The Healing Place (7 page)

S
unday morning Dad led Angie into the main entrance of the church. Dad looked handsome in a dark suit, white shirt and tie. Before they’d left the house, she’d made sure he splashed on some aftershave. He’d smiled and kissed her nose as she straightened his collar and smoothed his hair.

While she waited inside the foyer for Dad to take care of some church business, she tilted her head to see who was there. Two girls from Angie’s Sunday school class walked by, but Angie didn’t say hello. Besides, they called her “baldy” all the time. She smiled when they hurried away. Only the grown-up women interested her today. Maybe someone here might like to marry Daddy.

Hannah Nesbitt waddled down the hall wearing a Hawaiian skirt with large orange flowers. She wasn’t married and Angie could tell she liked Dad. A lot.

When Hannah saw him, her face lit up and she pushed her way over to greet him.

“Good morning.” She shook Dad’s hand hard and smiled big.

“Hello, Miss Nesbitt. How are you today?” Dad asked.

The odor of foot cream settled over Angie and she crinkled her nose. Dad sometimes used it when he had athlete’s foot, but Angie could tell the smell came from Hannah.

“Oh, I’m fine,” Hannah squeaked in her nasal voice.

Dad stepped back and cleared his throat, but Hannah didn’t let go of his hand. His face flushed a deep red and Angie could tell he felt uncomfortable.

“Well, almost time to go in.” He dragged his hand free and directed Angie into the chapel.

Angie breathed with relief. Hannah was nice, but somehow Angie knew Dad wouldn’t want to marry her. Angie didn’t want her for a mommy, either. She didn’t seem the right type to bake cookies, take her to the park or read her stories.

Organ music sifted over the air, a soft hymn that made Angie feel warm inside. She could see Mrs. Hampton sitting up at the organ, her eyes focused on the keys as she played the music. It’d be nice to have a mom who could teach her piano, but Mrs. Hampton had a husband.

Mrs. Johnson stood beside the door to the chapel and she smiled as she handed Dad a program. Then she bent over and pinched Angie’s cheek. “Well, hello, Angie. How are you feeling, dear?”

Ouch! Angie hated it when Mrs. Johnson did that. Angie rubbed her stinging cheek and sidled closer to Dad. He put his hand on her shoulder, both in sympathy and as a warning not to be rude. “Fine, thanks.”

Mrs. Johnson’s husband died last year. She had to be at least forty five. Way too old for Dad.

Dr. Shields came to mind. Dad laughed a lot when he was around her. Angie could tell from the way he leaned close to Dr. Shields that he liked her lots. She needed a family, too. If only he would fall in love with Dr. Shields. Dad would be happy again and Angie would have a new mom and possibly a baby brother. Everyone would win.

When Dad led Angie up the aisle, she tugged on his hand. “No, let’s sit back here today, Dad.”

He hesitated. “In the back row? Why?”

“‘Cause I want to see everyone.”

He frowned as she pulled him over to the back pew and plopped down on the cushioned seat.

“Why do you want to see everyone?” he asked.

“Oh, just ‘cause.”

Good thing he didn’t ask more questions. Carla told her not to be too obvious when she picked out a mommy, but it was kind of hard.

He settled back against the bench and opened his suit coat to let her cuddle in against his side and wrap the coat around her. Angie loved the warmth and she could check his pocket for candy or gum. He never minded, unless she rattled the wrapper too loudly.

People milled around as they looked for a place to sit. Three boys older than Angie laid out hymnals and some moms took their kids to the restroom or for a last drink of water before the service began. The low hum of music and chatter filtered around as Angie surveyed the room.

A pretty woman with dark hair appeared at the doorway. Angie didn’t remember her name because she didn’t come to church often. She sat up straighter when the woman walked past wearing one of those frilly white silk blouses Mom liked, except Angie could see the lady’s black bra underneath. Angie glanced at Dad to catch his expression. His eyes widened and his ears reddened before he looked away.

Angie sighed and sat back, disappointed.

Several more women filed by. Those who had a man with them, Angie ignored. One wore a dress with a neckline so low that Angie saw lots of skin.

Dad’s ears got redder.

Another lady walked past and Angie coughed at her heavy perfume smell. Dad didn’t like it, either. He blinked his eyes as if they stung. When Angie waved a hand in front of her nose, he glanced at her but didn’t say anything.

