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The Healing Place
Leigh Bale


A Father Desperate To Save His DaughterDr. Emma Shields had to help him. Mark Williams had come to the gifted physician to heal his sick little girl. But Emma had suffered her own loss… Driven by the death of her son, Emma was determined to make Mark's daughter well.The devoted single father had come to her in his time of need and she couldn't let him down. Nor could she forget what they'd once shared…Now they faced new challenges. Together could they create a new place of faith, hope and love?









The Healing Place

Leigh Bale







Published by Steeple Hill Books





To Steve, Daniel and Marie, for standing

firmly against the maelstrom.




Contents


Acknowledgments

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two




Acknowledgments


Also, my undying gratitude to Dan and

Marjorie Baird, Steve Burnett, Bill and

Clara Howard, Gary Jackson, Ren Johnson,

Wayne Johnson, George Keele, Koret Family

House, Michael Lehners, Make-A-Wish,

Alan Mentzer, Sue Ross, Justice Thomas Steffen,

Peter Umphress, Dennis Widdis, and Doctors

Mitchell Berger, Jay Chamberlain, Kathy Eckert,

Michael Edwards, John Shields, Joseph Walker

and their staffs. Thanks for being there.




Chapter One


Reno, Nevada

She couldn’t face going home tonight. Dr. Emma Shields scribbled notes on the last patient’s case file before she set it on top of the stack to be sorted by her office staff. She peered at the brass clock on the wall and blinked. Was it really that late? No wonder she was bleary-eyed. She sighed and returned her attention to her work. Anything to delay going to her lonely apartment.

A short knock sounded on the open door.

“Come in,” she called without looking up.

“You plan on staying here all night?”

Emma lifted her head. As she removed her reading glasses and dangled them from her fingers, she sat back in her comfy executive chair.

Too comfy. She stifled a yawn.

Sonja, her head nurse, stood in the doorway, prim and proper in her whites with red stars stamped on her smock. Sonja smoothed her graying hair and showed a crinkly smile.

“Nope, I’m about finished,” Emma replied. “What’s keeping you here so late?”

“I got those pathology reports you requested from Dr. Tanner and sorted them for tomorrow. You’ve already got your messages, so I think I’ll call it a night.”

“Good night.” Emma reached for another pile of paperwork stacked neatly on her desk.

Tidy and in control. That’s what her receptionist called her. Emma couldn’t help that she liked order. She’d had enough chaos in her life to last an eternity.

Sonja turned to leave, but paused. “Oh, before I forget, Mr. Williams called again.”

“Mr. Williams?” Emma shook her groggy head. “Remind me.”

“He has the little girl with a brain tumor. He’s called twice this week. He’s asked if we’ll work with his doctors at the University of California Hospital in San Francisco, to administer her chemotherapy protocol.”

“And did you tell him we deal only in adult oncology?”

“Yes, but he says you’re the doctor most highly recommended by Dr. Meacham, his neurosurgeon.”

“Larry Meacham?”

“None other.”

An impatient huff escaped Emma’s lips. “The next time I see Larry at a medical convention, I’ll have to remind him I don’t take pediatric cases anymore.”

Not since I lost Brian.

Sonja didn’t budge and Emma found it difficult to hide her irritation. “Where’s the tumor located?”

“It’s on the hypothalamus.”

Not good. The hypothalamus was a pea-size gland that told the pituitary gland what to do.

“Inoperable?”

Emma didn’t really need to ask. She’d seen it before in adult patients, time and time again, but this was an innocent child. God could be so unfair.

A rush of bitterness swept her. She’d grown comfortable with her anger and no longer tried to fight it.

Sonja nodded. “Yep, so they’re starting chemo.”

“What drugs will the child be on? How often do they need to be administered?”

“I’m not sure. He didn’t say.”

Emma tilted her head, longing to remove the too tight clip at the back of her neck and free her long hair. “No, I don’t want to take this patient.”

I can’t work with another child with cancer. I just can’t.

“But it’s so sad, Dr. Shields. The little girl’s a baby—only six years old.”

Emma’s heart squeezed. Brian had been five.

She shook her head. “I’m very sorry, but administering drugs to a growing child is a lot different than dealing with adults.”

“But she’s been through so much already. She had her first surgery here in Reno, then they rushed her to U.C.S.F. for a biopsy. She’s had several more surgeries since then, to drain cysts and install a VP shunt. Her father’s agreed to begin a chemo protocol as soon as he can find an oncologist. You know there isn’t a single pediatric oncologist in this city.”

Yes, Emma knew. “But there are five other doctors in Reno that specialize in adult oncology. Refer Mr. Williams to one of them.”

Sonja quirked her brows. “He’s already tried and they said no. If you’ll let me, I’ll take full charge of overseeing her protocol.”

Emma almost groaned. Certified to administer chemotherapy drugs, Sonja was one of the best nurses at her job. She was also too generous. A widow and grandmother of two, Sonja had been Brian’s nurse when he had been ill, caring for him tenderly, reassuring Emma that everything would turn out all right.

It hadn’t turned out all right and the night Brian died, Sonja had sobbed as bitterly as Emma.

Sonja smiled gently. “Losing ourselves in service to others is a great way to lift our own pain.”

A shadow of remorse crowded Emma’s mind. She served many patients every day—her bank account swelled with the results. But what good was money when she had no one to spend it on? What service had she done recently, just because someone needed her? Just because she could?

Nothing came to mind. Not since Brian. Because he blamed her for their son’s death, Emma’s husband had left her, too. Their marriage had been rocky long before Brian got sick, but the loss of their child had finished it. God had taken everything from her and then abandoned her.

No wonder I feel so lost and alone.

Her gaze shifted to a plaque on the wall, a wedding gift from her mother, three months before her death. Written by Adam Lindsay Gordon, it read, “Life is mostly froth and bubble, but one thing stands as stone. Kindness in another’s trouble; courage in one’s own.”

Emma crossed her legs and clasped the armrests of her chair. Courage? Kindness? She was fresh out of both.

She peered out the window at the evening sky, a darkening blue with tinges of pink and orange as the sun tucked itself behind the western mountains. Hadn’t she tried to do the right thing for Brian? And look what that had gotten her.

The death of her child, followed by a painful divorce.

“It would be so easy to help them,” Sonja prodded, undeterred by Emma’s frown.

“I said no.”

The words dropped like stone. This wasn’t her problem, nor her responsibility. God had put her through enough already.

Emma heard Sonja leave and she stared at the closed door. She couldn’t go through that hurt again. It was that simple.



The next afternoon things weren’t as simple as Emma hoped. Standing in the hallway of her medical office, she paused beside the closed door of an examination room to study the blood readings for her last patient of the day. Over the low hum of the busy office, she picked out Sonja’s voice coming from the front reception area.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Williams, but it’s like I told you this morning on the phone—Dr. Shields has such a heavy patient load already, it wouldn’t be fair to Angie.”

Angie. Was that the child’s name?

Emma paused, listening. She could hear the strain in Sonja’s voice. Sonja didn’t want to reject Mr. Williams, but Emma had given the nurse no choice.

“Have you tried Baker and Calloway’s office?” Sonja suggested another oncologist.

“Yes, and they refused. My neurosurgeon said Dr. Shields is the best, and that’s who I want for my daughter.”

Mr. Williams was here? This fellow was not taking no for an answer.

As she stood in the doorway of her office, Emma saw Sonja sitting at the reception desk, looking up at a man who leaned against the counter. He had his back to Emma, holding an enormous envelope of files beneath one arm. No doubt the envelope contained various pathology reports and MRIs from his daughter’s neurosurgeon. It looked like he had brought everything.

Dressed in navy-blue slacks and a light yellow pinstriped shirt, he was tall and slender, with shoulders wide as Texas. His short, slicked-back hair reminded her of the color of damp sand. He shifted his weight and shoved one hand into his pants’ pocket. His stance tensed. What if he caused a scene?

“I need to see Dr. Shields. If I could just talk to him—” Mr. Williams’s voice sounded low, edged with desperation.

“Her,” Sonja corrected in a kind tone. “Dr. Shields is a woman.”

Mr. Williams lifted his hand in a gesture of frustration. “If I can just talk to her for two minutes, I won’t take more time than that.”

