Free Sweet Tomorrows by Debbie Macomber

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 promising.
    “Leave me.” His voice was a mere breath of sound.
    Ibrahim shook his head. “Never.”
    “Please.” It was a struggle to speak and even more of a fight to keep his eyes open. Sleep beckoned, and he craved the release from the pain wakefulness produced.
    Ibrahim’s eyes darkened with an emotion Mark was unable to read. “I won’t leave you; no, my friend, it is not possible.”
    “Go,” Mark whispered again from between his parched lips. “Get your family to safety. I’m too weak.”
    “You will make it,” Ibrahim insisted. “I give you my strength. Shatha gives you her strength, too. We go as one. What is it you Americans say? No man left behind. I more American now than Iraqi. I not leave you behind. What you say—no way? I say no way I leave you.”
    Mark did his best to argue, to make this man and his family understand. “Once you’re in the States, Jo Marie will help you.”
    Again Ibrahim shook his head, refusing to listen. “You will introduce her to us.”
    Mark closed his eyes and tried to picture the scene in his mind. Jo Marie at his side, his arm around her as they sat on her veranda overlooking the cove, chatting with Ibrahim and Shatha. The children would be playing with Rover