Read Online Saving Sara (Redemption #1) by Nicola Marsh - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Nicola Marsh
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tools and materials online because she wanted to try pyrography again. So what was holding her back?
She knew. Fear. The same fear that haunted her every waking moment: that nothing she did would ever make her feel good again. It was like Lucy’s death had sucked all the hope out of her. That nothing was important anymore.
If pyrography, the art that had once been her world, failed to provide a spark, Sara would have to admit she’d hit rock bottom and nothing could save her.
She glared at the box and stood. She would open it today. She’d force herself to. After she took her morning walk.
A stroll through the herb garden couldn’t be classed as a walk so she ventured farther today, striding out toward the small dam. Sure, it was an avoidance technique but hopefully the clear air would help her headspace and make her face that box on her return.
She followed the path along the hedge that bordered her property and Cilla’s. She liked having no fences, liked the feeling of freedom that came with having trees and shrubs rather than wooden palings.
Sunlight dappled the ground and she was so busy studying the patterns it made she didn’t see the child until it was too late. Too late to pretend she hadn’t seen him and avoid any contact, which is what she would’ve done if she’d been more aware.
She couldn’t face kids. Not yet. The pain was too raw, the gaping wound in her chest from losing Lucy unfixable.
“Hey,” he said, his big, brown eyes fixed on her. “Whatcha doing?”
Sara swallowed, trying to ease the tightness in her throat. She couldn’t speak.
The child didn’t seem fazed by her lack of response. “I’m Olly. I live over there.” He jerked his thumb toward Cilla’s. “My mom’s sick and my uncle Jake isn’t very good at taking care of me, so he brought me here to stay with Cilla.” He stopped, and clapped his hand over his mouth. “I mean, Aunt Cilla. Uncle Jake said I have to call her that, even though she’s not my real aunt. She’s too old. She’s Jake’s aunt.” He rolled his eyes. “Uncle Jake, I mean.”
The kid talked. A lot. Listening to him should’ve been painful, but as he rambled, the tightness in Sara’s throat eased. She remembered Lucy talking like that, like she couldn’t get the words out fast enough, tumbling over one another in a rush to be heard.
“You’re quiet.” Olly tilted his head, studying her. “What’s yo ur name?”
Sara cleared her throat. “Sara.” It came out a squeak but it wa s a start.
Olly giggled at her high-pitched voice. “Do you have any kids I can play with?”
Sara felt her face crumple at Olly’s innocuous question and tears filled her eyes as a man appeared through the hole in the hedge where Olly had wriggled through.
“Olly, why don’t you head back? Aunt Cilla has a snack waiting for you.” The man stood and dusted off his jeans, staring at the kid like he was as terrified of him as she was.
“Okay,” Olly said, his gaze solemn as he looked up at the man. “Don’t be mad, but I made Sara cry.”
The man turned his attention to her and damned if she didn’t want to cry harder.
He reminded her of Greg.
Something in his clear blue eyes . . . an inner confidence, a knowing, like he could take on the world and still come out on top.
It made her bristle and she clamped down on the urge to yell at him to follow the kid and to not come back.
“Run along, Olly, it’ll be okay.” The man gave Olly a gentle nudge toward the hole in the hedge. “See you soon.”
“Sorry, Sara,” Olly said, before scrambling through the hedge and disappearing from view.
For someone who hadn’t wanted to converse with the child, Sara suddenly wished he’d hung around. For now she had time to study the man who, in turn, was staring at her with a little curiosity and a lot of caution.
On closer inspection, he was nothing like Greg beyond the same self-assured gaze. He was tall, a good five inches taller than her, with
She knew. Fear. The same fear that haunted her every waking moment: that nothing she did would ever make her feel good again. It was like Lucy’s death had sucked all the hope out of her. That nothing was important anymore.
If pyrography, the art that had once been her world, failed to provide a spark, Sara would have to admit she’d hit rock bottom and nothing could save her.
She glared at the box and stood. She would open it today. She’d force herself to. After she took her morning walk.
A stroll through the herb garden couldn’t be classed as a walk so she ventured farther today, striding out toward the small dam. Sure, it was an avoidance technique but hopefully the clear air would help her headspace and make her face that box on her return.
She followed the path along the hedge that bordered her property and Cilla’s. She liked having no fences, liked the feeling of freedom that came with having trees and shrubs rather than wooden palings.
Sunlight dappled the ground and she was so busy studying the patterns it made she didn’t see the child until it was too late. Too late to pretend she hadn’t seen him and avoid any contact, which is what she would’ve done if she’d been more aware.
She couldn’t face kids. Not yet. The pain was too raw, the gaping wound in her chest from losing Lucy unfixable.
“Hey,” he said, his big, brown eyes fixed on her. “Whatcha doing?”
Sara swallowed, trying to ease the tightness in her throat. She couldn’t speak.
The child didn’t seem fazed by her lack of response. “I’m Olly. I live over there.” He jerked his thumb toward Cilla’s. “My mom’s sick and my uncle Jake isn’t very good at taking care of me, so he brought me here to stay with Cilla.” He stopped, and clapped his hand over his mouth. “I mean, Aunt Cilla. Uncle Jake said I have to call her that, even though she’s not my real aunt. She’s too old. She’s Jake’s aunt.” He rolled his eyes. “Uncle Jake, I mean.”
The kid talked. A lot. Listening to him should’ve been painful, but as he rambled, the tightness in Sara’s throat eased. She remembered Lucy talking like that, like she couldn’t get the words out fast enough, tumbling over one another in a rush to be heard.
“You’re quiet.” Olly tilted his head, studying her. “What’s yo ur name?”
Sara cleared her throat. “Sara.” It came out a squeak but it wa s a start.
Olly giggled at her high-pitched voice. “Do you have any kids I can play with?”
Sara felt her face crumple at Olly’s innocuous question and tears filled her eyes as a man appeared through the hole in the hedge where Olly had wriggled through.
“Olly, why don’t you head back? Aunt Cilla has a snack waiting for you.” The man stood and dusted off his jeans, staring at the kid like he was as terrified of him as she was.
“Okay,” Olly said, his gaze solemn as he looked up at the man. “Don’t be mad, but I made Sara cry.”
The man turned his attention to her and damned if she didn’t want to cry harder.
He reminded her of Greg.
Something in his clear blue eyes . . . an inner confidence, a knowing, like he could take on the world and still come out on top.
It made her bristle and she clamped down on the urge to yell at him to follow the kid and to not come back.
“Run along, Olly, it’ll be okay.” The man gave Olly a gentle nudge toward the hole in the hedge. “See you soon.”
“Sorry, Sara,” Olly said, before scrambling through the hedge and disappearing from view.
For someone who hadn’t wanted to converse with the child, Sara suddenly wished he’d hung around. For now she had time to study the man who, in turn, was staring at her with a little curiosity and a lot of caution.
On closer inspection, he was nothing like Greg beyond the same self-assured gaze. He was tall, a good five inches taller than her, with
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