Like a coward, Emma ducked into her office and leaned against the wall. Her pulse throbbed, her hands clammy.

“Please. If I have to beg, I will.”

His beseeching tone touched the deepest corners of Emma’s heart—what little she had left. She squeezed her eyes shut.

Opening her eyes, she swallowed and clenched her teeth. If she said yes this time, it would be harder to say no to the next parent who walked through her door. Brian’s death had cured her of taking any more chances.

She stepped around the corner and pasted a professional look on her face. As she walked toward Mr. Williams, she extended her hand. “Mr. Williams?”

He turned.

She froze. No, it couldn’t be.

“Mark? Mark Williams?” Her voice sounded watery to her ears.

When he saw her, his eyes widened and his features softened with relief. “Emmy! Emmy Clemmons. Wow! How long has it been?”

She tried to pull her hand back, but he caught it and squeezed tight. The warmth of his fingers tingled up her arm.

“Uh, it’s Shields now. Emma Shields.” She emphasized her first name. It had been two years since anyone had called her Emmy.

He smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You must have gotten married. So, who’s the lucky guy?”

She ignored the question. “Your daughter has a brain tumor?”

“Yeah, she needs an oncologist. Are you the oncologist?” Amazement creased his brows and finally he released her hand, which she put behind her back.

He rubbed his angular jaw where a day’s worth of stubble showed he hadn’t shaved that morning. He was thinner than Emma remembered, but faint lines around his eyes showed increased maturity and fatigue. Regardless, he was still handsome as ever, with the power to break any girl’s heart.

He looked good. Too good.

“Yes, that’s me.” Her voice sounded strangely robotic.

Oh, why did this man have to be her former high school boyfriend? They’d dated for about a year and then he’d dumped her for Denise Johnson, head cheerleader, a.k.a. The Doll. That’s what all the girls called Denise behind her back because they were so jealous of her long blond hair and perfect good looks. They hated Denise because all the boys loved her.

Mark shifted the envelope of files beneath his arm and shook his head. “You know, I wasn’t surprised when I heard you went to med school. You were such a bookworm in high school and always wanted to be a doctor. I knew you’d go far.”

Yeah, when Brian died and David left, she’d almost gone off the deep end.

“Emmy, we need a good oncologist. We need you.” Mark’s voice sounded firm, insistent.

Emmy. She hated that name.

Overhearing the conversation, Emma’s receptionist threw her a curious glance. As she directed another patient into the treatment room, one of the nurses gave Emma an inquiring look. The attention bothered Emma. Why couldn’t her staff mind their own business?

“Let’s go into my office where we can speak in private.” Emma stepped back to lead the way.

“Okay, but—” Mark shot Sonja a quick look.

“I’ll bring her to you as soon as she’s finished in the bathroom,” Sonja said.

Oh, no. The little girl was here, too. This was not going to be easy.

Mark followed Emma into her office. In anticipation of the arrival of his daughter, she left the door ajar before she rounded the large desk and sat down. She was grateful to put some kind of barrier between her and Mark.

He sank into one of the three chairs facing Emma’s desk and leaned forward, his fingers clasped, elbows resting on his knees. His gaze locked on her and he appeared confident and in control, the same old Mark she remembered from high school.

“You look great, Emma. How’ve you been these past fifteen years?”

She threw a fleeting look at him, then stared at the black stapler on her desk. “I’ve been fine.”

“Do you and your husband have kids?”

She wasn’t about to tell him about her sweet son or her nasty divorce. “What line of work are you in, Mark?”

“I’m a CPA. My firm serves mostly local contractors. It’s busy and lucrative.”

It probably suited him, she thought. As a kid he’d lived in a mobile home on the “other” side of the tracks. With his dad gone, his mother had worked hard to eek out a living for them. All he’d ever talked about was marrying a beautiful girl and making truckloads of cash so he could live a life of style and ease. It looked like he got his wish.

“So, how’s The Doll?” she asked.

He sat back. “You mean, Denise?”

She tried to laugh, to lighten the moment, but it sounded more like a hoarse croak. Her hands were damp and she felt the sudden urge to run from the room and hide. “Yeah, remember? That’s what we all used to call her.”

He shook his head. “No, I never called her that.”

“Oh.”

Was her foot too big to fit inside her mouth?

“We’re divorced.” He spoke in a vacant tone but she caught a flicker of pain in his expressive eyes.

Inwardly, Emma sighed. As a doctor and a mother, she understood the strain a child’s critical illness inflicted on a marriage. She had learned that lesson the hard way.

“I’m sorry.” And she meant it, for the child’s sake.

Anguish filled his eyes, then was gone. Though she had never liked Denise Johnson, she felt bad Mark’s marriage had failed.

Emma shifted in her chair. She didn’t want to feel bad for this man. She didn’t want to care about him or the chaos in his life. She needed him out of her office and out of her life.

Fast.

“Look, Mark, I’m not going to pretend. I can’t take your daughter on as a patient. I’ve already got more than a full load and it wouldn’t be fair to you or—”

He shook his head before she finished speaking. “I can’t accept that, Emma. Angie’s been through so much. If you tell me no, I’ll be forced to drive ten hours round-trip to San Francisco every week. My partners said they’d cover for me, but I don’t think Angie can take the exhausting drive. She has little energy and no appetite. It’d be better if she gets her treatments here in Reno. Can’t you take her as a patient, just for old time’s sake?”

Angie. What a sweet name.

“No, I’m sorry, but I can’t. My staff isn’t prepared to deal with a child’s growth and hormone issues.”

His face fell, his eyes hollow with defeat. He no longer appeared in control. Instead he looked vulnerable and lost. “You’re kidding, right?”

He sounded as though he really couldn’t believe her.

“Mark, I know the limitations of my office.”

He ran a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. “Look, Emmy, I’m…I’m desperate. I’m afraid if you don’t help, I’ll lose Angie. I can’t risk that. She means everything to me. Please, I’m begging you. Don’t turn your back on us.”

He breathed deeply, as if the words had been difficult for him to speak, and she supposed they were. She’d never seen Mark Williams beg for anything. As the senior class president and campus jock, he’d been self-absorbed and conceited. What had changed him? Parenthood, or perhaps something more?

A lump formed in Emma’s throat and she knew irrevocably that he loved his child, just like she loved Brian.

She stood, prepared to walk him to the door. “I don’t think—”

“Daddy?”

A little girl poked her head into the room. Seeing Mark, she walked over and climbed into his lap. Sonja stepped in long enough to smile at the child and close the door, giving them complete privacy.

As her gaze swept over Mark’s daughter, Emma almost panicked.

Angie. No doubt, when she was healthy, she’d be a stunning beauty like her mother. A miniature image of Denise, with small, pert features, wide eyes and silky blond hair. Or at least, from the long braid at her temple, Emma thought Angie’s hair was blond. Most of it had been shaved off, though she couldn’t tell for sure because the child wore a white hat with pink-and-blue flowers on the front.

It was obvious Angie was sick. She was all eyes, surrounded by shadowy circles. Her thin face looked pale and her spindly arms and knobby knees seemed so slight a puff of air could have blown her over.

Just like Brian in his last days.

The image of her son ravaged by illness still haunted Emma. She wished she could erase the cruel memory from her mind.

Angie snuggled close to Mark. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her cheek, breathing deeply of her warm skin.

“Everything okay?” he asked Angie.

“Sure.” She responded in a small voice, her gaze never leaving Emma.

There was such poignancy in watching Mark with his daughter that it brought a throbbing pain to Emma’s chest. How she missed the feel of her son in her arms, his simple prayers at bedtime, his warm kisses good-night. Even her ex-husband’s constant criticism hadn’t bothered her then.

An overwhelming impulse to help protect Angie rose up inside of Emma. She tightened her hands, forcing herself to resist the urge.

Mark made the introduction. “Angie, this is Dr. Shields.”

Angie smiled, her pixie nose crinkled, her hollow eyes showing a sparkle of delight. She lifted a frail hand and fingered the end of the long, thin braid at her right temple. “Are you my new doctor? Daddy says you’re gonna make me all better.”

Thanks for making this tougher, Mark.

Emma clenched her fingers around the armrests before she answered. “Well, uh, no, I can’t really—”

A horrible, swelling silence followed.

