Page 73 of Sparking Sara

Sara puts down the tests and shuts the drawer. She turns to Oliver. “Ihatekids?”

“That’s what you’ve always said.”

“Why would I hate kids?” she asks.

“Dunno. Never thought to ask since I’m not too fond of the little buggers myself.”

“Sara,” Donovan says. “Maybe you could find a few things to take back with you. You know, reminders of home. It might help you feel more connected for when you come back for good.”

She looks around the room. “I don’t know what to take.” She turns to Oliver. “What do I like?”

He goes into the closet and comes out with a purse. “Your Prada bag,” he says. “It’s your favorite. Oh, and there’s something in the kitchen as well.”

We follow him out into the other room and watch as he pulls a large wine goblet from a display cabinet. “You got this from a bona fide Sheik in Saudi Arabia. It’s rimmed with actual gold. It’s the only wine glass you drink out of. You said it’s because the other wine glasses weren’t good enough to be held by such talented fingers.” He picks up her hand and kisses her fingertips. “And you were right.”

He plucks a throw blanket off the couch. “And this. Go ahead, feel it.” He holds it out to her.

“Oh, wow. It’s so soft,” she says. “I love this.”

“You’d better. You had it custom made. You sent it back twice before they made it to your expectations.”

She studies the blanket. “What were my expectations?”

“That it be softer than butter so it wouldn’t scratch your sensitive skin.”

“I …” She looks at Donovan and me, embarrassed. “I sent it back?Twice?”

He wraps the blanket around her shoulders. “Nothing is too good for you, luv.”

Oliver wraps the goblet in paper and packs the three items into a bag. “There,” he says, handing it to her. “All the comforts of home.”

She takes the bag from him, but it slips out of her grip and falls to the floor. I cringe waiting to hear the crack of what might very well be a priceless wine glass.

Donovan picks up her bag. “You’re getting tired,” he says. “We should get going.”

Oliver’s phone rings. He seems irritated when he looks at the screen. “I’ve got to take this,” he says. “I won’t be but a minute.”

He walks into the bedroom and shuts the door. We hear a few muffled shouts. The three of us look at each other and shrug. Then Oliver comes back into the room to see us staring at him.

“Who was that?” Sara asks.

“That? It was Ben … uh, nobody.”

“Who’s Ben?”

“I told you, he’s nobody. Do you have everything you need, hun?”

Sara looks frustrated by his lack of explanation.

“Just one more thing,” Sara says, pointing to her studio. “Do you mind helping me? I feel a little unsteady on my feet.”

Oliver helps her into the studio and they gather some more paint and brushes before we leave.

On the street, as we wait for our cab, Sara eyes something in a storefront window. I turn around to see a Nighthawks display. Sara looks over at me and smiles.

Oliver looks annoyed. “What is it with you and baseball? First you wear those silly baseball shirts. Then you ask me to tune the telly to ESPN to catch a game. And now, you’re drooling over a storefront display.”

Sara shrugs. “I just like baseball, I guess.”

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