Again, Dr. Shields came to mind, with her pretty eyes, soft hands and pleasant smile. Daddy had invited Dr. Shields over for dinner with Brett and Tina tomorrow night, so he must like her. And she was a doctor who never seemed embarrassed to be around a sick kid without hair.

And then, Angie saw her. A new woman sitting up front next to Mrs. Newmann, kind of pretty, and just about Dad’s age. The lady had to be a visitor. Maybe she was Mrs. Newmann’s daughter or something. Angie waited to see if she had a man with her. No one showed up and Angie started to get excited.

She glanced up at the pulpit as the men assembled. The service was about to start. She had to act fast.

Hopping off the bench, Angie hurried up the aisle to speak to the visitor.

“Angie,” Dad called, but she kept going.

A man stood and a hush settled over the congregation. Angie leaned close to the new woman, whispering quietly. The woman shook her head and Mark sat forward, prepared to go and retrieve his wayward daughter. Just then, she hurried back to him and the new lady tossed him a look of astonishment before she turned to speak to Mrs. Newmann.

What was going on?

Mark frowned at Angie as she took her seat and the service began. He leaned close and spoke against her ear. “What were you doing, kiddo?”

“Oh, nothing important.”

Nothing important? The two women had their heads close together, whispering. Simultaneously they turned and stared at him. When Mrs. Newmann shook a finger at him, he squirmed in his seat.

“Angie, what did you say to her?” he asked more insistently.

“I asked, but she’s already married. She’s Mrs. Newmann’s daughter visiting from Vegas,” she whispered back.

Mark groaned. No wonder the two women were looking at him with a mixture of pity and amusement.

Sighing deeply, he slumped in his seat, wishing he could disappear. Angie was matchmaking. Scoping out the women like she would choose a puppy in a pet store. Now, Mrs. Newmann thought
he
had put Angie up to asking if her daughter was married. He could imagine the field day the gossips would have with that tidbit of information.

“Angie, I don’t want you to—”

At that precise moment Hannah Nesbitt thumped through the Chapel doors and hurried up the aisle to take her seat. Mark stared after her, unable to believe his eyes. She had obviously just come from the restroom. The back of her flowered skirt was accidentally stuck up in the top of her waistband.

Mark blinked. He’d never seen panties that shade of hot pink before.

Mrs. Johnson caught Hannah before she sat down and tugged her skirt out of the waistband. Hannah squealed and blushed a color equal to her underwear before she plopped down and buried her head in a hymnal.

Compassion filled Mark for her embarrassment, but he couldn’t suppress an inward laugh. What a day this was turning out to be.

He looked at Angie and found her gaping at Hannah, her eyes wide as saucers. He gave his daughter a slow, stern shake of his head and mouthed the words, “Noo waay.”

Angie heaved a sigh of disappointment and stared at the floor as she scuffed the toe of her shoe against the green carpet. She looked defeated. Until that moment, Mark hadn’t realized how much she missed her mother.

He thought about Emma Shields. She smelled like flowers and had a soothing laugh that made him feel warm and happy inside. He remembered how she’d rubbed Angie’s back and wiped her face with a napkin when she threw up yesterday. She instinctively knew what Angie needed and, in spite of her barriers, showed compassion for his daughter he found strangely comforting and disarming.

Mark’s gaze wandered around the women sitting in the congregation. Not one of them met his standards. Either they were married, too old and stuffy, or too eager. Any woman that married him would be taking on a lot of responsibility with a sick child. No doubt it was best he remain single, at least until Angie’s illness stabilized.

For the rest of the service, Mark tried to focus on the sermon about the virtuous woman in Proverbs being a crown unto her husband.

“In Proverbs 3:5, it says, ‘Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.’”

Mrs. Newmann tossed Mark a reproachful look. Great. Word would soon spread throughout the congregation that he was on the hunt for a new wife.

By the end of Sunday school, Angie looked tired, from the chemo or all her matchmaking efforts, he wasn’t sure. Either way, he didn’t have the heart to scold her when they got home.

He fed her as much mac and cheese as he could coerce her to eat, then put her down for a nap. Alone in the family room, he opened his Bible to Proverbs. He sat before the fireplace and started to read, thinking about what he really wanted in a wife and mother for Angie.

Emma came to mind and he set the scriptures aside, letting the thought of her fill him with warmth. She’d be coming to dinner tomorrow night and he’d get the chance to see her again. He couldn’t explain the elation that overcame him. Maybe he ought to think about asking her out on a real date.

