Out of the Shadows (16 page)

“I dunno. Lots, I guess.”

“Yes, lots. And I know, because Mort and I visit them, almost every day.”

“So how many kids are here?”

“Today, there are eighteen.”

Silence.

“So you think the nurses were talking about one of the other kids?” Another sigh. “I’ll say a prayer for whoever it is, ’cause it’s sad if they’re gonna die….”

Despite her empathy, there was no mistaking the note of hopefulness in Emily’s voice. Wade made a mental note to thank Patrice for that later, over lunch.

“Oh, you know how those nurses are,” Patrice said, laughing. “I’ll just bet they were talking about a character on one of their TV shows!”

“Yeah. I never thought of that.”

Emily’s weak giggle made Wade sad, wishing he could do something to help her. It didn’t matter that he’d already done everything medically possible; he wanted to send her home, healthy and happy, with a long bright future ahead of her. The helplessness reminded him how he’d felt when his mother was dying of cancer.

One thing was certain: First chance he got, he intended to have a word or two with those nurses, make sure they paid a lot closer attention to anyone who might be listening when they swapped confidential patient information as if it were yesterday’s gossip.

But first things first….

“Hey, there, Miss Emily Kirkpatrick,” he said with all the cheerfulness he could muster. “How’re you to
day?” After grabbing her chart, he stood beside her bed. “Uh-oh, it says here that you didn’t eat your lunch again.”

Emily wrinkled her tiny nose. “Soupy mashed potatoes and some kind of gray meat. Oh, and green Jell-O.” She grimaced and shook her narrow shoulders. “Bloooey.”

He glanced at her food-laden tray. What did it matter whether or not she cleaned up her plate, when he knew full well that her poor little heart wasn’t going to heal, even if she ate every morsel? “Green Jell-O, eh?” He gave a sympathetic wince. “Yuck.” Glancing around the room, he added, “Where’s your mom?”

“In the chapel.” Emily rolled her eyes and sighed heavily. “She’s there
all
the time!”

It had been Wade’s experience that certain family members sensed the truth about their sick relatives long before he reeled off a prognosis. “Goodness,” he said, ruffling Emily’s hair, “then, maybe we’d better get her some knee pads!”

Patrice sent him an apologetic half grin, telling him she understood his predicament. She didn’t know it, but that expression told him that
she
was one of those sensitive few whose loving, nurturing ways made them aware of things that bypassed most folks.

He smiled feebly. “So how ’bout we have a look at that incision?” he said, bending over Emily.

“Can Mort stay?” she asked, clutching the covers to her chest.

He glanced at Patrice, who nodded her assent.

Finger-combing Emily’s bangs from her forehead, Wade smiled. “’Course he can stay.” He leaned closer and whispered, “But don’t tell the other kids. Then
they’d
all
want Mort around when their doctors examine them.”

While Emily giggled, Wade decided that Mort could take up permanent residence right there in her bed, could take her on a sight-seeing tour of the toy store jungle where he was born, if that’s what she wanted. Even if her family had been rich or important enough to get her name moved from the bottom to the top of the list of patients waiting for compatible transplant donors, her condition had weakened too many of her other vital organs. The horrible fact was, little Emily Kirkpatrick had, at best, a month to live.

Carefully, he pressed the stethoscope to her tiny chest. So many “ifs,” Wade thought, listening to the meager beats of her debilitated heart.
If
he’d met her a couple of years ago…
if
she’d been stronger…
if
God had seen fit to spare her in the first place….

“What’s wrong, Doc?”

He looked into Emily’s sweet blue-eyed face and straightened. “Nothing. Why?”

“Well, you look so…so
mad
….”

Truth? He
was
mad. Furious, even. Because this so-called merciful God that Patrice thought so highly of had allowed his mother to die a long, agonizing death, and He hadn’t lifted an Almighty finger to protect little Emily from—

Wade had blocked out a lot of what he’d learned in Sunday School, but he remembered this: “Ask and ye shall receive.” Well, he’d asked on behalf of his mom—
pleaded
was more like it—but like everything else he’d prayed for in his life, God had turned a deaf ear.

The child continued to look up at him with enormous, trusting eyes, waiting for an answer to her simple question.

To admit what he’d been thinking was a surefire way to take away the one thing she had left: Hope.