Mark frowned and looked away, coughing as if he had something stuck in his throat. Finally he patted Angie’s leg and stood, taking her hand. He wouldn’t meet Emma’s eyes. “Come on, honey, we’ve got some other doctors to visit today.”

He led Angie to the door. The little girl clung to one of his fingers, her hand small and vulnerable. He turned to give Emma one last desolate glance. If she didn’t know better, she would say he looked near to breaking down in tears. She’d never seen him cry and never wanted to. His tortured expression injured the deepest recesses of her resolve. For all her desire to have him get his comeuppance for dumping her all those years ago, she didn’t like watching him beg. Nor did she wish to see him lose his little daughter.

As Mark twisted the doorknob, a sinking of despair filled Emma. Urgency built within her to help them.

“Thanks for your time, Emmy,” Mark said. “It was good to see you again.”

He sounded desolate. Emotion played across his face. Grief and—

Fear.

How many times before Brian’s death had Emma felt those same emotions?

“But, Daddy, I thought you said Dr. Shields would take care of me. What’ll we do now?” Angie asked in a loud whisper.

Emma flinched. She couldn’t open her heart to more hurt, or let herself worry about this child. God would only let her down again.

The truth was she feared what Mark and Angie could make her feel. What if she came to care for them? The little girl would most likely die and Mark would blame Emma for it. She couldn’t stand to face that again. Not after all the horrible things David said to her at their son’s funeral. Yet, if Emma refused them, she wouldn’t be able to live with herself.

In spite of her loss, the Hippocratic oath she’d taken after medical school jangled inside Emma’s head. She had to look beyond her own pain and remember she was a doctor, first and foremost. Her conscience and self-respect wouldn’t allow her to do otherwise.

Emma closed her eyes, squeezing tears between her lashes. Something buried deep inside warned she would regret this, but the warm feeling in her chest told her it was the right thing to do. “Wait! I, uh, I forgot I had a cancellation. I can see you next Tuesday.”

Mark’s mouth dropped open and he stood patiently while Emma gathered her thoughts.

“Bright and early Tuesday morning,” she continued. “That should give me enough time to contact your doctor at U.C.S.F. and find out what protocol we’ll be administering.”

A wide smile split Mark’s face and his hazel eyes sparkled. Laughter rumbled in his chest, the deep sound of rolling thunder. “Emmy, I don’t know what to say. Thank you. We’ll be here.”

Mark squeezed Angie’s hand and inclined his chin toward Emma. His expression showed relief. “You see, Angie-love, I told you not to worry your pretty little head. Everything’s gonna work out fine.”

The girl flashed a smile at her father. “Yeah, and she’s pretty, too, Dad.”

Winking at Emma, Mark pivoted and left. Emma stared at the closed door, pressing her shaking fingers against her trembling lips.

“Oh, no,” she whispered. “What have I gotten myself into?”




Chapter Two


Mark tossed another load of laundry into the washing machine, then wiped off the granite countertops in his kitchen. The tiled floor felt sticky where Angie had spilled her cherry punch and he headed for the pantry to get the mop. As he filled a bucket with hot, sudsy water, he leaned against the refrigerator and stifled a yawn. With two corporate tax returns for clients due tomorrow and Angie’s first chemo appointment in the morning, he’d be lucky to get three hours of sleep tonight.

After he mopped the floor, he skimmed his fingers along the elegantly carved balustrade of the spiral staircase and went upstairs. The thick Berber carpet muffled his steps. He and Denise had chosen nothing but the best for their spacious home. Growing up in a shabby trailer park, he’d spent hours of his youth dreaming of living in an elegant home like this. Now, he’d give it away free if it would heal Angie. The realization that all the money in the world couldn’t make his daughter well again caused him to change his priorities. Maybe he should sell the place and buy a simple three-bedroom house he could maintain more easily.

He’d think about that tomorrow.

Hopefully, Angie was ready for bed. At bath time, he hadn’t rubbed her head too hard because it was so tender from stitches—two hundred and thirteen so far. Angie kept count. Battle scars, she called them.

Poking his head into her room, he found it dark, except for a reading lamp on the nightstand by her bed. Stuffed animals crowded the top of her dresser. Books and trinkets lined two shelves, including a small jewelry box with a dancing ballerina on top and an orange ceramic bowl she’d made in first grade. He loved every one of the drawings and finger paintings she had plastered on her walls. A jump rope, skateboard and hoola-hoop stood propped in one corner. Even if she had the energy to play with these toys, Mark didn’t dare let her for fear she might fall and jar her head. The last thing they needed was another surgery.

Angie sat up in bed, staring at a picture of her mother beside the clock radio on the bedside table.

“Hey, honey-girl, it’s late. You should be asleep.” He smiled, remembering the first time he’d caught her with a flashlight under her covers, reading a Trixie Belden book; advanced reading for a kid barely out of kindergarten.

Her brow furrowed as he sat beside her on the bed. He brushed his knuckles against her temple. “Something wrong?”

“When’s Mommy coming home?” A single tear trickled down her cheek.

Regret swamped him when he thought of all the woulda’, shoulda’, coulda’ things he might have done to keep his marriage alive. He hated that Angie had to pay the price for her parents’ failure.

“Remember, Mommy’s gone to stay with Grandma.”

He couldn’t bring himself to tell her Denise now lived with another man. According to Denise’s mother, the guy was still in college, twelve years younger than Denise. The kid had taken Denise to Europe and the Bahamas, while Angie spent her days with doctors and specialists.

Anger crowded Mark’s mind and he tried to fight off the resentment. He wasn’t ready to ask God’s forgiveness for these emotions, but without God, he believed he would fall apart. And he needed to remain strong, for Angie’s sake.

“Mommy may come to visit us, sweetheart, but she won’t be living with us anymore.” He’d told Angie this before, but she couldn’t seem to accept it.

Neither could he.

Heavenly Father, where are You? How much more can I bear?

In the quiet, Mark heard a still small voice speaking within his soul.

I’m here, son. I’ve never left you.

“But why doesn’t she call us?” Angie asked, her bottom lip quivering. “Doesn’t she love us anymore?”

He scooped Angie into his arms and hugged her tight. As he breathed deeply of her warm, sweet skin, he tried to calm his troubled thoughts. “Of course she loves you. Maybe Mommy’s extra busy and hasn’t had a chance to call.”

Yeah, right. Too busy with the preschooler to call her sick daughter.

Their dogs, Tipper and Dusty, curled up beside Angie—no barking or wagging tails. It was as if the hyper Maltese and toy fox terrier knew Angie was ill and they protected her the only way they knew how.

“Can we call her?” the child persisted, snuggling deeper beneath the flowered comforter.

He’d tried to reach Denise numerous times, but his ex-mother-in-law refused to give him the new phone number. “I’ve already called your grandma and asked her to tell Mom you want to talk to her.”

Thanks, Denise, for leaving me to figure out how to keep from breaking our daughter’s heart.

Angie sighed, with relief or sadness, he wasn’t certain. “Is she mad at me? Because of the brain tumor?”

“Nooo, honey!” He cupped her pale cheek with his hand. “It’s not your fault Mommy left. You had nothing to do with it. She’s fine. I don’t want you to worry about her, okay? Just think about getting better.”

“Can’t you be friends again?” Angie suggested. “Maybe you could say you’re sorry and Mom would come home.”

If only it were that easy.

“We would both have to want that, and right now, Mommy doesn’t.”

In all honesty, he didn’t want it, either. Not after the pain Denise had put him through by leaving him for another man.

Angie nodded, her hollow eyes a haunting remnant of the bouncing girl she’d once been. He’d give anything if it were him who was sick, instead of Angie.

“Dr. Shields is nice,” she told him.

He flashed her a smile. “Yeah, Emma always was nice. And very smart. She knows just what to do to help you get better.”

What a blessing they had found Emma. The moment he’d seen her standing in her office, he’d felt complete trust in her abilities. Though she’d been reluctant to accept Angie as a patient, Mark had no doubt God had sent them to her. With her help, and through God’s grace, they would get Angie well again. He refused to believe anything less.

