The Healing Place (8 page)

Ladling the potatoes and carrots into serving bowls, she then lifted the roast onto a platter. Angie pulled her stool over to the stove to stand on.

“Be careful, sweetie,” Emma admonished. “I don’t want you to get burned like your dad.”

Angie wore an expression of awe as she listened to Emma’s every word. Together, they stirred the drippings to make gravy, Emma’s hand resting lightly on Angie’s shoulders to keep her from falling or getting burned.

Several times, she noticed Mark came to his feet, his expression worried when Angie got too close to the burners. Each time, Emma was right there, allowing Angie to stir, yet making certain she didn’t get hurt. In the deepest reaches of her soul, Emma envied Angie because the girl had such a caring and considerate father.

Mark went to the refrigerator, using his good hand to lift out a gelatin mold with fruit and whipped cream.

“I brought a green salad and a bottle of sparkling cider.” Emma pointed at the counter where she had set the items earlier.

Mark hefted the bottle and gave an exaggerated lift of his brows. “What a good idea. We’ll celebrate our renewed friendship.”

Blowing a strand of hair out of her eyes, Emma wasn’t sure what to make of this evening. She had promised herself not to get too attached to Mark and Angie and here she was, stirring gravy in their kitchen. There was no place she would rather be.

“Don’t turn the heat up too high, or your gravy will burn,” she instructed Angie in a gentle tone. “Keep stirring until it thickens. A medium heat works best.”

“Okay.” Angie whirled her whisk happily.

Her giggles filled the air and, when Emma popped a succulent piece of meat into Angie’s mouth, the child chewed and swallowed without complaint. That was a good sign.

“Okay, I think we’re ready to eat.” Emma flipped off the stove and helped Angie down from the stool. Handing Angie a bowl of carrots, Emma carried the potatoes and meat to the table, then returned to the kitchen to retrieve the gravy.

Mark followed and they sat together. When Angie ducked her head and folded her arms, Emma was momentarily startled. She bowed her head while Mark blessed the food. As Emma unfolded her napkin and laid it in her lap, Angie copied her manners.

“Yum!” Angie exclaimed, and began to eat.

“It’s good to see you hungry tonight,” Mark told her.

Emma and Mark exchanged a secret smile as she passed him the butter. They were silent then, the chink of dishes and cutlery the only sounds. Emma had been counting on Brett and Tina to ease this uncomfortable silence.

“Well, I’m done.” Angie tossed down her napkin and scooted back from the table. “May I be excused, please?”

For all her exclamations about being hungry, Emma noticed Angie hadn’t eaten much. Mark frowned at her uneaten food and nodded his head. “Drink all your milk, then clear your dishes.”

With a grimace, Angie proceeded to swallow her milk, then picked up her plate and silverware and carried them into the kitchen.

“You’re very good at this,” Mark observed once Angie was gone.

“What?” Emma asked.

He indicated the table. “I didn’t know you were so domestic.”

The heat of a blush filled her cheeks.

“I’ll bet you also know how to style a little girl’s hair and do the laundry without staining the whites pink,” Mark observed.

Something inside her melted. “I take it you’ve stained your whites?”

A deep laugh rumbled in his chest. “More than just the whites. You should see what I did to Angie’s yellow jumpsuit.”

She was impressed that he would make the effort. “I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it.”

“I feel like a bumbling fool in comparison to your grace. Is there anything you can’t do well?”

“Oh, yes, but you’ll forgive me if I don’t elaborate. From what I’ve seen, you’re doing a great job. Your house is tidy and this roast is so tender.” For some reason, she wanted to help him realize he really was doing wonderful work with Angie. Emma wished her ex-husband had been as kind and diligent as Mark.

“You’re good with Angie, too. You’d make a great mother.” The minute he said the words, he flushed and shut his mouth.

She froze, feeling her face drain of color. She was a mother! His words were a reminder of all she had lost. And yet, she wished she could be a mother again.

“Emma, I didn’t mean I want you to—” He bit back the words.

