The Wish List (11 page)

~ ~ ~

Nathan watched Faith slip from the room. He listened to her murmuring soothingly, calming the fretful little boy. His gaze followed her when she moved to the kitchen. He heard the slam of the refrigerator door, the rustle and clang of dishes. And beneath the cover of noise, he heard the small, anxious voice. “Mo-om?”

Another clatter followed, pans falling. The phone rang. A muffled “Oh no!” and then a long, low sigh from Faith. It was clear she couldn’t hear her son’s call. It was also abundantly clear to Nathan that the stress of worrying about Cory, and about himself as well, was taking its toll on Faith. There were circles beneath her eyes, her face was drawn, her lips tight. He’d bet the bank that she’d barely gotten any sleep last night.

“Mom, you there?” The voice echoed again, followed by the creaking of the bedsprings.

Nathan looked toward the kitchen. He knew he should call her; she’d want him to do that. But one glance around the kitchen doorway, at her slender, bowed back was enough. One glimpse of the exposed curve of her neck bent in resignation as she held tight to the phone, picking up the things she’d dropped, and he knew he wasn’t going to call to her. She needed a break.

And he could give that to her—maybe. If he could just force himself into that bedroom, if he could just steel himself to see what the boy wanted. It wouldn’t take much. Really, it was such a simple thing to do, wasn’t it? So, why was he shaking? Why was his heart tripping along like a clock gone haywire?

Taking one step toward the door, then another, Nathan moved slowly, so slowly. The room seemed too far away and yet too close at the same time.

Another step. Just a few more and he’d be there.

The bed creaked again. If he didn’t stop him, the child would be running around, bare feet and all, forced to go search for help when help was standing here shaking on the wrong side of the door.

His breathing was shaky as he pulled his shoulders back and clamped down his jaw. Somehow he forced himself past the threshold. He ordered himself to look toward the bed.

His eyes locked with a pair of small, dark ones. Suspicious eyes.

The boy coughed once, then bit down on his lip, snuffling his pajama sleeve across his nose. “Are you the doctor? The ‘portant one?”

Nathan twisted one side of his mouth up in a quick grimace. “I don’t know about that important stuff, but I’m a doctor, all right. Looks like you’re one pretty sick guy.”

Cory studied Nathan suspiciously. “I got the flu,” he agreed. “I wanted my mom, cause my sheets is all crooked and I can’t find my bear. But you should go now. The flu is ‘tagious, and my mom says you’re afraid of boys like me, anyway.”

The child frowned and turned away, hunching his skinny little shoulders as if Nathan would disappear if he wished hard enough. It was clear that he wanted nothing to do with the “portant doctor.” And that if Nathan was smart, he would take this golden opportunity to back away. It was also clear that the child was one miserable little tyke. His cheeks were too rosy, his eyes big, bright hollows of darkness. His fever was readable without even using a thermometer.

Nathan crossed his arms and slid his hands into his armpits. “Your mom said I was afraid of you, did she?” He could hear Faith’s steps as she moved from the kitchen tile onto the muffling carpet.

“Nathan? Cory?” Faith’s voice was worried. In just a minute she’d be here. Nathan took one more look at the anxious child caught up in the tangled sheets, then his gaze passed over the room. It was brightly decorated, cheery, yet small, very small—and boxy. He felt he was sucking up all the space just by standing in the doorway. A room this size made a man want to bust down walls with his fists. He wondered if the boy felt the same.

He stared down at the small, tousled head of hair, noticed the tiny pink toes that had come untucked from the dinosaur sheets. The bed seemed narrow, too tiny a space to have to stay in for long. Shut up in here, the child would be alone, sick, lonely...

Nathan frowned at his own thoughts. He shouldn’t have come in here. Faith had been right to keep the two of them separate. Looking down into the boy’s dark, anxious eyes and seeing the miniature hand that fisted around a bunched-up bit of sheet, Nathan knew he didn’t want to be around this kid. It would be torture. Even now his heart was thudding painfully, trying to push back the memories of other little fists that had clutched his neck tightly. He remembered hugs and squeals of laughter, and soft little-girl, raspberry jelly kisses.