Mark fingered the thin braid at Angie’s right temple. His throat clogged with tears when he thought of how kind the nurses from Angie’s last surgery had been, making a big deal over an inch-square of long hair because it was all Angie had left on her head. The neurosurgeon had shaved the rest off, replacing it with a melee of stitches.

“Don’t worry, Daddy. It’s gonna’ be okay,” Angie whispered and patted his hand.

Mark blinked. She was comforting him?

The center of his being swelled with hope. If she could have faith, then so could he.

He kissed her cheek and murmured against her ear. “I love you, honey.”

“I love you, too, Dad.”

Tears blurred his vision.

Please, God, don’t take her from me. He prayed the words over and over in his heart.

“What’s up for tomorrow’s schedule?” Angie yawned, her eyelids drooping.

“Tomorrow, we go see Dr. Shields for your first chemo injection.”

Mark had decided not to keep things from Angie. She had a right to know what the doctors were doing to her and why.

“Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll be brave.”

Emotion washed over him and his throat felt like sandpaper. She was the bravest person he knew. “Of course you will. Now, are you ready for prayers?”

Because he didn’t want to jar her too much, he resisted the urge to tickle her like he used to. Instead he knelt beside her bed and waited while Angie folded her arms and began speaking in a hushed voice.

“Heavenly Father, thank You for Tip and Dust and our house and Dr. Shields. Bless Mommy and help her come home soon, and help Daddy and me be brave. And help my tumor die. In the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.”

“Amen.” Mark opened his damp eyes. “Now, lay back and close your eyes again and imagine the tumor in your mind.” He paused, giving her time to begin their nightly ritual—a suggestion from their neurosurgeon. “Can you see it there in your mind?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“And can you squeeze it tight and see it getting smaller, and smaller, until it just disappears?”

“Yes.” A soft murmur. “It’s almost gone.”

“Okay, kill it, honey. Kill it and tell me when it’s dead and gone.”

Long moments ticked by as he watched her brow furrow with concentration.

“There. It’s all dead.” Opening her eyes, she gave him a smile so bright that a lump formed in his chest.

He held her for several minutes, just because he could, just because she was alive and warm and here in his arms, and one day she might not be—

He wouldn’t go there.

When he saw that Angie was asleep, he pulled the covers to her chin and backed out of the room and went to sit in the dark family room.

Alone.

No lights, no television, no wife. Just him, staring at the time flashing on the DVD player until it blurred and he had to blink.

His hands trembled and his breathing quickened. A hoarse cry rose upward in his chest. Cupping his face with his hands, he leaned his elbows on his knees.

Tears flooded his eyes and he wept.




Chapter Three


“Please, take a seat. Dr. Shields will be here shortly.” Sonja directed Mark and Angie into an examination room.

“Thanks, Sonja.” Mark pressed the palm of his hand against Angie’s back, urging her to sit on the vinyl couch, which had a fresh pillow in a stiff pillowcase lying at one end.

A short stool on wheels and one chair sat beside the bed. The room smelled of antiseptic. Jars of cotton swabs and alcohol wipes rested on the counter beside a small sink. Perched beside the door, a magazine rack held the latest issues of the Wall Street Journal, Newsweek, and various parenting magazines.

Angie settled on the bed while Mark slumped in the chair and stared at a picture on the wall. A ski slope in winter. Aspen, maybe.

Feeling Angie reach over and slip her hand into his, he sat up straighter and squeezed her fingers tight. She wore a worried expression and he gave her a reassuring smile. “Don’t be afraid. You’ve got the EMLA Cream on and it shouldn’t hurt at all.”

Thank goodness their neurosurgeon had given them a prescription for a tube of EMLA. The cream’s topical deadening powers worked wonders the numerous times Angie had to be stuck by a needle.

She nodded, but he sensed her tension. He’d lost count of the needle pokes she had endured. She had never become immune to the pain.

Neither had he.

He wished he could take her place and do this for her. It helped him understand how God must feel as he watched his children down on earth, struggling through their trials.

Sonja opened the door and came in carrying a tray with a hypodermic and a vial of amber liquid. The nurse set the tray on the counter, then prepared the injection.

“The doctor will be right in.” She spoke in a cheery tone.

Mark coughed. “Sonja, how long have you worked for Emma, er, Dr. Shields?”

Sonja chuckled. “I’ve known Dr. Shields long enough that sometimes even I slip up and call her Emma. I met her in a science class at the university when she was an undergrad. I went back to school after my husband died, so I was kind of old to be a student. Emma and I were lab partners. I introduced her to her former husband, David.”

“Former?”

Sonja’s eyes creased with sorrow and she shook her head. “I’m afraid they divorced two years ago. It was pretty hard on Emma. David never was a very supportive husband.”

Mark’s insides went cold. He understood firsthand the sadness caused by divorce.

He was about to ask more, but Emma opened the door and came in, carrying a clipboard. Dressed in a white blouse and black skirt, she wore a white doctor’s jacket over the top, buttoned mid-way up the front. Her blond hair was pulled back in a tight knot at the base of her neck. She wore wire-rimmed glasses low on her nose. Even with the severe hairstyle, he remembered how stunning she could look when she let her hair down and smiled.

The moment she entered the room, he felt as though he’d come home. Safe. Like a breath of fresh air after being locked in a tiny closet for six months. Her presence soothed his jangled nerves, offering hope in a weary world of fear.

Old feelings of affection crowded his heart. Wow, it was good to see her!

His gaze darted to her left hand where a gold wedding band circled her fourth finger.

How odd.

She’d been divorced two years, yet she still wore her ex-husband’s ring. After two years, he would have thought she would be over the guy. He was definitely over Denise. He realized his priorities had changed since Angie’s birth, but Denise hadn’t changed one bit. Somehow, the distance between them had grown to unrecognizable proportions.

Mark looked away but couldn’t help wondering if Denise had hocked her garish wedding ring at a pawnshop. No doubt, she could get a tidy sum for the diamonds.

At one time he hadn’t cared. Now he wished someone in this world loved him enough to wear his ring. But even if he found that special someone, he doubted he’d have time to build a relationship. Angie was his first priority and kept him more than busy. He couldn’t afford the luxury of a romance right now.

“Hello.” Emma glanced at him, then turned to smile at Angie.

“Hi, Emma.” His voice sounded unusually low and he cleared his throat.

Pen in hand, Emma sat on the stool and began scribbling notes on her clipboard. “Angie’s blood count looks good right now. This blood test was performed yesterday?”

She peered at Mark over the rim of her glasses, her clear blue eyes showing a dazzling depth of intelligence and—

Barriers.

“Yes, at the blood lab,” he said.

Her gaze returned to the clipboard. “Okay, after each injection, we’ll monitor Angie’s white blood cells to make certain they don’t get too low. If they do, we’ll skip one treatment to give her blood levels time to recover, then pick up again the following week.”

“I understand.” Mark nodded.

“I don’t. How come?” Angie asked.

Ever inquisitive, Angie had been on the Internet with Mark last night, reading all they could find out about brain tumors and treatments. She’d even commented that she wanted to be an oncologist like Dr. Shields when she grew up. Mark prayed Angie made it to a very old age.

Emma gazed at Angie with a hint of respect. “That’s a very good question. I’m glad you asked. The drugs we’re giving you kill the bad cells, but they also kill good cells.”

Angie’s brow wrinkled. “And we can’t let too many good cells die, right?”

Smart kid. Pride surged through Mark. With Angie’s intelligence, he was certain she’d make it through med school, if given the chance.

“Right,” Emma said.

“But what if the chemo doesn’t kill my tumor?”

Mark held his breath, waiting for Emma’s response.

Emma’s mouth opened and her gaze softened, but she didn’t speak right away. She seemed to choose her words carefully. “We have other options. We can use radiation, but we’re not to that point, yet. Let’s just take it one day at a time, all right?”

Angie smiled and nodded. She looked so trusting as she watched Emma.

Mark’s body tensed without him willing it. What if they had to resort to radiation? Brain cells didn’t recover from radiation and Angie could lose much of her cognitive ability. What damage would the chemo cause? Her neurosurgeon had told him that once she finished her chemo protocol, she’d have a forty percent chance of never giving birth to her own child. Sometimes he wondered if the treatment was worse than the illness.