“Dr. Cameron is just concentrating, sweetie,” Patrice said, rescuing him. “Do it again,” she pressed, smiling and wiggling her eyebrows. “Show us your ‘I’m concentrating’ face.”

If they’d been alone, he’d have hugged her for that. But the child in the bed beside Emily’s, her parents and siblings, and Emily, too, watched and waited.

And so Wade summoned the most serious frown he could, inspiring peals of laughter from every corner of the room. “Well, it wasn’t
that
funny,” he said, feigning hurt feelings. The laughter continued even as he added, “Keep it up, and you guys are gonna give me a complex.”

“A complex, eh? Quite a feat,” Patrice said, “considering you’re the most
un
complicated man I’ve ever met.”

She blushed as if she hadn’t expected the compliment to pop from her gorgeous, curvy pink lips any more than he’d expected to hear it.

He
might’ve reddened, too, if not for the thoughts jumping in his head. For one thing, if anyone had asked him to describe himself in a word,
uncomplicated
wouldn’t have come to mind; for another, it was about the last word he would’ve hoped Patrice might use to characterize him.

“Well,” she said, breaking the uncomfortable silence, “guess I’d better go.” Putting Mort into action, she added in the monkey’s voice,
“So many children, so little time!”

“Bye, Mort,” Emily said, waving.

“G’bye, you li’l sweetie!”
Patrice stepped up close and kissed the girl’s forehead, made Mort mimic her
actions. And pressing a palm to Emily’s cheek, she said, “See you later, okay?”

Wade doubted anyone else heard her voice waver, didn’t think the others had seen the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. He couldn’t say
how
she knew Emily didn’t have much time left, but Patrice knew….

As if reading his mind, she met his eyes. What message was she trying to send him on the invisible current that connected them? he wondered. She seemed trapped in the sadness of the moment. She’d rescued him earlier, now he’d return the favor.

“So, you ready for lunch?”

She frowned slightly, then blinked. “You didn’t get my message?”

“What message?”

“I, um…” Shrugging, she sighed. “Just…well, it’s no big deal.”

Wade offered her his elbow, and she took it.

“I’ll be back later today,” he told Emily over his shoulder.

“Me, too,” Patrice said as they stepped into the hall.

She continued to hold on to his arm as they moved silently toward the elevator. He rather liked the warm weight of her hand pressed into the crook of his elbow. How much nicer it’d be, he thought, if she leaned her head on his shoulder, too.

Get a hold of yourself!
he told himself. Daydreams were for fools. Especially
romantic
dreams…. “So,” he began again, “what’re you in the mood for today? Pizza? Hot dogs? Hamburger?”

She hit the down button, both hands now clutching Mort to her chest. The spot where her hand had rested on him was noticeably cold. He was wondering about that when she said, “Oh, soup and a salad probably. I
try to eat light at lunch, since I fix a big supper every night.”

Wade nodded, trying to imagine what it would be like, having balanced meals, prepared lovingly for him every night. “Just the opposite with me. My fridge is too small for real food, so I eat most of my meals here.”

She looked up at him, then. “You’re welcome to join us. Gus probably won’t eat much, anyway, considering he’s still under the weather.”

I’d love to,
he wanted to say. “Hate to wear out my welcome” is what he said, instead.

Patrice’s soft laugh filtered into his ears. “Impossible.”

The elevator arrived, and as several staff members stepped into the hall, he held out a hand, inviting her to enter the car ahead of him. She grinned. “So chivalry isn’t dead, after all.”

“Easy to be gentlemanly around a true lady.”

While Patrice’s blush intensified, two nurses, leaning against the back of the elevator, exchanged knowing looks. One of them, Wade recognized as working Emily’s floor. Eyes narrowed, he almost read her the riot act for talking about the child’s case in front of the patients. That’d wipe that smirk from her face. But there was a time and a place for everything.

Besides, he didn’t know if he wanted Patrice to see what he could be like when riled. “You ladies heading for the cafeteria?” he asked.

“Nope,” said Emily’s nurse. “Just getting back.” She smiled sheepishly and patted her purse. “Forgot my kid’s birthday, so I’m headed to the gift shop for a card.”

Wade nodded.

“Friendly warning,” she added, “stay away from the chili. Looks like it’s been in the pan for a decade.”