The boy sucked in his lower lip, an utterly childish gesture that brushed at Nathan’s memories. A small cough started up, shaking the fragile little body and holding him in its frenzied grasp.

Faith rushed in at that moment, smoothing her hand in slow circles over the child’s back and then hugging him close when the angry coughing finally ceased. “You okay, Cory? Better, love?”

Small hands slipped around her waist, the child’s face hidden against her body.

Faith looked up at Nathan, tilting her head. “Nathan? Are you—I—I wondered where you’d gone to. I—”

He shook his head. “No apologies, remember? You couldn’t hear him when he called. I figured I was capable of helping out a little, anyway.”

Her cheeks pinked slightly at his words. He knew that she was feeling guilty again. But she simply nodded. “Thank you.”

When her gaze locked with his, and he looked into those huge blue-green eyes Nathan felt the room shrink even more. His chest felt tight as though some of the air had been sapped from the meager supply available in this tiny space. What air remained seemed highly charged.

He felt the change when the boy turned to look from him back to his mother. Pulling on Faith’s sleeve, Cory stared forlornly down at his messed up sheets. “I losted my bear,” he said sadly.

Faith smoothed her hand across her son’s hair. She slipped to her knees beside the bed and helped him straighten his covers, hunting out the bear that had slipped off the far side. Kissing him on the forehead, she snuggled him close for one brief second, then looked back at Nathan. “I’m sorry I’m so disorganized today. Let me just get Cory set up here and then we’ll get back to your session.”

She pushed one tense hand through her hair, sending a wayward curl flopping down onto her forehead. Nathan noticed the spot of spilled juice on her pale peach blouse, the fact that her whole body was stiff as if it would dissolve and melt away if she let up on herself for one second. He saw the way the boy’s eyes grew worried when his mother mentioned leaving him alone.

With an internal shudder of resignation, as he mentally closed his eyes to what he was proposing, Nathan reached out and picked up the glass of juice she had put on the nightstand. He held the drink out to Cory, looking down at the little boy who was studying him so rebelliously.

“I’m not afraid of the flu even if it is contagious,” Nathan said, giving the child the small plastic tumbler. “Why don’t we take you into the other room so that you can be near your mom?”

The sudden hopeful look in the kid’s eyes nearly sent Nathan spinning away. It was such a small thing he had offered. Such a small, stupid thing.

“Mom says I have to stay in my bed,” Cory said, chewing on his lip. “Little boys who are sick must get lots and lots of sleep,” he reminded the man, obviously quoting his mother.

“Then you’ll just have to
get
lots of sleep, won’t you? I expect those eyes to drift shut just as soon as we get you set up on the couch. Doctor’s orders. Grab your bear now while I carry you. Can’t have you getting chilled.”

And without waiting for Faith’s reaction, Nathan reached down and bundled the child, blankets and all, into his arms. He barely weighed more than a puff of air, so there was no reason for a man Nathan’s size to feel his knees buckling, no reason for him to feel that the other room was two million miles away, as if he’d never make it. Taking a deep breath, Nathan turned and strode toward the door. He could feel Faith close behind him, but he didn’t stop, not until he reached the slate blue couch. Gently, forcing himself to go slowly, he lowered the boy to the sofa, then stepped aside to let Faith tuck in her son.

Faith plumped Cory’s pillows, smoothed the sheets and blankets, then whispered a kiss across his brow. Soft, gentle, loving. But when she rose and her glance moved to Nathan, the softness died and turned to exasperation.

“Could we talk for just a second before we get back to work? In the kitchen, perhaps?”

She moved nearer as she spoke, and Nathan breathed in the soft lemony scent of her He indulged himself for a few brief seconds, even though he recognized the fight in her eyes.

Shrugging, he followed her lead, ducking into the bright red-and-white kitchen.

As soon as they were out of earshot she turned to him, clasping her elbows as if she’d blow apart if she didn’t hold on to herself.

“I thought we talked about control when we first began these sessions, Nathan. I was worried that you might be a bit high-handed, but you haven’t been, at least not much. At least not until now. That was some move, Murphy. I’d like to remind you that Cory is my son, my responsibility, and right now he’s sick. He needs to be in bed, he needs his rest...”