Realizing his breathing had quickened and his heart was pounding, Mark tried to calm his troubled mind. One day at a time. Right now, they were fighting for Angie’s life.

“Will the chemo make me sick?” Angie asked.

Emma lifted one brow. “I see you have your father’s intelligence.”

“And her mother’s beauty.” Mark smiled at Angie and the little girl beamed.

He mentioned Denise for Angie’s benefit.

Emma’s focus shifted to the alpine picture over his right shoulder and he couldn’t help wondering if the mention of Denise bothered her. What a fool he’d been all those years ago to dump Emma for a pretty girl whose father had connections in the business world. Prestige had meant everything to him back then.

“Certain foods react with the drugs we’re giving Angie and can create a problem. Do you have the list of things she shouldn’t eat?” Emma asked.

“Yeah, we’ve got it and I’ll make sure Angie follows it.”

“Okay, pumpkin, you ready?” Sonja came over to the bed, then reached to help Angie sit back.

Lying on the pillow, Angie handed Mark her flowered hat. He noticed Emma’s gaze slid over the little girl’s bald head where pink scars circled the top right side. Hopefully, her thick hair would eventually grow back and no one would notice.

Emma didn’t show even a glimmer of repulsion. Instead a flicker of empathy filled her eyes.

Ah, she’s not as indifferent as she wants us to believe.

Sonja lifted Angie’s shirt, exposing the porta-catheter installed for administering the chemo injections. The neurosurgeon had warned that, if they didn’t use a porta-catheter, by the time Angie turned eighteen, the veins in her arms would collapse. If not handled carefully, the powerful medicine could burn her skin bad enough to require a plastic surgeon to repair the damage. A patch covered the EMLA Cream, which Mark had applied to Angie’s skin thirty minutes earlier. Angie shouldn’t feel any more than a bit of pressure.

“Is it gonna hurt?” Angie’s voice wobbled as she looked at Emma.

Tenderness filled Emma’s eyes. “No, sweetie, it shouldn’t.”

Setting her clipboard aside, Emma slipped her glasses off and tucked them into her pocket before carefully peeling back the Emla patch. She accepted a piece of gauze from Sonja and wiped the white cream off.

“Okay, lie still.” Emma’s voice soothed.

Mark tensed. Angie clung to his hand, her pulse hammering against her throat.

“Honey, I’m here.” He cupped Angie’s cheek and looked into her eyes. Bending at the waist, he lowered his face to lean against the pillow. She whimpered and Mark kissed her forehead, speaking calming words to her.

“All done, sweetie,” Emma said. “You can sit up now.”

Both Angie and Mark breathed with relief. As Emma drew near, he caught her scent, a combination of warm skin and some elusive floral fragrance. Inhaling deeply, he tried to forget why he was here.

“It didn’t hurt a bit. Thanks, Dr. Shields.” Angie smiled, showing one tooth missing in front.

What a difference. Now the dreaded injection was over, Angie almost seemed her old self again.

“You’re welcome.” Emma’s mouth curled as she disposed of the needle in a box labeled Hazardous Waste.

Placing a small dot bandage over the needle prick, Sonja helped Angie lower her shirt and patted the little girl’s shoulder. “You did just fine, kiddo. Do you want to come select a prize from my stash out in the office? I got it special just for your visits.”

A grin spread across Angie’s face and she nodded. Sonja took her hand as Angie slid off the bed, then they left the room. Mark picked up Angie’s hat and slapped it against his thigh. Emma put her reading glasses on, then picked up her clipboard, jotting more notes.

“Thanks, Emma. I really appreciate this. I can’t begin to tell you how much.”

“You’re welcome. Angie’s a great kid.” She showed a wistful smile.

A wisp of golden hair slipped free of the tight knot at the back of her neck and curled against her cheek. He longed to reach out and feel the texture of it.

“Yeah, she is.” He hesitated, wondering how to say what was on his mind. “Look, Emma, I sense you’re uncomfortable with me here. Is it because I was such a dope back in high school?”

Her gaze glanced off his. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Sure she did. There was no need to pretend. It occurred to him that she was doing her best to hide her injured feelings. Maybe it was a defense mechanism. No, she didn’t want him here, but she had put aside her wounded pride to help Angie.

Sudden respect filled him, along with a protective impulse. He shouldn’t have reminded her that he had dumped her for Denise all those years earlier. “You’ve turned out to be an amazing woman, Emmy.”

Her eyes widened and she looked startled. “I’m a doctor, Mark. This is what I do.”

“Still, I want you to know I’m grateful.”

She laughed, a harsh sound with no humor. “Believe me, you’ll get my bill.”

He chuckled but sensed her deep sarcasm. “Thank goodness for health insurance. So far, the medical bills are nudging half-a-million dollars, the deductibles large enough to cross my eyes.”

After college, he’d worked hard and invested well, but the divorce settlement had drained a large portion of his wealth. He’d been lucky Denise wanted cash and let him buy out her half of the house. To save Angie’s life, he’d sell everything he owned and live in a pup tent in the park. Whatever it took. Money didn’t mean anything to him now. Not if he lost his daughter.

“You’ve changed since high school, Mark.” Her brows pulled together in a perplexed frown.

Was it that obvious? “Really? How so?”

“You’re so gentle with Angie. I remember you being such a jock, laughing all the time, going to parties. I never imagined you’d be such a softy with a little girl of your own.”

He remembered, too. All those parties he had attended, and Emma hadn’t been invited. He remembered the pain in her eyes when he’d told her he didn’t want to go out with her anymore. The slump of dejection in her shoulders and the hurt in her voice when she’d wished him nothing but the best.

Those days had been focused on one thing only. Get the best grades possible, excel at sports and earn a full-ride scholarship to N.Y.U. so he could get a top job making lots of money. What had it mattered that he’d dumped the school bookworm for a hot babe who happened to be the head varsity cheerleader? When he married Denise fresh out of college, he’d been the envy of every other guy at school.

None of that seemed important now. Except for Brett Anderson, he rarely saw any of his old friends. If only he hadn’t been so superficial. But no matter what Denise did or how difficult his life became, he could never regret having Angie.

“That was a long time ago, Emma. Now, I’m a father with responsibilities. When Angie was born, I started thinking about more than just the here and now. I wanted the best for my child, and that caused me to seek a greater power than my own.”

Her brows arched. “So, you got religion, huh?”

“You could say that. I’d be lost without God in my life. As I recall, you used to be quite religious yourself.”

“Things change.”

He ached for her lack of faith. “Sometimes it’s hard for me to see my life with eternal eyes, but I came to realize that God has my best interest in mind.”

A skeptical frown crinkled her brow and he changed the topic. “When we were in high school, I was just a thoughtless, stupid kid. I hope you’ll forgive me for…for everything.”

“Of course. There’s nothing to forgive.” She bit her bottom lip, staring at the brown carpet.

What had her husband’s name been?

David.

Although they had divorced, Mark couldn’t help envying the man. Emma obviously loved him. Not once in the eleven years they had been married had Mark ever heard Denise say the words, “I love you.”

Not even to Angie, and that hurt most of all.

“I know what you mean about things changing.” He didn’t smile as he spoke. “Life hasn’t worked out quite the way I’d planned it.”

She blinked, as if digesting this information. “I remember you said you wanted to marry a beautiful socialite and be the CFO of some Fortune 500 company. You wanted to make buckets full of money, go into politics and become president of the United States.”

He burst out laughing, thinking how foolish he must have sounded to Emma. Strange that he had never once confided his amitions to Denise. “Not anymore. Now, I’d settle for a quiet evening at home with Angie.”

She chuckled, the sound tripping his heart into double-time. “No fancy restaurants?”

“Let’s just say I prefer relaxing in my own home.”

“Me, too,” she conceded.

A long paused followed and Emma tilted her head, seeming to study him. “It seems so strange to see you comforting a little girl. I never envisioned you with so much compassion, Mark.”

Ah, that hurt, but he couldn’t deny it. “Right now, Angie’s most important.”

Her brow crinkled with thought. “I’m glad to hear that. If it helps any, I like the new you.”

Somehow her words made him want to be even better. For her.

He took a step. “Emma, I hope we can be—”

Angie returned with a Tasmanian Devil sticker planted smack in the middle of her forehead and holding a purple lollipop in her fist.