“Of course, I understand.” She hurried to her feet and reached for the dirty dishes. “Well, it’s getting late.”

“You don’t need to do that.” He stood and tried to take the plates from her.

“Don’t be silly.” She brushed past him. “You can’t stick your injured hand in a sink full of hot water to wash these dishes. It’ll take a day for the pain to subside.”

He chuckled. “I usually cheat and pop them into the dishwasher.”

“Some of them will have to be scrubbed. If Angie comes back, I’ll let her help.”

“That’s what I meant, Emma.” He followed her into the kitchen, carrying the salad bowl with his uninjured hand. “You’re so good with Angie. She seems to listen to you more than she does me. I wish I had your magic touch.”

She hesitated. “I’m sure she misses her mother, so she pays more attention when a woman’s around. But there’s no doubt she loves you, Mark.”

She turned on the faucet and rinsed the dishes. He stood beside her, taking the plates and glasses one by one and placing them in the dishwasher. With his shoulder brushing against hers, a companionable silence settled over them. She felt as though she had come home after being gone a very long time.

“Thanks for being here tonight, Emma. Even before the divorce, Denise was too busy with her new boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?”

“Yeah. You know Denise.” He put the salt and pepper shakers in the cupboard.

Yes, she knew Denise.

He released a deep sigh. “She never wanted a baby. When she found out she was pregnant with Angie, she wanted to get rid of it, but I talked her out of it. When Angie lost her hair, she claimed she was too embarrassed to be seen out in public with her own daughter.”

That explained Angie’s self-consciousness over her bald head.

“I’m so sorry, Mark.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, me, too. It wouldn’t be so bad if Denise came to visit Angie once in a while.”

“She doesn’t visit her daughter?”

He shook his head.

Emma’s eyes widened. “Not at all?”

Again, he shook his head. “I’ve tried to reach her numerous times, but I don’t have a phone number for her anymore. I usually end up leaving a message with her mother.” He shrugged. “Who knows if she delivers the messages to Denise or not?”

Anger caused Emma to stiffen her shoulders. “I can’t comprehend how Denise could turn her back on her own child. How could she abandon such a sweet, beautiful girl like Angie? I’d give anything in the world if I could—”

Tears filled her eyes and she ducked her head, the water from the faucet rushing over her trembling hands. She didn’t move for several moments, trying to regain her composure. She bit the inside of her mouth, crushing the words she had been ready to blurt.

Inhaling a deep breath, he let it out slowly. “I didn’t mean to upset you, Emma.”

She shook her head. “I’m fine.”

He gave her a soothing smile. “It’s been good for Angie to have a woman in the house, treating her with patience and kindness. That’s what being a woman is all about.”

Emma didn’t look up. His praise both humbled and surprised her. Her ex-husband had never said such things to her. Instead he’d found plenty to criticize. Nothing she did ever seemed right.

“What about you, Emma?” Mark waited while she lifted her head and her gaze locked with his. “Tell me about you and David.”

Hurt flashed through her like a silver bullet to her heart. “We were married eight years. Now we’re divorced. End of story.”

He opened his mouth to pursue the subject, but she flipped on the garbage disposal, cutting off any further questions.

T
he following Tuesday, Emma couldn’t deny the dread that settled in her stomach. Mark and Angie were coming in for a treatment and she caught herself looking at her watch repeatedly.

She had been so rude to Mark last week when he’d asked about her divorce. Up to that point, she had thoroughly enjoyed having dinner in his beautiful home, helping out when he injured his hand, teaching Angie to make gravy.

Discussing her divorce had not been on the agenda. It would have lead to other topics she wasn’t prepared to address. Instead, she’d finished cleaning the kitchen, mumbled an excuse about getting up early in the morning, and beat a hasty retreat.

She tried to tell herself she didn’t care if she saw Mark and Angie today. Sonja would give Angie her treatment. Emma would pop in afterward to ask how the Marinol was working, then get on with her job. She didn’t want to see them.