“He needs his mother at his elbow,” Nathan corrected, moving close enough to feel the tension radiating from her, close enough to touch...if he thought he could handle it. “Besides, Faith, if you think he’s gotten one iota of rest since I’ve been here, then you and I must be using a different definition of the word. On the other hand, I’d be willing to wager that he’ll rest a whole lot easier now that he can see you and realize that I’m no threat to him.”

Faith skated back, moving out of touching range. She turned away and fiddled with a loose knob on a cabinet. “He knows you’re no threat to him. I told him so.”

“Maybe he needs to see that for himself. And maybe you misinterpreted my actions. Did it occur to you that I might have my own selfish reasons for wanting the boy in there with us? If you don’t have to keep jumping up and down like a jack-in-the-box between the two of us, we’ll get more done. I’ll be able to complete my sessions faster. And you know how much I want to get through this. After all, I promised you roses, didn’t I? To celebrate the end? Are you saying you don’t like roses?”

She turned large, suspicious eyes on him. “I adore roses. I can’t wait for you to be better so that we can celebrate with flowers. But how about your convictions? You told me at the beginning—no children. Sharing a room with Cory will be very difficult, won’t it?”

Five seconds of silence. Then Nathan shrugged. “I’m a surgeon, Faith, and dealing with kids is a part of that life. I’d damn well better get used to it.”

There was no point in telling her that he was restricting whatever future practice he might have to adults. And no reason to let her know just how very difficult this interlude with her son was going to be.

“All right, then. Thank you, Nathan. These last few days have been hard for Cory. For me, too. I hate not being able to help him. Now, come on, let’s get back to your hands.” She took a step toward the door.

“All right, but...not yet. I have a question.” He touched one long finger to a tawny curl of her hair, stopping her progress as effectively as a granite wall.

Turning slightly, she looked back over her shoulder. She stood there waiting, suspicion shining in the depths of her eyes. “Yes?” she said softly.

“Your boy...Cory, he’ll be home for another few days?”

She nodded silently.

“In the daytime, when you’re here—the hospital administration…they aren’t giving you any grief, are they?”

Faith looked up at him, her teeth worrying her lip. “No one’s said anything, but I do have to go back. Cory’s sick, but not as much as he was. And I can’t take more time off. Tomorrow I’ll take Cory to the children’s center at the hospital. I can’t take him back to the sitter while he’s sick.”

“The children’s center? He’s been there before?”

She nodded. “Once, a year ago. Just for a day. He was a little scared, I think.” Faith’s voice had dropped to a strained whisper. It was obvious that she wouldn’t be taking her son to some impersonal children’s center if she had any other choice.

Nathan moved closer. He opened his mouth to speak but found he had no words of comfort to offer. Faith held out her hand to stop him from saying anything.

“Don’t talk about it anymore, Nathan. I don’t want to. Besides, the clock is ticking and you’re wasting time. Did you plan on giving me those roses in this century? Don’t you want me out of your hair, Murphy?”

Lord, yes, he did. He wanted her out of his hair, out of his life, his thoughts, his dreams. He wanted a world where he had never met her, a world where the scent of lemon didn’t remind him of a woman’s lips moving beneath his own.

“You’ll get your roses, Faith. Just as soon as I can manage it.”

~ ~ ~

When Faith returned to the living room, Cory gave her one long, solemn stare. Then he smiled slightly and turned on his side. Within five minutes he was breathing the short, shallow breaths of a fevered, sleeping child.

From her seat at the table, she looked up at Nathan who was still standing. His gaze drifted around the room, taking in everything but her sleeping son.

He’d said he wasn’t a good father, that his child’s death was his fault. And yet, he’d been careful with her son, gently bundling him up to keep him warm, carrying him into the living room when there was nothing at all wrong with Cory’s legs.

Why? Was he paying his dues, doing penance for the past? Faith didn’t know, and it was clear as calm water that Nathan wasn’t about to explain his actions, and that he wasn’t at ease with those actions. When he’d finally deposited Cory on the couch, he’d stepped away quickly. And while he’d been kind, he had also radiated discomfort. She’d been more right than she’d thought when she’d told Cory that Nathan was afraid of children.

“You’re too quiet, Faith. Are you...are you worried about him?”

Nathan hadn’t looked Cory’s way, but it was obvious who “him” was.