with a reply. She was watching him with a mixture of awe and compassion. Uncomfortable with the scrutiny, he shifted his focus to the boy's father. The man gave him a speculative look, but his eyes too, held a hint of…what? Sorrow?
Mark couldn't figure it out, and dropped his gaze to the ground. He didn't know how or why, but somehow all of his normal defenses and walls had come crumbling down and he was left with no protection. He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and swallowed hard, unable to speak.
The dad moved up beside him and threw an arm over Mark's shoulders. "You know what? I don't care how you knew any of this. I'm just so grateful that our son is still alive thanks to you." He gave a friendly squeeze. "My name is Scott Palmer and this is my wife, Jen. Have you had lunch yet?"
Mark shook his head, careful to keep it lowered, embarrassed at the sudden emotion that had welled up. What was wrong with him? He hoped it was just a side effect of the concussion.
Jen took up a position on his other side and put a hand on his arm. "We were about to eat lunch just before-" She broke off and shuddered. "Well, lunch is almost ready. Please join us?"
All he could do was nod.
"Please don't mind the mess. We're in the process of moving." Scott entered and motioned for Mark to come in. Jen followed and set Thomas down just inside the door, and then headed through the living room, the boy toddling behind her. A sliding glass door at the end of the dining room stood open to the balcony and, with a shake of her head, she closed and locked it.
The condo was narrow, but stairs led up to another level and down to another floor below. One wall was a deep earth-tone red that complemented the polished wooden trim. It gave the room a homey feel. Mark noted boxes stacked along one wall, and several opened boxes scattered around the living room. Piles of old newspapers sat beside the boxes, and items wrapped in the paper lay ready to be packed, or maybe they had just been removed from the boxes. "Moving in or out?"
"Out. In fact, the reason we're moving is because we want a home that's more kid-friendly." Scott nodded towards his son. "Ever since Thomas began walking last year, it's been a nightmare." He took Mark's jacket from him and hung it on a coat tree beside the door. "This place has four levels; do you know how fast a two year old can go from the ground floor to the fourth?"