Who was she kidding? She could hardly wait to see them. That was the problem.

“Oh, just shoot me.” She leaned her head against the palm of her hand.

“Did you say something, Dr. Shields?” Darcy asked from behind the front reception counter.

“No, I wasn’t speaking to you,” Emma snapped.

Darcy flinched and ducked her head over her keyboard.

Emma walked down the hall, determined to forget Mark would be here any minute. She shouldn’t be so sharp with Darcy. Maybe she should apologize.

She kept walking.

By ten-thirty, Sonja came to advise her that Angie was finished with her treatment and that she and Mark waited in the examination room.

Emma inhaled a deep, steadying breath. Angie was just a patient and her father an old school friend. Nothing more.

“Hello,” Emma greeted them as she entered the room and closed the door.

Mark sat on the bed, holding Angie on his lap. Dressed in black slacks, he also wore a white shirt and yellow tie. He must have come from work. Clean-shaven, he had combed his hair back. He looked good.

Angie curled against his chest, her flowered hat lying next to Mark’s thigh on the bed. She sniffed and wiped her nose, her eyes red and puffy.

Emma’s heart tore into a thousand pieces.

“What’s the matter, sweetie?” Emma asked. “Didn’t the Emla Cream work today?”

Mark gave Emma a reassuring smile. “It worked fine. She’s upset because the rest of her hair is falling out. It had just started to grow back.”

Angie hiccupped and rubbed her eyes before she pointed at her right temple. “See? My braid fell out. The kids in my neighborhood run away when I go outside. They say I’m a sick-o and they don’t want to play with me. Carla’s gone back to Nebraska, so now I have no friends at all.”

Sympathy filled Emma. It must be so difficult for Angie to live with this illness.

“Would it do any good to have me come and talk to them and explain that your illness isn’t contagious?” Emma asked.

Why had she offered that?
Dumb, dumb, dumb!

Mark shifted his weight and gave a sad smile. “That’s very generous, Emma, but I don’t think it’s necessary. I can explain it to them.”

“Will my hair grow back, Emma?” Angie asked with a sniffle.

Emma.

“Angie, you shouldn’t call an adult by their first name,” Mark said.

“It’s okay, Mark. I give Angie my permission to call me Emma, if it’s all right with you.” Somehow, she didn’t mind.

Mark nodded and Angie mustered up a small smile.

“Now, back to your question. Of course your hair will grow back, honey. You’re beautiful, even without your hair. Some top models shave their heads on purpose. Many people consider it quite lovely.” Emma read between the lines. Angie longed for her mother’s approval. Without her hair, she believed her mother wouldn’t love her.

Angie’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Absolutely. Remember what I told you about the drugs killing good things as well as bad?”

Angie nodded, her eyes still filled with tears.

“Well, one of those good things is hair. As soon as we finish your chemo, your hair will grow right back, maybe even thicker than before, and I doubt you’ll be able to see any of the scars. Until then, are you interested in wearing a wig?”

“A wig?” Angie crinkled her nose with repugnance.

“Yeah, I can get you a referral for a nice wig that will look quite natural.”

Angie shook her head, her upper lip curled.

“Okay, then you can just pretend you’re a sumo wrestler. Of course, we’ll have to fatten you up some more.”

Angie wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “A sumo wrestler?”

Emma envisioned this frail child stomping around in a muscleman crouch with a fierce look on her face, wearing what looked like a baggy diaper. “Sure! Why not?”

Angie hopped off Mark’s lap and posed in the exact posture Emma had just imagined, minus the diaper. The sight of the skinny little girl stooped and flexing her scrawny muscles and puffing out her cheeks was hilarious. Emma threw back her head and laughed.

Mark chuckled and shook his head. “Now, that’s a scary scene.”

Angie giggled and came over to hold out her pinky finger to Emma. “Pinky promise my hair will grow back?”

Locking her pinky with Angie’s, Emma gave a gentle jerk. “Pinky promise.”