He shook his head. “Emma deserves better than a man like me, Lord. I sure messed things up with Denise.”

All things are made possible to him that believeth.

He did believe. Truly, he did. But Angie was sick and his divorce hadn’t been final that long. He could be on the rebound, and it wouldn’t be fair to Emma or Angie to get involved with another woman so soon.

Sitting back in the easy chair, he stared at the ceiling fan as it went ’round and ’round.

Maybe he’d never get a second chance.

T
his was not a date. It wasn’t.

Mark picked up a bottle of aftershave and splashed some onto his palm. As he patted it onto his clean-shaven face, he winced at the sting.

No, not a date. Just a thank-you dinner for Emma and a get-together with old school chums. After all these years, he was looking forward to sharing lots of laughter and memories with Brett, Tina and Emma.

He glanced at the clock radio sitting next to his bed. His guests would be arriving soon and he wasn’t ready. What had possessed him to invite Emma over to his home? He must be insane to even consider such a thing. If only he weren’t so nervous, like he was going on his first date.

Thank goodness Angie, Brett and Tina would be here. With his six-year-old hovering close by, he doubted Emma would get the wrong impression. He just wanted to express his gratitude and friendship, nothing more.

Yeah, sure.

A niggling voice spoke the truth inside his head even when he didn’t want to believe it. He couldn’t deny his attraction to Emma, but right now wasn’t the time to think about romance. He’d keep this strictly platonic. No emotions, no sentiment. Just a pleasant evening. He sure needed it.

“Wow, Dad, you look great. I’ll bet Dr. Shields will be impressed.” Angie came into his room and plopped belly-first onto his bed. She wore shorts, a T-shirt, sandals and a Giants baseball cap.

The mattress bounced as she propped her chin on her hands, her elbows digging into the downy comforter.

“You think so?” He tucked the bottom of his white polo shirt into the top of his gray slacks.

“Definitely. Women like a man who smells good, too.”

He threaded his belt through the loops, then fastened it before he sat in the chair beside the window and pulled on his socks. “Now, how do you know that?”

“Us girls know these kinds of things, Dad.”

He chuckled as he tied his shoes. “You’re growing up way to fast for me, babe.”

He stood and went to the dresser where he snapped on his watch. Where did Angie get her ideas? Sometimes she was too smart for her own good.

“Dad?”

“Hmm?”

“Carla says Mommy’s not coming back. She says Mommy doesn’t want us anymore. Is that true?”

Regret riddled him. Yes, it was true. But how could he say something like that to his sweet daughter? As she got older, Angie would arrive at her own deductions. He didn’t want to be guilty of souring her toward her mother.

“Not entirely, honey. Mom won’t be coming back to live with us, but she loves you and you’ll see her again for visits.”

He hoped his words were true.

“But what if you get remarried? Carla says you’ll probably get married again.”

He would have laughed if it hadn’t been so sad. He could imagine Angie and Carla discussing his possible marriage to another woman and speculating about what that would mean. “I’d rather you didn’t listen to everything Carla tells you.”

“Carla’s nine going on ten, Dad. Her mom and dad split up ages ago and married other people, so she knows a lot about this.”

He swallowed a chuckle. “They only divorced two years ago, honey. Regardless, if I marry someone else, your mom will always be your mom, and I will always be your dad. I’ll always be here for you, Angie. I promise. You can trust in that.”

She rested her head against the palm of her hand, a contented smile curving her lips. “Thanks, Dad.”

“Angie, I know you were trying to matchmake a wife for me at church, but you’re okay with this, aren’t you? I mean, me inviting Dr. Shields over for dinner.”

“Of course, Dad. It’s cool. She’s our doctor and she’s very pretty. She doesn’t mind being around a kid with a brain tumor. I like her a
lot.
”

She said it as if being their doctor made everything acceptable.

“I don’t mind if you date. Carla says that’s what divorced people do.” She rolled and got up off the bed. “I’d like you to date Dr. Shields.”

He coughed. “Well, don’t hold back, honey. Tell me how you really feel.”

Even if she wanted him to date, he wasn’t sure
he
was ready.

She frowned and he almost laughed at her serious expression. “Don’t get too many expectations about Dr. Shields. This isn’t a date—”

The telephone rang and Mark moved to the nightstand to pick up the receiver. “Hello?”

“Mark? It’s Brett Anderson. How you doing, buddy?”

