The Healing Place (12 page)

She couldn’t remember.

She had everything she could possibly need, except what she really wanted. And yet she was thankful to have been Brian’s mother. How enriched her life was because of him. Maybe later on, when she was alone, she should tell God that.

“Don’t you think so, Emma?”

She looked up and found Mark staring at her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear—”

“Look! There’s a kitty,” Angie shouted.

The girl scooted back from the table and ran to the sliding glass door where an orange tabby sat swishing its tail on the back step. The cat meowed and nudged the glass pane with its black nose.

“That’s my neighbor’s cat, Wilbur,” Emma supplied. “He comes over here looking for food and hoping I’ll pet him.”

Angie hunkered down by the door and rubbed her finger against the glass. “Can he come in?”

Emma shook her head. “Nope, sorry, I’m allergic. You can go out into the backyard and play with him, though.”

Sliding the glass door open, Emma allowed Angie to slip through to the back deck.

“Do you need me to come with you?” Mark asked.

“No, Dad,” Angie snapped. “I think I can play by myself.”

The girl scooped up the cat, rubbing her face against the animal’s soft fur.

Mark’s eyes widened at her surly tone. “I guess she’s extra tired today.”

Emma bit her tongue. Angie didn’t act tired. She acted annoyed by her father. Though Emma thought Mark was too protective of his daughter, it wasn’t her place to criticize him.

“She won’t catch any disease from the cat, will she?” Mark looked anxious. “I know her immune system isn’t strong right now.”

“She’ll be fine, Mark,” Emma said.

Definitely overly protective, yet Emma couldn’t blame him.

She left the sliding door open just a crack, so they could hear Angie if she called out. Even from this distance, they could see the girl and hear her delighted giggles and Wilbur’s purrs as Angie scratched his ears.

When Angie took the cat over to sit on the grass, Mark started to rise from his chair. Emma stopped him with a lift of her hand. “She’s fine, Mark. It’s a nice, safe, fenced yard. Let her play for a while.”

He sat back down but his gaze followed Angie for several more minutes and silence loomed throughout the room.

“She thinks I’m domineering and pushy.” Mark shrugged. “But I just want what’s best for her.”

“I know. When you’re fighting to save someone’s life, it’s hard to think about anything else.” Emma spoke without humor.

He gazed into her eyes. “You talk as though you know what it’s like, Emma.”

She moved her gaze to Angie. If she told him about Brian, it would only make things more difficult. It didn’t help when he reached across the table and squeezed her hand gently.

Knots of tension cramped her stomach. She stared at their entwined fingers, feeling guilty for enjoying the touch of this warm, attractive man.

She jerked her hand back. “Don’t.”

He looked hurt and Emma refused to meet his eyes.

“Don’t you think it’s time you told me what happened to your son, Emmy?” he said.

Emma froze, feeling as though a guillotine had chopped off her windpipe.

“I
don’t like being called Emmy,” Emma said, ignoring Mark’s question about Brian.

Mark’s brow furrowed in confusion. “But I’ve called you that name ever since first grade.”

Glancing across the kitchen table, her gaze meshed with his. Images of David flashed through her mind. The last time she had seen David, his eyes had been filled with hate as he shouted that she had murdered their son. Even now, the memory chilled her blood.

Mark’s eyes filled with hope and had the power to melt her frozen heart.

She reached for the salt shaker, rubbing it between her palms in a nervous gesture. A lump formed in her throat but she managed to speak around it. “I know you’ve always called me Emmy, but it’s just that—”

She wanted to explain about Brian’s death, but the words stuck in her throat.

“Emma, what’s wrong? You can trust me.”

Every fiber of her being responded to his gentle urging and she heaved a weary sigh. “David called me Emmy when he—” Her voice cracked and she tried again. “When he blamed me for our son’s death.”

Mark rubbed his fingertips against his forehead. “Oh, boy. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. I feel like such a heel.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“You know you’ll see him again, right?” Mark added.

“David?”

He shook his head. “No, Brian. Your son.”

Something cold gripped her. “I don’t believe in eternity, Mark.”

She didn’t mean it. Not really. But the anger and hurt she kept bottled up inside ever since Brian died seemed to rise to the surface now. Mark was the first person she had confided in.

“You don’t mean that, Emma.”

Oh, he knew her so well.

How desperately she wanted to believe she would see Brian again.

She thought about what Mark said, knowing in her heart it was true. Yet her personal guilt and regret over her son’s death kept her from admitting it.

He clasped his fingers around hers and she couldn’t pull away.

“I want us to be friends,” he said.

Warmth tingled up her arm. She should let go.

She held on tighter. He filled the emptiness in her life, but he had his daughter to think about. He didn’t need a neurotic woman grieving for her son to muddy up his life.

She let go of his hand.

“Do you still like to go fishing?” Mark asked.