“Hey, Dad, look what Sonja gave me.” She lifted the sucker and pointed at her forehead.

He rubbed her bristly head gently where the new hair growth was starting to come in. It rasped the palm of his hand. “Yeah, that’s great. Did you remember to say thank you?”

Angie turned to face Sonja. “Thank you. We get to go for pizza now. Dad said he’d take me to lunch.”

“Good for you,” Sonja said. “I’d better get back to work.”

The nurse slipped out of the room, closing the door behind her. Emma removed her glasses. Heavy lashes fringed her eyes, her skin soft and smooth. If not for the weariness in her gaze, Mark would have thought she hadn’t aged a day since high school.

“Just remember, no pepperoni,” Emma warned. “It messes with some of the drugs you’re taking.”

Angie groaned. “But pepperoni’s my favorite.”

Emma’s lips curved into a smile. “Try sausage or Canadian bacon, instead.”

“Yuck!” Angie’s face contorted. “That’s grown-up stuff. Kids like pepperoni.”

Emma’s lips twitched as she suppressed a laugh. “Okay, just plain cheese. Kids like cheese, don’t they?”

“Yeah, that’d be okay, I guess.” Angie brightened, but then grouched, “No pepperoni, no raspberries, no peanut butter. How’s a kid supposed to live like that?”

Mark chuckled. “Don’t be dramatic. I think you’ll survive without pepperoni for a year, until we’re finished with the chemo.”

Emma’s gaze slid toward the door. “Well, I’ve got patients waiting.”

“Hey, Dad, can Dr. Shields come to lunch with us?”

Mark lifted his gaze to Emma. Her mouth hung open and she stared at the child with surprise.

He read Emma’s body language. Stiff and unyielding, everything about her told him she wanted him to go away and leave her alone. Then she lifted her head and he saw the longing in her eyes, a depth of emotion that told him she wanted him to stay.

She seemed so lost. Maybe they both were.

“Emma, are you——” He swallowed. “Are you free for lunch?”

Mark didn’t need any more complications in his life, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. It was just lunch. No big deal.

“Thanks, but I can’t. I’ve got to work.” Emma choked the doorknob with her hand. “Don’t forget to see Darcy at the front counter to set up your next appointment in one week.”

And she was gone, just like that. Mark told himself he should be relieved. Instead, he felt empty inside.



Taking Angie’s hand, Mark led her out of the examination room and through the long hallway to the front reception counter. Nurses passed back and forth, calling for patients, prepping vials of medicine and IV drips.

Two nurses and three office staff workers stood at the counter, surrounding an elderly Hispanic couple. Mark spoke Spanish fluently and it was difficult not to overhear the conversation. The man and woman sounded upset, their voices escalating until Emma came down the hall to see what the commotion was about.

“What’s going on?” Emma asked the receptionist in a disapproving voice.

With just one look, Emma sent most of the office staff scurrying back to their desks. That left Darcy to face the fallout.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Shields, but Mr. and Mrs. Valdez don’t speak English, and she seems worried about her treatment,” Darcy said.

“Where’s Maria?” Emma asked. “She can translate.”

“She took some blood samples over to the hospital.”

Frustration was apparent on Emma’s face. Engrossed in the conversation, Mark didn’t notice Angie until too late. The little girl sidled over to Mrs. Valdez, her large eyes filled with sympathy as she reached up and took hold of the woman’s hand.

“It’s okay,” Angie soothed as she stared up at Mrs. Valdez’s wrinkled face. “You can use my EMLA Cream, and the needle poke won’t hurt a bit.”

Angie handed the tube of cream to Mrs. Valdez and Mark’s heart turned over. What had he done to deserve this sweet little girl? Truly he had been blessed. Even though she didn’t understand what Mrs. Valdez was saying, Angie knew instinctively it was the woman who was sick, not her husband.

“Excuse me, but I speak Spanish,” Mark interceded. “Perhaps I can help translate?”

Emma’s eyes glowed with relief. “Yes, I would appreciate it. First, tell Mrs. Valdez not to be worried. We only want to help her.”

Emma waited patiently while Mark translated for Mrs. Valdez. He could see the earnest concern written on Emma’s face and heard the soothing tone of her voice as she explained what Mrs. Valdez could expect from her treatment. Mark’s respect for Emma grew as he interpreted questions and responses back and forth. In a matter of minutes, both Mr. and Mrs. Valdez relaxed and smiled. Mark realized then that Emma really did care about her patients, though she seemed to fight it.

“Gracias.” The woman nodded at Mark and Emma before she squeezed Angie’s hand.

“She’s ready,” Mark told Emma.

Accompanied by Sonja, the Valdezes shuffled to the treatment room, leaving Mark and Angie with Dr. Shields.

“I didn’t know you spoke Spanish, but I’m sure glad you came to my rescue,” Emma said.

“Yeah, I took it in college and spent a semester abroad in Spain. It comes in handy for my Hispanic clients.”

The tension eased from her shoulders. “Thanks for helping out. I owe you big-time.”

He smiled and sank his hands into his pants’ pockets. “No problem. I’ll collect from you on Tuesday, when I bring Angie in for her next treatment.”

Emma glanced at the little girl, a momentary look of panic in her eyes.

“Well, I need to get back to work.” Emma headed down the hallway.

“Yeah, thanks again, Emma.”

Boy, he was getting mixed signals. Something about Angie bothered her. What could it be? He tried to tell himself Angie’s welfare was all that mattered right now. Somehow he wished he dared hope for more.




Chapter Four


Inside her office Emma stared at the closed door after she’d left Mark. Whew, what a rotten situation. If he hadn’t been here to translate for her—

Mark had always had a controlling nature. This time it had been a blessing. With Maria out of the office, Emma couldn’t deny she was grateful Mark had been here. Perhaps they could schedule Angie’s appointment at the same time as Mrs. Valdez’s treatment next week. If Maria was away from the office, Mark could translate again.

Emma opened the door and hurried out to the front reception desk before Mark left. She posed the question to him, then waited for his rejection. In high school, he hadn’t been interested in helping with fund-raisers or other worthwhile causes. Would he help with this?

“Sure,” he agreed readily. “I’d be happy to do it.”

His generosity stunned her. Time and fatherhood had really changed him. Maybe his newfound belief in God had also made a difference. He had suffered a divorce, like her, and Emma found herself hoping he didn’t lose his child, too. She wouldn’t wish that on her worst enemy.

Darcy set the appointment time and Mark left with Angie. Emma stood beside the reception counter for just a moment, remembering Mark’s gentleness as Angie received her injection. With aching tenderness, he had held his child close, kissing her, speaking soothing words in her ear.

He seemed so different from the flippant, egotistic boy he used to be. For one insane moment she considered what it might be like to get to know him all over again.

Emma bit her lip, fighting the soft feelings that suddenly overwhelmed her. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t get involved with Angie or her father. Yet, here she was remembering every detail of her encounter with them and feeling sentimental about a man she hadn’t seen for fifteen years.

Next week, she would let Sonja handle Angie’s injection on her own, then pop into the examination room long enough to answer any questions they might have. She was going to put as much distance between herself and Mark Williams as possible.

Renewed confidence steadied her nerves and she went about her business. By four o’clock that afternoon, she had enough time to go into her office and make a few phone calls.

“Sonja, who is Don Yearwood?” she asked, trying to decipher Darcy’s hastily scrawled note. “It says he’s from the Make-A-Wish Foundation. What does he want?”

“I think he’s the director of the Northern Nevada chapter,” Sonja supplied. “I’m not sure what he wants. Should I check with Darcy? I think she’s still here.”

“No, he probably just wants a donation.”

Emma dialed the number.

“Hello, Dr. Shields. Thanks for returning my call,” Don Yearwood’s voice greeted her after she identified herself.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Yearwood?”

“Well, I’ll get right to the point, Doctor. Your name has come up on several occasions and you were highly recommended to us by Larry Meacham. He’s on the board of directors for our Sacramento California chapter and he thought you might be willing to serve on the advisory committee for the chapter here in Reno.”

Larry Meacham again. She couldn’t help but feel honored, but the guy was wreaking havoc in her life. First, he sent a pediatric patient to her, now this.