Angie threw her arms around Emma’s neck and hugged tight. Unprepared for the contact, Emma flinched. Then, she squeezed the child back. A rush of emotion washed over Emma.

“Oh, thank you, Emma,” Angie said. “I love you.”

Emma almost dropped her clipboard. Like a pointed dart, Angie’s arms and words sent a shot of heat straight to Emma’s heart. She caught the warm, sweet smell of Angie’s skin and had to close her eyes as wave after wave of sentiment pounded against her.

Warning chimes sounded in Emma’s head.

She pulled Angie’s arms away and smiled at the girl. “Now, you go out and see what surprise Sonja has in her special stash while I talk to your father, okay?”

“Okay!” Angie opened the door and went out into the hallway.

“Thanks for that,” Mark said, his eyes shining. “I can’t tell you how much she yearns for a woman’s approval.”

“Maybe Denise will visit her soon.”

Emotion covered his face and his voice caught as he looked away. This was the strong, in-control Mark Williams from high school? Somehow, Emma felt very close to him, and she didn’t like it.

The room was suddenly very hot. She needed out—now!

Emma stood and moved toward the door. It was best to end this conversation. Her other patients never confided so much to her. Yet, Mark and Angie were somehow special and she found herself thinking about them at all times of the day. When they were gone, she missed them, for crying out loud!

“I’ll see you Thursday night at the Make-A-Wish meeting,” she said as she stepped away.

“Yeah, I’ll be there.”

She hurried down the hall to another examination room where her next patient waited. Sounds of people talking in the treatment room filtered over the low hum of machinery.

Mark walked past, heading toward the front receptionist desk. Emma knew he would schedule Angie’s next appointment before he left.

Taking the file from the holder affixed to the door, Emma read it to bring herself up to date on the next patient’s case. As she stood there, Christy’s voice reached her from the front counter.

“Did you ask for Friday off?”

Emma glanced up and saw Christy and Tom, two of her nurses, standing by the reception desk, their backs toward her. Mark stopped beside the counter and waited for Darcy to get off the phone so she could schedule Angie’s next appointment. Angie stood close by, twirling a green top she had gotten from Sonja’s stash of toys.

“Nah, I don’t dare ask The Ogre for any time off,” Tom responded to Christy’s question. “The last time I did, she almost took my head off.”

“Ogre?” Christy gave a sarcastic laugh. “Can a woman be an ogre?”

Tom chuckled. “Okay,
ogress.
At least, I think she’s female. When’s the last time
you
asked Dr. Shields for time off work?”

“Hmm.” Christy lifted a hand to rest on her hip. “I don’t remember, but I’ve sure worked a lot of overtime.”

“Yeah, we all have,” Tom agreed. “I’d quit if she didn’t pay us so well.”

Emma saw Mark shift his weight, a frown pulling at his brows. He had heard every word. So had Angie. The little girl’s mouth pursed in disapproval as she peered at Christy over the top of the counter.

Angry heat crept up Emma’s neck and face.

Spying Emma, Angie came down the hall toward her. Panic replaced the anger as Emma stared at the child.

Sonja came from the supply room and flashed a stern look at Tom and Christy. “Get back to work, please.”

The two turned and saw Emma standing there, and ducked their heads as they scurried away. The cowards.

“Emma?” Angie came to stand just in front of her.

“Yes?” Her tight voice was an indicator of her strangled throat.

“Why did they call you an ogre?”

Fury and embarrassment burned inside Emma’s stomach when she thought of her staff calling her names in front of the patients.

A tinge of doubt shadowed her mind. Maybe it was true. It was a revelation to find out exactly what her employees thought of her. Obviously, they didn’t like her much.

How could she blame them when she didn’t like herself?

Anger mingled with hurt when she considered what she should do about it. She opened her mouth, but no words came from her parched throat.

“Come on, Angie. It’s time to go,” Mark called as he held out his hand.

Angie’s brow furrowed with persistence as she stared at Emma. “Well,
I
don’t think you’re an ogre. I love you.”

