The Healing Place Page 4

  “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 w
as 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 was
h. 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—”