Mark braced his free hand against his hip and couldn’t contain a smile. “Hi, Brett. I’m great. You on your way over? I invited Emma Clemmons for dinner. I thought we’d have a great visit, all of us together.”

“Emmy’s gonna be there?” Brett gave a bark of laughter. “Boy, I’d love to see her. I sure wish we could make it. I’m sorry, Mark, but our flight was delayed, and we’re stuck in Los Angeles for the night.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” Mark felt a sinking of regret. So much for a relaxed, happy group of friends.

“Can we take a rain check for another night?” Brett asked. “We should be passing through Reno again in a few months.”

“Yeah, sure, Brett. Just give me a call when you’ll be back in town and I’ll set it up.”

“Okay, and you tell Emma we said hello.”

“Yeah, will do,” Mark said.

“Well, I’ve gotta run. Take care, buddy.”

“You, too, and give my best to Tina.” Mark hung up the phone.

“Dad, I smell something stinky downstairs,” Angie called from the bedroom door.

“What?”

“I think something’s burning.”

“My rolls. I forgot all about them.” He dashed for the door.

With Angie close on his heels, Mark raced down the spiral stairs and into the kitchen. Sure enough, billows of smoke wafted from the oven and Mark turned it off before opening the door.

At that precise moment the doorbell rang. The dogs began to bark, scampering for the front entranceway. The smoke alarm went off, its shrill beep adding to the confusion.

“Dr. Shields is here!” Angie yelled, scurrying after the dogs.

Great timing. Emma had no idea what she was getting herself into. Burned rolls and no Brett and Tina. More than flustered, Mark reached for the pan in the oven to yank it out.

“Ow!” he yelped, dropping the pan of rolls all over the kitchen floor with a loud clatter.

“Of all the stupid things to do,” he muttered as he dodged the blackened rolls littering the floor and stuck his burned fingers into his mouth to ease the pain.

How could he have been so foolish to reach into an oven without a hot pad? He needed to keep his mind on business, not his dinner guest.

No doubt hearing the commotion, Emma came into the kitchen in a flurry of blue silk. Clouds of smoke enveloped her as she flipped on the faucet and pulled him over to the sink. “Here, put your hand under the water.”

Mark dipped his hand under the cold flow and felt instant relief. He breathed deep, his lungs filling with the scent of acrid smoke, his ears ringing with the noise of the smoke alarm.

So much for impressing her with a home-cooked meal.

With the pain easing, he glanced at her, finding her ravishing in a sky-blue skirt and low-heeled pumps. She’d pulled back her blond hair with a silver barrette and it curled over the tops of her shoulders with wispy bangs fringing her forehead. He had no doubt her pretty clothes would reek of smoke before she left his house tonight.

“Just stay there for a minute,” Emma urged as she turned on the fan over the stove and opened the refrigerator door. “Angie, can you open those French doors to let some air in here?”

“What about flies?” Angie asked over the screech of the smoke alarm.

“We’ll deal with that in a few minutes. Right now, we need some fresh air and ice.”

Emma coughed and waved a hand in front of her face to clear the smoke away as Angie jerked the doors open wide. The dogs still yapped, circling Emma’s legs, licking her shapely ankles.

Mark watched as Emma pushed her way past the dogs and returned to him with a handful of ice. “Where are your clean dishrags?”

Angie opened a drawer and produced a cloth and Emma wrapped it around the ice cubes before she handed it to Mark. “Hold it against your hand. It’ll ease the burn.”

“Thanks.” Mark exhaled a breath of relief as he held the ice to his fingers.

Emma reached for the stool and climbed up to pull the cover off the smoke alarm and yank out the battery. The screaming ceased and Mark breathed with relief. Emma had handled the situation with ease.

The dogs started munching on the blackened rolls lying on the floor, making a bigger mess with the crumbs.

“Shoo! Get away,” Angie yelled, and waved her arms.

“Lock them in the laundry room,” Mark suggested.

With a burnt offering as enticement, Angie coerced the dogs to follow her to the back of the house.

“You must really think me incompetent.” Mark gave an embarrassed chuckle as Emma knelt down and gathered up the ruined rolls, then tossed them into the garbage can.

“Not at all. I’ve done things like this many times myself.”

“Not when you have company for dinner, I hope.”

She shook her head, laughing. “Well, maybe not, but I work best under pressure. That’s probably why I made such a good ER doctor.”