He answered with only the hint of a smile. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

The nurses exited, leaving Wade and Patrice alone in the car. “What was
that
all about?” she asked.

He pretended not to understand the question. “What was what about?”

She giggled. “Let’s just say I wouldn’t want you aiming that glare in my direction.”

“Glare? I didn’t—”

She pointed at two holes in the elevator wall, where formerly, drawings colored by kids had hung. “You drilled those babies with your
eyes,
Dr. Cameron,” she teased.

The elevator stopped at their floor, and Wade held the door. “That ain’t nothin’ compared to what she’s gonna get when I finish lunch.”

“Why?”

He noticed that Patrice had to walk quickly to keep pace with his stride. Wade slowed down. “She blabbed some confidential stuff in the presence of that young pediatric patient Julie, and you know what Julie did with the information.” He grunted. “Of all the unprofessional—”

“I’m sure she wasn’t aware Julie was in earshot.”

He stared. “After seeing what the news did to Emily, you’re defending her? I can’t believe my ears.”

She held Mort up as a shield. “Ouch,” Patrice said.

“Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to take out my annoyance on you.”

She slid onto the seat of a nearby booth, and propped Mort up against the wall. “Apology accepted.” Once he’d settled in across from her, she added, “You want
me to save the booth while you stand in line, or the other way around?”

It was common knowledge around the Ellicott General cafeteria that between staff, ambulatory patients, and visitors tables were in short supply. Wade slid his wallet from his pocket, peeled off a twenty. “I’ll stand guard,” he said, handing it to her, “if you’ll get me a burger and fries and a medium soda.”

She started to protest, but he held up a hand to forestall it. “Let me do this, Patrice. After all the terrific meals you’ve fed me, the least I can do is buy you a bowl of lousy soup and a plate of wilted salad.”

For a moment, it looked like she might refuse the offer. Then she dumped her purse on the seat beside Mort. “Okay, but this means you owe me one….”

Chuckling, he said, “Good thing you’re not keeping score, ’cause I’d owe you more than one.”

She made a move to get into line when he grabbed her wrist. “Just out of curiosity,” he began, meeting her eyes, “what do I owe you?”

One corner of her mouth lifted in a smile as she arched one brow. Tilting her head, she winked. Oh, what he’d give to be alone with her, so he could wrap her in his arms and kiss those beautiful, shapely lips!

“Supper is at six, sharp,” she said, waving the twenty under his nose.

She slid her gaze to where his fingers wrapped around her wrist…her silent signal that he should release her. Much as he hated to, he let go. And watching her step into line behind an orderly, Wade licked his lips.

“Hey, Cameron!” a voice to his left called.

Turning, he saw Adam on the other side of the cafeteria. Wade returned his wave.

“C’mere,” his partner said. “I have something to show you.”

Forgetting about Patrice’s purse and puppet on the bench seat across from him, Wade rose and headed across the room. “What’s so important it couldn’t wait until after lunch?” he asked, standing beside Adam’s table.

“Feast your eyes.” Adam handed him a stack of photographs. Kasey, in sunglasses and a wide-brimmed hat; Adam posing beside an enormous, gnarled tree; the newlyweds on the seat of a gilded carriage.

“Nice,” Wade said. “Real nice.” He looked up, to where he’d last seen Patrice, amazed at the depth of his disappointment that she wasn’t in sight.

“Gimme those,” Adam said, grabbing the pictures, “and get back to your li’l honey.” Shaking his head, he grinned. “Looks to me like you’re next, pal.”

That got Wade’s attention. “Next? Next for what?”

Smirking, Adam pointed to the photo of himself and Kasey, fully attired as bride and groom. “Need I say more?” he said, wiggling his eyebrows.

“You’re delusional, pal.” As an afterthought, Wade dug around in his lab coat pocket for the business card a patient’s wife had given him earlier, and handed it to Adam.

“‘JoEllen Smith,”’ Adam read, “‘Clinical Psychologist.”’ His brows drew together in confusion.

“Need I say more?” Wade echoed.

“Funny,” his partner said as he headed back to the table. “Very funny.”

Laughing to himself, Wade spotted Patrice at the cashier’s stand. He stopped walking so he could watch, unbeknownst to her.