Mother's Promise (31 page)

“We all missed it—Malcolm usually watches the kid like a hawk, and he missed it too.”

“Yeah, well, I'm supposed to be the doctor.”

“You are the doctor,” Zeke said. “You are also human.”

They turned at the sound of an approaching vehicle and saw the co-op's van pull up to the guesthouse. Rachel and Justin got out, along with John Steiner. John and Justin unloaded two bikes from the back of the van.

“I think I'll see if I can catch a ride with John,” Zeke said. As he headed back inside to leave his mug, he grasped Ben's shoulder. “She's a fighter, our Sally.”

That she is,
Ben thought as he watched Zeke head down the path.
But just how many times is a twelve-year-old expected to get back up off the mat and fight again?

He remembered then that Sally had asked him to get her journal from her room. “Do
not
even think about reading it,” she'd ordered. So he walked back through the house—a house that felt so very empty now—and on upstairs to Sally's room.

The journal was lying on her desk, a rainbow of ribbons marking her latest entry. It was a surprisingly thick-bound book easily matching the number of pages in the hardcover mystery on the table next to his own bed. Ben resisted the temptation to read the whole thing. Surely if he read it he would have a far better understanding of what exactly it had cost Sally all these long months to keep up the brave and positive outlook she presented daily to the world. But he had promised.

He picked up the journal and the pen next to it and looked around for something he could wrap them in. On her bed was a heart-shaped pillow. He unzipped the outer covering and stuffed the journal and pen inside.

“Ben?”

He hadn't heard Rachel calling or her movement through the house and up the stairs. She stood inside the door.

“Sally wanted her journal,” he said, holding up the heart-shaped bundle.

“Is there anything I can do? For Sally or Sharon—or you?”

A half dozen answers to that question raced through his mind, but he shook his head. “Sally's in good hands. Sharon and Malcolm are surrounded by good friends. As for me …” He was embarrassed to hear that last come out in a raspy whisper as evidence of his emotional state.

“Zeke told us the basics,” she said, taking another step into the room. “He went back with John to tell Hester. He suggested that I might get a better picture of the situation talking directly to you. But that can wait.”

Ben felt her calmness filling the space around him. “No, I want to talk about it. I mean, if you have the time.”

She sat on the small bench at the foot of Sally's bed. “I have time.”

Once Ben started to talk it was as if the floodgates had opened. As Rachel listened he told her about the transplant, the weeks of worry following that, especially because the donor match had not been as strong as they might have hoped. He told her about the endless round of tests and medications. The fear of infection. The boredom of days and weeks and months cooped up in a hospital room or this very room where they sat now as the shadows of evening stretched across the room.

“Then we were well past the one hundred day mark, and the danger of acute GVHD had all but disappeared. Oh, I know there are no absolutes in medicine, but she was doing so well, breaking all records for recovery….”

Rachel's instinct was to lay her hand on Ben's clenched fist, but he stood up suddenly and began to pace. “How could I have missed it?”

“Was Sally not seeing her doctors in Tampa on a regular basis?”

“Sure. But I saw her every day.” He paused by the window and stood there, staring out at the growing darkness.

Rachel went to stand with him. “Ben, sometimes God …”

“I place my faith in science,” he said flatly.

Rachel closed her eyes and prayed for God to give her the words. “Then you have faith in one of God's creations, and that is a start.”

Downstairs a clock chimed and Ben suddenly wheeled around, glancing at his watch and grabbing the bundle with the journal. “I'm late,” he said more to himself than to her as he crossed the room.

Rachel followed him down the stairs and out to the lanai. He secured the lock and then started around the house toward his car. He had closed himself off from her—from anything or anyone around.

“Ben?” But there were no words. She could offer little comfort. “I'm here if you ever need to talk.”

He placed his hand on her cheek, and she was struck by how smooth his palm was in contrast to James's calloused touch. “That means a great deal to me, Rachel. Thank you.” He smiled at her for the first time since she'd come up to Sally's room. “Danke,” he murmured then got into his car.

“Give Sally our best,” Rachel called out as he drove away. “Tell her …”

But he was gone.

Rachel stood on the driveway for a long moment, her hand touching her cheek, her thoughts on Ben Booker. She did not understand these outsiders. They seemed to go from day to day, checking off items on a list. They valued accomplishment and winning, and they seemed to embrace their individual differences as if this were something to be celebrated. Their lives clamored with the noise of their constant chatter and restless activity.

But was she truly that different? Ever since she'd come to Florida her focus had been on making good at her new job, on getting the certification necessary for her to keep that job. How had she gone from the world she'd grown up in—the Mennonite world that was quieter, simpler, and that revolved around community—to this? At what point had she lost that balance so integral to her faith that allowed everyone to live well and in harmony with their neighbors? Had her brother-in-law been right about her? Had she gotten so caught up in achieving success in her work that she had lost sight of what truly mattered—family, friends, community … Justin?