“I can tell you’re a pro in the kitchen by the way you handled my smoke alarm.” He grinned and stared at the ceiling where the wires and cover dangled overhead.

“Yeah,” she agreed. “I remember a Thanksgiving once when my husband’s parents came into town and I almost blew up the turkey. My husband was furious—”

She froze, as if the memory was too painful to talk about. Rising to her feet, she glanced about the room. “Where’s your broom?”

“I’ll get it.” Angie returned and hurried to the pantry. She produced a broom and Emma took it, sweeping up the last of the crumbs.

Mark stood back and watched as his daughter held the dustpan for Emma. He noticed how gentle Emma was as she steadied Angie’s hands, how she explained to the girl that she should pick up the rug carefully so it wouldn’t spill more crumbs back onto the floor as they took it outside to shake it off.

Never, ever, had he seen Denise speak with Angie like this or show the little girl how to tidy up. Denise usually left messes for him or the housekeeper to clean. Angie paid rapt attention to Emma, absorbing every instruction like soil soaking up rain.

Mark took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, but Brett just called to say he and Tina are stuck in Los Angeles. They won’t be with us tonight.”

Emma tossed him a suspicious look.

“Angie was here when I took the call,” he offered lamely, hoping Emma would believe him. He felt like a teenager who had to explain himself out of a lie.

“Well, things like that happen sometimes.” Emma’s voice sounded vague, her expression grim. “Maybe it would be best if I leave. Your hand is burned and—”

“No!” Angie blurted. “Dad, tell her not to go.”

“Please stay,” he urged. “We can still have dinner, just the three of us.”

Emma stared at Mark. He gave her a smile that warmed her from the inside out. She didn’t think he was lying about Brett and Tina. And she couldn’t very well leave him with this mess when his hand was hurting. He couldn’t even wash dishes.

She tilted her head and studied him. “Okay, I’ll stay.”

Angie cheered and Mark exhaled a breath of relief. It had been a long time since anyone had cared enough about her to beg her to stay with them, and it lightened Emma’s heart.

When she finished cleaning the floor, Emma peered at the oven and tossed a glance at Mark as she spoke in a teasing tone. “Have you got anything else in there we should salvage?”

“Yeah.” He nodded with a grin. “A roast, potatoes and carrots. But I don’t think I incinerated them.”

She eyed his hand wrapped in the dishrag. “Well, Angie, it looks like it’s you and me. Do you think you’re up to the task of helping me put dinner on the table?”

Angie whooped with glee, then saluted Emma. “Yes, sir. Er, I mean, yes, ma’am.”

Emma inclined her head toward the formal dining room where a table sat beneath a glittering chandelier. Mark and Angie had already set out candles and fine china on a white tablecloth. Emma’s gaze swept over the dinner service for five. Suddenly she felt anxious. Without Brett and Tina here to contribute to the conversation, it might get uncomfortable. She didn’t want to be a spoilsport, but doubt filled her just the same.

“Why don’t you seat yourself and supervise, Mr. Williams? I think us girls can take over from here.”

With a sheepish smile, Mark sat while Emma took up a hot pad and opened the oven.

“I was gonna make gravy,” Mark advised. “Are the drippings burned?”

Emma lifted the golden roast from the oven and set it on top of the stove.

“Perfection,” she exclaimed. “The roast and vegetables look beautiful. I count myself lucky any time a man cooks a meal for me.”

A blaze of color rushed to his face, no doubt brought on by her praise. It gave her pleasure to make him feel good about his meal and she oohed and aahed as she worked, conscious of his delighted countenance.

Emma glanced at Angie. “Where’s your flour, sweetie? We’ll need that and some salt and pepper to mix the gravy. You don’t have some garlic powder, by chance?”

“Sure, we do,” Mark answered. “Angie, it’s in the spice cupboard with the rest of the stuff Dr. Shields asked for.”

Angie dragged the step stool over to the cupboard and opened the doors. She grunted as she lifted a container of flour and set it on the counter. Then, she reached for the salt and pepper. The child teetered on the stool and Emma braced her hand against the small of Angie’s back to steady her. She stole a glance at Mark just as he came to his feet, anxiety filling his eyes.

It would have been easier for Emma to do it herself, but she wanted Angie to have the satisfaction. When children helped, it gave them a sense of accomplishment and built up their self-esteem. Emma remembered times like this with Brian and she waited patiently for Angie, somehow comforted by the little girl’s presence.

The child beamed with pleasure as she handed the spices to Emma.