Head Over Heels. Gail Sattler

be really sick to stay home. Did she say what was wrong?”

      “Actually, no. Yesterday she left a message on my voice mail, and she spoke really quickly. I tried calling her back, but I got her voice mail. I had expected her to call again today if she wasn’t going to be in….” Grant shrugged. “It’s not like her not to check in. I tried calling her again after the tech called, but I got her voice mail again. Monday we’ll be busy setting up the second set of new computers. That means you don’t have to be there. I’m not sure about Jessie. We’ll have to wait for her to call me back.”

      Russ didn’t respond, but as Marielle watched, his face paled.

      She leaned toward him. “Russ? What’s wrong?”

      He lowered his head and pressed his fingers into his temples. “I thought I was over this headache, but I can’t seem to shake it.”

      Grant stood, hovering as Russ remained seated. “Which is another reason you need to take some time off. I did a little research yesterday, and recurring headaches is a common side effect of a serious concussion. Consider yourself off for a week on medical leave. The accident happened on Monday, so you’re off the rest of the week.”

      “But—”

      Grant raised one hand to prevent Russ from arguing. “I mean it. I’ve been watching you work your tail off every day, and I don’t know offhand how much vacation time I owe you, all I know is that it’s a lot. You say you can’t remember what happened, but I wonder if part of the reason you feel like that is that you’re overstressed. I don’t want you coming in to the office until next week, and until then I want you to only spend a couple of hours a day here if you feel up to it, and that’s it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to take my son to a ball game tonight. You can handle it from here, right?”

      Grant apparently didn’t expect a response, because he didn’t wait for one. Marielle wanted to call out after him that his expectations could have been one of the reasons Russ was overworked and overstressed, but she remained silent. It wasn’t any of her business.

      Russ leaned to one side, reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple of white pills. “Where can I get some water? The doctor said to take these if the headache came back, and wow, has it ever come back.”

      “There’s a fountain over there, by the washrooms.”

      Russ stood, then sank back into the chair. “I can’t take these. I have to drive home later.” He returned the pills to his pocket, then returned his attention to the computer as he began the process of putting it back together. The tightness in his face showed how he was trying to fight the pain.

      “You don’t have to do this. It can wait until tomorrow.”

      He winced as he lowered himself to his hands and knees. “I’d rather do it now and get it over with,” he said as he crawled under the desk. She heard a sharp intake of breath as he leaned all the way to the back to connect the keyboard to the tower. “Besides, I’d rather not drive in traffic with a headache like this. It will pass.”

      He backed out slowly, then returned to the chair. His face was even paler than it had been earlier.

      “Would you like to lie down for a few minutes? I’m not exactly sure what to do with the program, but I can follow the prompts and call if something happens.”

      “I’m fine,” he said, although the way his hands were shaking told her otherwise.

      “You still don’t remember what happened that day, do you?”

      He stopped his work and turned to her. “No, I don’t. I just keep seeing Jessie’s face, almost like in a fog, not clear but I know it’s her. Everything else is blank. I remember sitting at my desk, and getting up for some reason that keeps evading me, and then the next thing I remember is waking up in the hospital with the nurses and a doctor hovering over me. The doctor told me that holes in a person’s memory sometimes happen and just to give it time, but that’s easier said than done. It bothers me.”

      “I can only imagine.” As much as she didn’t think too highly of his overwork ethics, she didn’t want him to suffer. Memories of his face and his expression as he lay on the hood of her car still haunted her. A number of days had passed already, and she knew he was fine—or at least better than the alternative.

      He squeezed his eyes shut and sighed. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.”

      Marielle smiled. “I think it’s because I have an honest face.” Aside from the fact that she liked helping people, all her life, people had found her easy to talk to, which made a difference in her work as a volunteer counselor—especially with the youths. They trusted her because she did her best, without being pushy, to help the youths take a straight path as they chose the direction they would go into adulthood. Russ was an adult, but regardless of how she personally felt about someone who was a chronic workaholic, he was there in front of her. If he needed someone in a difficult time, she would do the same for him as she would for anyone else.

      “Yes, you do,” he said, smiling, as he reached for a loose mouse.

      “If you want, I can pray with you about it. I believe in miracles, and I believe that you being here is a miracle in itself.”

      “No thanks,” he muttered. “I’ve used up my quota of miracles.”

      Marielle’s breath caught. “Surely you don’t believe that.”

      He held out one hand. “Can you pass me that cable over there?”

      She stared at him, and when nothing more was said, she handed him the cable. He couldn’t have been more clear about not wanting to talk—or pray—if he’d slammed a door in her face.

      He made his way down the row of computers, one by one, reinstalling operating systems. Each time he left a chair, one of the youths slid in to finish off the process or report on the progress.

      As he worked, he chatted pleasantly with all the youths, although it was quickly apparent that the boys were interested in the computers, and most of the girls were interested in Russ.

      Six o’clock came before Marielle even realized it. “That was the fastest three hours I’ve ever spent here,” she said, looking up at the clock on the wall.

      “Is that how long you run the drop-in? Three hours every day?”

      “Yes. It’s meant to be a place for them to go after school. We also run on Friday evenings, so they won’t get into trouble.”

      “You come here Friday night, too?”

      “Yes. We try to get volunteers to help, but most of the time it’s just me. I wish we could run the center on Saturday, but I just can’t do it all by myself and we can’t get enough people to commit. The Sunday school uses this room on Sunday morning, but when the service is over, I open it up for the youths for an hour. That’s the only time they’re allowed to play online games here. I picked Sunday because they have to respect the Sabbath and not play violent games or those that encourage illegal activities on Sundays in God’s house.” She grinned. “It’s worked so far.”

      “You’re here six days a week?”

      “Yes. I feel this is important, so, as they say, I put my money where my mouth is.”

      She thought he was going to tell her she spent too much time at the center, and she was ready to give him a strong rebuttal. If Marielle read Russ right, all he did was work. At least what she chose to spend her free time doing was to benefit others.

      But after a few seconds of silence, he said, “I’ll be back tomorrow then, at three o’clock.”

      He walked with her to the door, and after they exited, waited while she locked up. They made their way to the cars, and without saying anything else, he flicked the remote lock for his SUV, removed the bar and drove away rather fast, Marielle thought, for being in a parking lot.

      As the