She closed her eyes, allowing the warm moist air of the night to caress her cheek—the way Ben had. Oh, how she wished she could help him find his way home to the faith she felt certain he still carried deep inside him. It was evident that he was a man with much to offer but also a man who struggled with the demands and constraints of the world around him.

Rachel understood that. As a girl she had looked longingly at that outside world, imagining that there she would find true happiness.

This belief that there was something more—something better than the life she'd grown up in—was what had driven her to pester her parents until they had finally agreed that she could attend nursing school. This search for happiness and contentment was why she had sought jobs not in her Mennonite or even the local Amish community after her marriage. Instead she had gone into the public schools to offer her skills.

And she suddenly understood that this was why she had been so drawn to Ben Booker from the moment she'd met him. In him she saw the person she had once been—a person searching in a wilderness. In the short time she had known him she had come to care for him in a way that she had not permitted herself to care for any man since James. With a start she opened her eyes and pressed her hands together.

The disloyalty she felt for James in that moment very nearly overwhelmed her. James had been her first love—her only love. Never had she felt for any other man what she had felt for him. Never—until now.

He was late. The sauce was fine, but the appetizers that Darcy had assembled—bruschetta on toast points—were soggy and inedible. She dumped them into the sink and flipped on the disposal. She had tried calling his cell, then his condo, with no response. She had considered calling the hospital in Tampa. Perhaps Sally had taken a turn for the worst, but if that were true then the last thing Ben needed was a woman who did not understand or accept that he was a physician and always on call when it came to his patients—especially Sally.

She sat down and flipped through a magazine then got up and once again checked the table she'd set on the balcony for the two of them. She'd lit the candles way too early, and now they were burned down to pools of paraffin. She straightened a knife but felt that extinguishing the candles would be to extinguish all hope that he would come.

Just then she heard a car enter the parking area below. She leaned over the balcony and, seeing that it was Ben, resisted the urge to call out to him. Instead she watched as he got out of his car and stood for a long moment, staring out at the man-made lake that her building overlooked. His shoulders were slumped and he looked exhausted.

When he turned toward the entrance, Darcy hurried into her galley kitchen and popped the cork on a bottle of wine then splashed a generous amount into two matching crystal goblets. She checked her makeup and hair in the mirror next to the door and then stepped into the hall to wait for the elevator to deliver Ben. All the while her mind raced with how best to orchestrate the conversation.

She would begin with wine and sympathy for the difficult day he'd endured. She would listen with murmurs of concern while he described the details of Sally's condition. And then at the right moment she would suggest that they enjoy their dinner and speak of other things—at least for tonight—so he could relax a bit before he had to face the hardships of Sally's newest complication the following day.

In a perfect world, he would fall asleep on her sofa, lulled by the wine and the food and the rich chocolate cheesecake that she had prepared for their dessert. In a perfect world, she would cradle his head in her lap, comb his thick hair with her manicured nails. And in a perfect world, sometime in the night he would reach for her and find in her kiss the peace of mind he so clearly needed.

When he stepped off the elevator, he gave her a weary smile and held out a bottle of red wine. “I see you're way ahead of me,” he said, nodding toward the two goblets of wine that she held.

“The night is young.” She handed him one of the goblets, took the bottle of wine, and waited for him to enter her apartment.

“Sorry I'm so late. Sally asked me to go by the house to get something for her, and Zeke was there so I had to fill him in. Then Rachel Kaufmann stopped by and we got to talking and …” He shrugged. “Sorry.”

Darcy's hand tightened on the stem of her wine glass when he mentioned Zeke and then nearly snapped it in two when he said that Rachel had been there as well. “How's Sally doing?” she asked, determined to get things back on plan.

He actually chuckled. “Not at all happy to find herself back in a hospital being pricked and probed, as she likes to call it. We'll know more come Monday.” He took a long swallow of his wine. “But let's talk about the incredible smells coming from such a tiny kitchen,” he said as he lifted the cover on the sauce. “You've got enough sauce here to feed a third world country,” he teased.

Okay,
Darcy thought,
skip the preliminaries of wine and sympathy. Moving on.
“I made enough to freeze some—for myself and for you to have at your place. It makes a wonderful base for chili or sloppy joes.”

“Impressive.” He replaced the lid and picked up the empty wooden salad bowl. “Want me to chop the salad?”

“Sure. You do that while I boil the pasta. You must be famished.”

He seemed to consider this, and then he grinned sheepishly. “Not so much. I have to admit that on my way out of the hospital I picked up a turkey sub sandwich that I ate on the road. That was around five. But never fear, I have plenty of room for homemade spaghetti.”

“And chocolate cheesecake?”

“Might have to take a rain check on that one.” He patted his stomach. “Have to watch the waistline at least a little.”

“Yeah, right.” She felt herself relax. Even with a late start the evening held promise. They worked together well in the confines of the small kitchen, and it was easy to imagine them making a habit of this, spending their free time together, living together.
Easy, girl, don't get ahead of yourself.