“Oh, I thought you just wanted a donation.” Emma’s voice sounded wilted.

Don Yearwood’s scratchy laugh echoed in her ear. “Well, money is always nice, but we were hoping you might be willing to serve, as well.”

It felt like her heart dropped through the floor. Every muscle in her body tightened. If she agreed to his request, she’d be expected to mingle with other people, give of her time and expose herself to other people’s sorrows.

Could she do it?

Don cleared his throat. “We’re already planning our annual barbecue and frequent flyer mileage fund-raiser for the end of August. We were hoping you might be willing to participate. It’s only a few months away. The board’s meeting this Thursday evening to discuss more plans. Would you be willing to help?”

Emma twisted the phone cord tight around her index finger. “Um, what kind of time commitment would it entail?”

“The advisory committee meets once a week, and the fund-raisers and activities are usually scheduled for evenings and weekends. Would that interfere too much with your work schedule and family life?”

She had no family life. Except for her medical practice, she had nothing at all. Not even church. She was too angry at God to worship him.

“No, that schedule should work fine. We can try it out—for a while.”

“Great! I’m sure the other members will be delighted. I’ll let my secretary know you’ll be there.”

Don gave her the address and time of the Thursday meeting and she hung up, her hands shaking.

Well, she’d done it now. First Angie, now the Make-A-Wish Foundation. She felt strangely excited by the possibilities. Thursday night, she’d get off work by six o’clock and go somewhere besides her lonely apartment. She’d get to do something besides read medical reports and stare at the television as she ate dinner by herself.

“Well?” Sonja poked her head in the office. “What did Don Yearwood want?”

Emma explained.

“Wow! That’s a real honor,” Sonja said. “I’m glad they realize what an asset you would be to the committee.”

Emma doubted Sonja’s words. She felt apprehensive about Mr. Yearwood’s invitation.

That night, when she got home, Emma went directly to her bedroom, lifted her son’s picture from her dresser and told him all about her day. “I don’t know what I would have done with Mrs. Valdez if Mark Williams hadn’t been there to bail me out. And though I’m a bit nervous about the Make-A-Wish thing, I’m also kind of excited to help kids like you. Maybe it’s time I got out more.”

Yes, it’s time.

It was as if someone whispered in her ear. Peace enveloped her and she knew she was doing the right thing. Somehow, she felt more alive than she had since before Brian’s death. It was almost as if he were there beside her, urging her to live again, cheering her on.

As she looked at Brian’s picture, she didn’t feel like crying. Instead, she felt like smiling and sharing. She kissed the glass before putting the picture back on top of her dresser.



Thursday came quicker than Emma expected. The office was a whirl of activity and she had little time to think about her commitment to serve with Make-A-Wish.

That evening, she arrived five minutes early at the brightly lit office on Pyramid Street. They had converted a red-brick home into a business office. The summer sun was still high as Emma parked her green compact car and walked inside the main foyer, which smelled of freshly brewed coffee.

“Dr. Shields? I’m Don Yearwood.” A tall, balding man with a bushy mustache held out his hand and Emma took it. “We’re glad you could make it. Come on in and help yourself to some juice or coffee. As soon as the others arrive, we’ll get started.”

He indicated a small conference room with a long table and chairs set all around. Wide windows with open curtains admitted the evening sunshine. To the side of the room sat a counter top with a coffee pot, various cartons of juice, cups, and a plate of fruit, cheese, and doughnuts.

What a combination.

Two men stood at the counter, munching on doughnuts as they talked. On the other side of the room, a man and woman sat at a table, sipping cups of coffee and chatting.

Emma helped herself to some pineapple juice and took a seat at the farthest end of the table, away from everyone else. Setting her notepad on the tabletop, she fidgeted with her pen, unable to deny the prickles of panic dotting her skin. She didn’t know what to say to these people. Maybe this was a mistake. It wasn’t too late to change her mind.

She stood to leave, but strangers filtered through the doorway and blocked her path.

She sat back down. In the next five minutes, the room filled with people and Don introduced Emma to each one. She pasted a smile on her face as she greeted them. An orthodontist, a lawyer, two bank executives, three small business owners and one housewife who used to be an accountant before she had three young children at home to care for.

An impressive crew.

The meeting was called to order and started with a reading of last week’s minutes. Emma was stunned when the door opened and Mark Williams walked in.

What was he doing here?

Mr. Yearwood didn’t stop his dialogue as Mark surveyed the room, spying an empty chair opposite Emma. Skirting the juice counter, he rounded the table and pulled the chair out, finally spotting her. A smile brighter than a neon light spread across his face and his eyes twinkled as he stared at her.

Emma’s throat went dry.

As he sat, he winked at her.

Emma looked away.

“Oh, no,” she groaned softly, then covered the sound by taking a hurried sip of juice.

“Mark, since you’re the late arrival, how would you feel about coordinating the food and paper goods for the barbecue?” Don asked. “We’ll also need you to take a turn manning the hamburger and hot dog booth.”

“Sure,” Mark agreed. “I’ve already got the head count. I can pick up the supplies anytime and store them in my garage. I’ll get the food the day before the event.”

Mark Williams was donating free time to Make-A-Wish? She could hardly believe it.

“Great! Dr. Shields, would you be willing to assist Mark?”

Her mouth dropped open and she answered in a halting tone. “Ooo-kay.”

She didn’t have a choice. She had committed to help. How would it look if she said no to her first assignment?

Don loosened his tie as he paced in front of the Dry Erase board at the front of the room. “I’ve contacted Channel 6 News to see if they would include a short broadcast the week before the event asking people to donate their frequent flyer miles to Make-A-Wish. Since it’s for a good cause, the news people are willing to do a real nice piece for us. They thought it might be more effective to interview a parent and one of our Wish Kids. Mark, I don’t mean to pick on you, but how would you and Angie feel about being interviewed by them?”

Mark sat back, his white shirt stretching taut across his muscular chest. “Let me check with Angie tonight. I don’t think she’ll mind. I’ll give you a call after I’ve had a chance to ask her.”

“That would be fine.”

The meeting proceeded, but Emma heard nothing more. Her ears felt clogged, like she was under water. Breathing deeply, she tried to steady her pounding pulse.

Anxiety attack. That’s what her doctor called this crazy, muzzy feeling when she was sure she’d implode. He’d given her pills to take for it, but she was determined to cope without drugs.

Breathe deeply. Everything’s okay. You can handle this. Really, you can.

The meeting finally ended and Emma stood on shaky legs, prepared to bolt out of the room.

“Emma!” Mark called to her.

Gritting her teeth, she waited while he rounded the table and came to stand close beside her. Too close.

She took a step back.

“I didn’t know you were on the committee, too. When did you join?” he asked.

“This is my first meeting. You could say I was brought in as part of a conspiracy.”

One of his brows quirked and he laughed. “Conspiracy, huh? That sounds rather sinister.”

When she glanced at Mark and saw amusement playing across his face, she smiled. She couldn’t help it. Mark’s laughter was infectious and, with a bit of surprise, she found his presence strangely comforting.

“Angie’s one of their Wish Kids,” he said. “I wanted to be involved, to give back to a wonderful group. I thought I could help make a difference, like so many people have made a difference for Angie and me. I can’t begin to thank all the wonderful people who have stepped in and blessed our lives. My business partners, church members, social workers, neighbors.”

He moved closer and her eyes widened.

“You,” he said.

Staring at the top button on his Oxford shirt, she backed up a step. His gratitude disarmed her. If he only knew what she had done to her own son, he would never want her to doctor Angie.

He stepped closer and she felt cornered. He reached out and put his hand on her arm. Panic lodged in her throat.

“We can wait to pick up the burgers and hot dogs until the day before the barbecue,” he said. “Would you be able to go shopping with me for paper plates, napkins and plastic utensils the day after tomorrow?”

“The day after tomorrow?” she repeated in a vague tone.

“Yeah, it’s Saturday. You don’t have to work, do you?”

She didn’t have to, but she always did work on the weekend. “No, no, I don’t have to work.”

She looked at his face. Ah, such nice eyes, crinkling when he smiled. She twined her fingers together, her heels sinking deep in the thick carpet.

He smelled good. Nice and spicy, yet not overpowering.