She burst out laughing, his question completely unexpected. “Yes, but I haven’t gone since—”

The summer before their junior year in high school, Emma had gone fishing with Mark. Brett and Tina and one other couple from school joined them and they’d laughed and shared a picnic of fried chicken, potato salad and s’mores. Mark had helped her land her first trout, teasing her because it was so puny. They’d thrown the fish back and splashed each other and played until the sun went down. That evening, when Mark had dropped her off at her doorstep, he’d kissed her.

Her first kiss. And it had been magic.

Now they exchanged a secret smile and Mark lifted a hand to brush his knuckles against her hair. “You remember, too?”

“Yes, one of the best memories of my life.”

“I’ve never been anyone’s best memory, Emma.” His smile faded. “There are times when I wish Denise and I could go back to the way things were, before the divorce. I keep thinking I could change things somehow, if only I had a second chance.”

A muscle ticked in his lean cheek and his gaze was filled with so much pain. Mark Williams wasn’t as one-dimensional as she had thought.

“I shouldn’t have told you that,” he said. “But you’re much more to me than just Angie’s doctor.”

“Mark, I’m sorry about Denise. I wish we hadn’t brought up such sad memories.”

“It’s not your fault.”

A stilted silence followed. She longed to confide in him, to be his friend and much more, but doubt filled her mind. She had trusted David, but he’d turned his back on her long before Brian died.

“Mark, I know what it’s like to watch your child waste away and die from cancer. It would kill me to go through that again. I just couldn’t do it a second time.”

She could tell from his expression he understood what she was saying. She didn’t want to be Angie’s surrogate mother. And yet, in many ways, it was already too late. She loved his little girl. If the worst happened, Emma knew her heart would be shattered once more.

His cell phone started ringing and he scrambled to pull it from his pants’ pocket. Emma breathed a sigh of relief for the interruption.

“Hello?”

His smile dropped like stone.

“Denise! It’s been weeks since we heard from you—”

He paused, listening.

“Oh, you saw the news program, huh? Yeah, Angie’s here. Wait and I’ll get her for you—What? Yes, I received the forms yesterday in the mail.”

Emma looked away, embarrassed to be listening to his private conversation. She stood and moved to the living room, where she picked up a pile of magazines and began to sort through them. She could see Mark’s profile as he leaned against the counter in her kitchen, trying to speak softly to his ex-wife.

“No, I haven’t had time, but I’ll mail them back to you on Monday.” Another pause and his shoulders stiffened. “I can’t do that. I’m with Angie now.”

Tension pulsed from him, so thick Emma could have sliced it with a cleaver. “No, tomorrow is Saturday and I’m not taking Angie to Mrs. Perkins. She spends enough time away from home as it is. Now, if you’ll hold a moment, I’ll get her for you—”

With the phone pressed to his ear, he stepped toward the glass door but hesitated, his features hard. “But she asks for you every day. Why can’t you talk to her for a few minutes?”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he clenched his jaw. “Yeah, yeah, I understand perfectly.”

How could Denise be so cruel?

“Okay.” Mark spoke in a resigned tone. “Do what you want.”

He hung up the phone and pocketed it, staring out the sliding-glass door at Angie, his legs spread slightly as he lifted his hands to his hips and heaved a deep huff of air. It was a masculine stance, exposing his pensive thoughts.

Oblivious that her mother had just been on the phone and didn’t want to talk to her, Angie continued to stroke the cat. The sweet expression on her face as she smiled and talked softly to Wilbur was so innocent and genuine that Emma felt a poignant sense of loss.

Mark faced Emma. His features softened and he seemed to relax. “I’m sorry you had to hear that.”

Emma wished she could say something to lessen the sting. “I’m sorry, too. You and Angie shouldn’t have to go through this, and I can’t tell you how much I admire your strength. You’re such a great example to me.”

In unison, they stared at the girl as Wilbur sprawled on his back in the grass and Angie rubbed his furry tummy.

“She’s happy and confident in your love,” Emma said.

He came to stand beside Emma and took her hand in his. “Sometimes when I see Angie so sick and I talk to Denise, I wonder if I’m fooling myself. Maybe God has forsaken us. Maybe I’m wrong and—”

Emma wrenched her hand free. Tears blurred her vision. “Don’t say that. I want so desperately to hope, to have faith. If
you
doubt, then I fear there’s no hope for me.”

He gave a shuddering laugh and scrubbed a hand against his jaw. “You’re right. How can I doubt when I witness the miracle you bring into my life? I must sound ungrateful, when I have so much to be thankful for. Thanks for bringing me back to my senses.”

He peered at the backyard and smiled when Angie dangled a blade of grass over Wilbur’s head. The cat batted it with his front paws.

“The divorce was my fault,” he said. “I worked too much and built our lives around material things. I should’ve been home more. I should’ve told Denise I loved her. It might have helped.”

“Now, you’re making excuses for Denise.”

Anguish flashed across his face. “I know, but I can’t help wishing I’d done more.”

“I’m the same. I was too wrapped up in trying to save my son’s life to work out the problems in my marriage.”

