Free A Battle Raging by Sharon Cullars

jokingly.
    Just then the waiter came with their entrees. The enticing smell as he set her plate on the table made Maya suspect that part of the earlier unease in her stomach might have been hunger. She'd made a sandwich a few hours before she left, thinking that would tide her over. But obviously she'd been wrong.
    As he'd promised, he offered her some of his dish, forking a couple of pitas and creamy looking spreads onto her plate. Peckish was the word for the moment as she took a bite of the tzatziki she spread on a piece of pita bread. She determined to remember the name of this, possibly find a recipe online. He seemed pleased at her obvious enjoyment as he took a bite of pita. Both dug into their appetizers with relish, then smoothed everything down with sips from their drinks.
    They finished their meal and then it was her turn to give some vitals that included her background in art and teaching. She managed to wrap up the highlights within a few minutes. She didn't talk about Mark or her mother's death. Too soon.
    "My sister went all left side of the brain since she inherited my father's gift of logic and anything having to do with the analytical. As for me, I inherited my mother's gift for cooking, drawing and anything just a bit artistic. Except for music; I'm rather terrible at that."
    "Can't imagine you being terrible at anything, really."
    She tried to hide a smile; it'd been a long time since she'd felt this flattered or appreciated. It was a definite uplift from that afternoon. She mentally kicked herself for going to that in her mind. Was she deliberately trying to mess up what was turning out to be a nice evening?
    The lights dimmed and an older man in a lavender suit took the stage to introduce the headliners.
    Within a few minutes, the band members stepped out without flourish, walking to their respective instruments. And then there appeared an elder man who took the stage with all the grace of someone regal. She remembered seeing pictures of Masekela from years ago. Though graying, the South African musician appeared agile and easily began a riff with his horn. The melody was smooth and sweet, the trills magical and soul-soothing.
    T he magic continued for nearly an hour, as he moved through a familiar repertoire. As the audience applauded between songs, Maya caught a movement to the left end of the stage. A couple of waiters were moving a couple of chairs. In a few seconds, Maya saw why. A man in a wheelchair was making his way toward the table.
    Masekela began another song. She recognized it as "Stimela." He began a rendition that was wonderful. And yet, her eyes kept pulling in the direct ion of the man in the wheelchair. There wasn't anything extraordinary about him. In the dim lighting, she couldn't really see his face, but she got the impression that he was maybe in his forties or older. Questions crowded her mind, weaving through the music. How long had he been disabled? Or did he even consider himself "disabled"? Zach…she could no longer think of him as Mr. Yarborough…would chafe at the descriptor. That much she knew about him.
    Would he come to a place like this, enjoy this type of music?
    She wondered what he was doing at that moment.
    And then gave herself another mental shake. Idiot .
    She was out with a seemingly wonderful guy, had enjoyed a wonderful meal with good wine, had a decent conversation and was listening to fantastic music. Why was she even thinking about Zach?
    Was it guilt? Or something else?
    That second question made her uncomfortable just thinking about it. Maybe sensing something, Jules turned to her with a smile. Leaned over to whisper in her ear: "Enjoying yourself?"
    She returned the smile and nodded. And determined to make it true for the rest of the evening.

CHAPTER 8
     
    Zach managed to get through Monday's group session that morning without any incident. Of course, he lied to Dr. Madison, at least by omission, deliberately forgetting to tell the doctor about the