She stepped back again and her shoulders met the wall with a little thump. She’d forgotten how tall he was.

“I can pick you up,” he offered.

She licked her dry lips. “Okay, how about eleven?”

“Good, we can catch some lunch afterward. What’s your address?”

Lunch. What was she getting herself into?

As she gave him the information, he scrawled her home address and phone number on a scrap of paper. Folding it, he then tucked it into his front shirt pocket.

Great! So much for keeping her distance. Now he knew where she lived and how to reach her at home.

“How’s Angie doing?” She shouldn’t have asked, but she really wanted to know. It was her job to ask questions and monitor the girl’s progress.

A frown pulled at his brow. “She’s as good as can be expected, but she’s throwing up and quite weak. I know you said it’s normal to feel sick right after a treatment, but I hate to see her like this. That’s why I was late tonight. She was sick in the car, so I got it cleaned up and then bought her a sand bucket to carry around when we travel.”

“A sand bucket?”

“Yeah, she takes it with her to help prevent accidents. Angie likes it because it has little pink seashells on the rim and it’s smaller than the mop bucket.”

How ingenious. Pretty sand buckets in the car.

“How’s her appetite?” Emma asked.

A labored sigh escaped his lips. “Not good, but Mrs. Perkins tries hard to get her to eat during the day while I’m at work.”

“Mrs. Perkins?”

“Our neighbor. She’s a widow who watches Angie for me. Usually, she only takes in babies, but Angie isn’t up for a busy summer day-care program. She doesn’t have that kind of stamina. Instead Mrs. Perkins lets her do puzzles and read, and help tend the babies. Angie can lie down and rest anytime she wants. It’s a good, quiet place for her, although Angie tells me the babies cry a lot.”

“Ah.”

He gave a sad smile. “You know with the brain tumor, all of a sudden, we belong to a club we don’t want to belong to. Angie just wants to be a kid. I wish I could give her a normal childhood.”

Emma understood. When Brian had become ill, she’d joined that club, too. She opened her mouth to tell Mark about it, but caught herself just in time. “I’m sorry, Mark. I hope we can give you your wish very soon.”

He flashed a brilliant smile and her stomach flipped somersaults.

“You’ve been great, Emma. So many people have helped us. When I got home from work tonight, I found that one of the men from my congregation mowed my lawns this afternoon. His wife brought dinner in and took our dirty clothes to wash. I know those things seem trivial, but it lifted a big burden from me. There are so many good people praying for us.”

“That’s very kind of them.” She could hardly speak around the lump in her throat. She found herself wishing kind members from her congregation had been there when Brian had died, but her husband didn’t like structured religion and she’d gone inactive. No one at church had followed up with her to find out why she wasn’t attending anymore and she had too much pride to ask for their help during those dark days before and after Brian’s death. Would it have made a difference?

The other committee members had left the room, moving toward the main foyer in the outer reception area. The sun had gone down and the wide picture window looked black and vacant.

Just like her heart.

“I was sorry to hear you were divorced,” Mark interjected.

Emma froze. Any reminder of her divorce was like meat hooks ripping at her. Guilt rested heavily on her shoulders. Her ex-husband blamed her for the death of their son, and he had been right.

“Yes,” she croaked.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Mark said again.

She felt the burn of tears. “Thank you.”

“I don’t recall your husband. Did I know him?”

Shaking her head, she felt as though a wind tunnel had sucked her up. “No. David and I met in college.”

“Ah, and what does he do for a living?”

“While we were married, he owned a construction company. He built things. Usually lush homes with tons of rooms for all my rich medical colleagues.”

Resentment filled her tone. She remembered how her husband made contacts with her circle of wealthy doctor friends. For him, her medical degree wasn’t about helping save lives, but rather a way to get lucrative building contracts for clinics and homes. Still, Emma couldn’t blame him alone for the breakup of their marriage. They’d been struggling for some time before their son’s illness. After Brian died, Emma didn’t have the heart to try anymore. When David blamed her for Brian’s death, the end came swift and sure.

She noticed Mark’s contemplative frown. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to unload or sound so cynical. We divorced about two years ago. It’s been really hard, but it wasn’t all David’s fault—”

Time spun away and she longed to head for the door, but her legs wouldn’t move.

“I heard your father died a few years after we graduated from high school,” he said. “You’ve had more than your share of tragedy.”

She had been alone long before her father died. They hadn’t been on speaking terms and she hadn’t known he was gone until after the funeral. He’d been a domineering man who’d made her mother’s life miserable. Emma had made up for their lost relationship by showering her love on Brian. Now, she had no one and she couldn’t face the pain of losing someone dear ever again.

“I have my practice, and that keeps me busy.” Her voice cracked.

He cupped her elbow and squeezed gently, a look of empathy on his face. She wasn’t fooling him for a minute. “I get the feeling you miss your husband very much.”

She shuddered. “I miss the camaraderie and the close relationship of a husband and wife, but I don’t miss the—”

She was telling him too much. She’d almost blurted out that she didn’t miss David’s accusations or criticism. She no longer loved David, but she missed the warmth of a man nearby when she needed a solid shoulder to lean upon. She missed having someone reach things on the top shelf and be strong for her when she didn’t think she could go on alone.

It was too comfortable to confide in Mark. He’d always been easy to talk to.

Another step and he reached his other hand toward her shoulder. Panic overwhelmed her. He was going to hug her. She couldn’t allow that—

“Excuse me.”

Whirling about, she fled, racing for the door, bumping into Rachel Miller, the accountant housewife with three children.

“Pardon me,” she called as she dashed through the foyer and shoved against the glass pane of the outside door.

In the dark parking lot, Emma sprinted for her car, stumbling in her high heels. Even if she broke her leg, she was not going to stop until she was in that car.

Turning on the ignition, she jerked the gearshift into reverse and spun out of the parking lot. Looking back in her rearview mirror, she saw Mark standing on the sidewalk, hands in his pants’ pockets, staring after her.

Too close. Too close.

She had promised herself she wouldn’t become friendly with him. But she’d ended up telling him things she hadn’t confided to anyone, not even herself.

Her heart slammed against her chest. She almost ran a red light and the breaks squealed as she forced herself to slow down. She pulled over and stopped the car at the side of the road, trying to calm her nerves before she killed someone—probably herself.

“Oh-hh,” she groaned, and leaned her head against the steering wheel.

She brushed angrily at the tears falling down her cheeks. “I don’t believe in You, God. You’ve never been there for me. Why should I believe in You?”

Silence filled her heart. A dark, forbidding void that left her feeling vacant as she stared out her windshield.

Wiping her nose and eyes, she tried to calm her shaking hands and struggled to think of something else. She had two days before Mark came to pick her up to take her shopping. Two days to settle her nerves and gain control.

“I can do this.” She clenched her hand and pounded it against the dashboard. “I know I can do this. I won’t become emotionally involved with him and I won’t let him get close to me ever again.”

No matter what, she was not going to start to care for him or his sweet little daughter.




Chapter Five


Mark didn’t set the alarm on Friday nights. Saturday mornings he slept in, awakened by the sunshine filtering through the shutters in his bedroom. He stretched on the king-sized bed, enjoying some peace after a long, hectic week.

He had needed a good night’s sleep. So had Angie.

Today he was going shopping with Emma. The thought of seeing her again made him happy, an emotion he rarely felt these days.

After showering, he pulled on a pair of faded jeans and a blue T-shirt, then went downstairs and found Angie in the family room, watching cartoons.

“Hey, babe, how you doing today?” he asked as he clipped on his wristwatch.

Curled up on the couch with her dogs, she wore her pink fuzzy slippers and lacy jammies. “Fine.”

She sounded so grown-up. That was the worst part of this illness. It forced her to lose too much of her innocence.

“How about going to the Pancake House for breakfast?”

Pursing her lips together, she shook her head. “No, thanks. I’m not hungry.”

He sat beside her on the couch. Dusty nudged his arm and he petted the fluffy Maltese. “You know that’s the chemo talking, right? Remember, we talked about how you need to eat even when you don’t feel like it? You have to keep up your strength so your body can fight the tumor.”

She tugged at the tassels on the throw pillow. “I know, Dad. But when you just don’t feel like eating, it’s kind of hard to get any food down.”




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