Mark leaned against the wall and folded his arms. “I do know there’s no hurt, emotional or physical, that the Savior hasn’t already felt. The Atonement isn’t just for sinners, Emma. It also heals carelessness, inadequacy and bitterness. Without it, our lives would be utterly meaningless.”

His words touched her. “Still trying to convert me?”

He shrugged. “Let’s just say we
all
need reminding on a regular basis.”

She perched herself on the arm of the sofa. “We are an odd pair, aren’t we?”

As he stepped near and gave her a quick hug, she tensed, liking the comfort he offered, yet worried it wasn’t a lasting thing. “I like the sound of that. There’s no one I’d rather be with, Emma.”

She stood and sidled away, her nerves clenching. By encouraging Mark, she only opened herself up to more complications. Being friends was one thing, but this was much more.

“It’s okay to talk about him, you know,” Mark said.

She didn’t pretend not to understand. “It hurts too much to talk about Brian.”

“I know. I don’t usually talk much about Denise, but maybe we both need a safe outlet where what we say doesn’t go anywhere else.”

It was a revelation to realize she wasn’t the only one with regrets in her life. If what Mark said was true, the Atonement could swallow her pain. She could turn her remorse and guilt over to God. Asking the Lord to take it from her shoulders seemed so easy, yet she didn’t know if she could relinquish control that way.

He released a breath of air. “Thanks for letting me talk. I can’t tell you how much I needed it.”

A hard lump formed in her throat and she tried to swallow. There was no getting away from the heartache tucked inside her soul. And yet, by sharing her burden with Mark, it didn’t feel quite so heavy anymore. “You’re welcome.”

Emma’s heart was filled with so many doubts. Maybe prayer was the key. Later tonight, she could try it. If it didn’t work, no harm done.

She gazed at Angie. The sun glinted off the child’s smiling face as she chased Wilbur across the yard. The cat climbed the wooden fence and disappeared.

“Here, kitty, kitty, kitty,” Angie trilled.

She called over and over, but Wilbur didn’t return.

“It’s not your fault, you know,” Mark said.

Emma’s shoulders stiffened. “What?”

His voice lowered. “That Brian died. He wouldn’t want you unhappy.”

“How do you know I’m unhappy?”

“I have eyes in my head, Emma. And Sonja mentioned that—”

“Sonja! Look, Mark, I really wish you’d stop listening to her. I’m a big girl and can take care of myself.”

“I’m sorry.”

He had crossed the line. She wished people would leave her alone. The more she thought of Sonja, Larry Meacham and Mark meddling in her life, the angrier she became.

“My personal life is none of your business,” she told him.

“Emma, don’t.”

“This was a mistake, Mark. I should never have invited you in. I think you should go.” She started to clear the table, conscious of him hovering nearby.

“Emma, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

She didn’t respond. His presence was magnetic, his voice so sincere and inviting. Like a haven from heaven. All she had to do was reach out and—

She kept moving, rinsing plates before putting them in the dishwasher, covering the salad bowl with plastic wrap and popping it into the refrigerator. Her movements were stiff and erratic. The companionship she had enjoyed with him evaporated.

Mark stepped close and her stomach churned into tight little knots. “Emma, please forgive me.”

Mark apologizing? He really had changed, but it was too late for them.

“There’s nothing to forgive.” She moved past him, avoiding his eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow night at the Make-A-Wish meeting. Thanks for coming by.”

She leaned against the counter, folded her arms and stared out the window. It was a sharp invitation for him to leave.

With a deep sigh, he stepped to the glass door and called to Angie. Emma almost breathed a sigh of relief.

Angie came inside like a little tornado, so full of life, so happy. The difference was amazing.

“Oh, I love Wilbur, Daddy. Can we get a kitty, please, please, please?” She hopped up and down. “I want a yellow one and I’ll name him Tiger.”

Emma had never seen Angie this animated. The child had just received a chemo injection three days ago, so she should be feeling sluggish. Surely a plate of chocolate-chip cookies, a slice of pizza and a cat named Wilbur couldn’t make the difference.

Angie raced over to throw her arms around Emma’s waist for a tight squeeze. “I had so much fun. Can I come over and play with your kitty tomorrow?”

Waves of emotion washed over Emma and she squeezed her eyes shut, resisting the urge to hug the girl back.

“He’s not my cat.” Emma spoke around the lump clogging her throat.

“Can we come visit you anyway?”

It was no use. Emma couldn’t resist. None of this wretched situation was Angie’s fault.

Cupping the girl’s cheek with her palm, Emma stared down into her sparkling eyes. “I’m sure Wilbur would like that, sweetheart.”

Looking delighted by Emma’s response, Angie clasped her father’s hand.

“Thanks for a wonderful evening, Emma.” Mark led Angie to the front door.

“You’re welcome.” Her voice sounded tight and she didn’t see them to the door.

She walked to the living room and pushed back the lace curtains to stare out the small window. As she watched them drive down the street, she felt numb and empty inside.