Angie went to her father and Emma stared after her. She wanted to weep, but crying was for weak people, and she couldn’t be weak—couldn’t show that she was anything but strong. She wouldn’t have survived losing Brian and David and still be able to run her busy medical office if she hadn’t been strong.

Her gaze locked with Mark’s. His eyes crinkled with—

Pity!

She hardened her eyes. He could keep his sympathy. She wanted to yell at him to go home and leave her alone. She didn’t need his compassion or his sweet little daughter who insisted she loved her. She didn’t need
anyone!

Who was she kidding? All the sleepless nights, prowling the confines of her small apartment, wishing she had someone to talk to, someone to confide in.

But she hated being hurt even more.

Clenching her jaw, she went back to work. Later that evening, when all the patients and staff were gone and the whirr of machines silenced, Emma sat alone in her office. As was her routine, Sonja came in to say good-night before she left for the day.

“Do you need anything else, Dr. Shields?” Sonja asked with a smile.

“Just one thing.” Removing her glasses, Emma took a shaky breath and let it out slowly. “Tomorrow, I want you to direct the office staff to use more discretion before calling me names in front of the patients.”

Sonja’s face reddened. “I’m sorry, Doctor. I’ve already had that discussion with them. Don’t pay any attention to it.”

“Yes, well, I doubt it inspires much confidence in our patients. If Christy and Tom can’t keep their feelings to themselves, they can leave. No one’s forcing them to work here. And I would appreciate it if you stop scheming with Larry Meacham to get me involved in things like Make-A-Wish. I don’t appreciate your meddling and I don’t need more things to do.”

Sonja gaped at Emma, hurt filling her eyes as she chewed her lower lip.

Emma stared right back, silently daring Sonja to deny the accusations and—

Sonja looked away, a sad light glimmering in her eyes. Was she crying?

“Yes, you’re right, Doctor. I have no right to interfere in your life. And I’ll speak with Tom and Christy again, to make certain they understand what you expect.”

“Thank you.” Emma pushed the spectacles up on her nose and picked up a file, pretending to thumb through the paperwork.

The words blurred before her eyes.

Sonja pivoted to go but hesitated. Emma threw her a quick look. Yes, there definitely were tears glistening in Sonja’s eyes.

Sonja spoke in a tentative voice that grew stronger. “Emma, I never told you that I promised Brian I’d look after you. He made me promise I’d do everything I could to help you get over his death. That little boy wanted you happy. It made it easier for him, knowing I’d do what I could to help you go on living.”

A rush of tears filled Emma’s eyes and a hollow sob escaped her throat.

“Late at night, when he couldn’t sleep because of the pain, Brian spent hours talking about you. I think that’s the reason he lasted so long—he knew how much it would hurt his mommy when he died.”

Emma couldn’t respond. Her throat felt strangled with tears.

Sonja took a deep, trembling breath. “I care a great deal for you, Emma. You should get out more, meet nice men like Mr. Williams, get married again, and raise a family. You used to be different when Brian was alive. You were happy. Brian’s the one who died, not you. And if it gets me fired for saying so, someone needs to tell you.”

Turning, Sonja didn’t wait for Emma to say anything before she left the room.

Emma stared at the closed door for several moments, then tossed her pen and glasses aside as she sat back in her chair. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even think.

“Well, I guess I deserved that,” Emma muttered to herself.

She stared at the mountain of files stacked in neat rows on her desk, not really seeing it.

Forget it. She was sick of work and weary of this office. She was tired of sorrow.

She dug her purse out of the bottom drawer of her desk, then stood up. She flipped off the light, locked the door, then hurried out to her car. As she fumbled with the keys, her hands shook. Finally she unlocked the door, got in, then drove out of the parking lot.

A hoarse moan rose in her chest as she entered the freeway. Tears poured down her cheeks. A scream of pain tore from her throat. Not physical pain, but an excruciating torture of the soul. As if she were being pulled apart from the inside.