Starting Now

by Debbie Macomber

  Ava avoided looking at her, but when she did, she offered Libby a shy smile.

  “We have over two hundred hats,” Casey announced proudly. “The hospital goes through them real fast.”

  “I think they share the hats with a number of other facilities in the Puget Sound area,” Lydia explained.

  Casey and Ava divided the load between them, carting it in two plastic bags.

  “Deliver the hats directly to Sharon Jennings on the third floor,” Lydia instructed. “Have reception notify Sharon and she’ll make sure you get passes.” Lydia walked them to the door and saw them out.

  The three started down the sidewalk past the flower shop. As an adult, Libby had never spent much time with kids and wasn’t sure how to start a conversation. She needn’t have worried—Casey liked to chatter.

  “Did you know I’m adopted?”

  “I didn’t,” Libby said.

  “I was twelve and came as a foster kid. Lydia and Brad wanted a baby but they got me instead. I have a little brother; he isn’t adopted—he’s from Brad’s first marriage. I have a real brother, too. He’s in jail right now. I write him and he’s happy that I’m part of a family.”

  “Oh. Does he need an attorney?” asked Libby, only half-joking.

  Casey laughed, apparently finding the offer amusing. “It’s too late for that. Lee’s getting out soon and is thinking about joining the army if he can. Brad told me the army has high standards these days and they might not take him.”

  “You have a brother, too, don’t you, Ava?” Libby asked, wanting to draw the other girl into the conversation.

  Ava nodded.

  “He’s two years older and a real pest,” Casey supplied. “Ava lives with her grandmother and her grandmother works.”

  “So you’re alone most of the day?” Libby turned it into a question, looking down at the young teen.

  Ava nodded. “She doesn’t get home until late, so I cook dinner.”

  “I bet she appreciates that.” After her mother died, Libby had taken over the responsibility of meals for her and her father. Her repertoire of recipes had been limited, but her father rarely commented or encouraged her. Perhaps that was why Libby never enjoyed spending time in the kitchen. No need, considering what an excellent cook Joe was. He’d done the majority of the cooking. Following the divorce she missed his home-cooked meals almost as much as she missed him.

  “Grandma doesn’t eat much,” Ava added. “After work she goes to the tavern to unwind with her friends.”

  “Oh.” Libby wasn’t sure what to say. This bit of information spoke volumes, and she had a sneaking suspicion that Ava’s home life wasn’t all that wonderful. “Where’s your father?”

  Ava shrugged. “Don’t know. I haven’t seen him since I was a kid.”

  But she was still a kid.

  The hospital sat at the crest of a hill in a district known as Pill Hill, just north of downtown Seattle. The last couple of blocks were a steep climb. Either Libby was in better shape than she realized or the hats were heavier than they looked because Ava seemed to have a difficult time keeping up with her and Casey.

  Seattle General’s front entrance came into view. “Do you know Sharon Jennings?” Libby asked.

  Casey nodded. “I went with Mom once when she dropped off the hats. I didn’t talk to Sharon, but I know what she looks like.”

  “We’ll find her,” Libby said confidently.

  The hospital’s glass doors automatically glided open as they approached. The information desk was just a few feet inside the entrance. Libby led the way and waited until the woman behind the counter finished her phone conversation.

  “How can I help you?”

  “We’re here to deliver preemie hats to Sharon Jennings,” Libby explained.

  The receptionist took their information and then contacted Sharon.

  “Third floor,” she said, as she handed them visitor badges. “Take the elevator on the right-hand side.”

  “Thank you.” Libby led the girls to the elevator, pushed the button, and waited.

  It arrived and they stepped inside. Just before the doors glided shut a physician entered. He glanced at the buttons but didn’t push one—he was apparently headed to the same floor they were. He looked at Libby and then the girls and then back at Libby. His gaze narrowed slightly before he looked away.

  Libby recognized him immediately. She’d seen him before, but she couldn’t recall where. Perhaps that look, or whatever it was, had been one of recognition, and he was trying to figure out where he knew her from.

  “I know you,” he said.

  “I recognize you, too.”

  He frowned again, with a faint look of disapproval.

  What an unfriendly man, Libby mused. Well, it takes all kinds. Then she remembered where she’d last seen him. He was the eye candy she’d been studying at the gym that very morning. “You work out at Frankie and Johnny’s,” she said. As soon as she spoke, Libby wished she’d kept her mouth closed.

  He clearly recognized her now, too, but apparently she must have irritated him in some way. He didn’t smile or comment.

  “What’s the matter, did I take the machine you wanted?” she asked, bristling. He probably thought she was fat. Seeing how perfect his body was in practically every way.

  He ignored her question.

  “You know Libby?” Casey asked him, apparently oblivious to the tension between them. The girl didn’t have a shy bone in her body.

  “I’ve seen her at the gym,” the doctor said, and grinned at the young teen. It was a really nice smile, and one he hadn’t bothered sharing with Libby. The sad part was that she wished he had. Now she was certain it was those extra pounds, or maybe he somehow knew she’d been unemployed for months. Libby crossed her arms protectively and then, realizing what she’d done, promptly dropped them again and squared her shoulders. She certainly didn’t need his approval.

  “I’m Casey and this is my friend Ava,” Casey continued brightly, all smiles.

  Ava gave him one of her timid looks.

  “Phillip Stone,” he said.

  Libby noticed how his gaze lingered on Ava and a frown briefly brought his brows together before he turned his attention back to Libby. It seemed like he was about to say something when Casey spoke.

  “We’re delivering preemie hats for the babies from the yarn store.”

  “Did you knit them yourselves?”

  “Not all of them,” Casey said, “but some.”

  Dr. Stone ignored Libby entirely. “That’s a terrific thing you’ve done. It’s important to keep the preemies warm. A lot of heat escapes through their heads, so the hats are very much appreciated.”

  “That’s what Mom said.”

  Phillip’s gaze went to Libby and once again he frowned. Libby was about to ask what his problem was when the elevator stopped and the doors slid open.

  Without another word, he stepped out and disappeared down the hall.

  Libby watched him go. What an unpleasant, egotistical man. He didn’t even know her and he’d managed to make her feel like scum.

  Perhaps he assumed she’d been hitting on him at the gym. That was ridiculous, although she had to admit that she’d used him as a distraction. She hadn’t been obvious about it; at least she hoped she hadn’t.

  Libby willingly admitted he was easy on the eyes, but that didn’t mean she was interested in him as anything more than a diversion. He’d seemed likable enough. Until now, that is.

  Watching the other men, Libby could tell some were there to amaze everyone else with how many pounds they could lift. They weren’t even subtle about it. Libby hadn’t caught the doctor glancing at himself in the mirror, nor did he appear to be a show-off. He was there to work out, just as she was. Nevertheless he’d been cute enough to attract her attention.

  Now that they’d met, she’d look elsewhere.

  “Hello, girls,” said the woman at the nurses’ station. “Lydia phoned to tell me you were on your way
.”

  “Sharon Jennings?” Libby asked.

  “That’s me.” Sharon was a middle-aged woman, dressed in a flowered smock and white pants. Her smile was ready and warm. “I see you met Dr. Stone.”

  “What’s his problem?” Libby asked, unable to hold back the question.

  “We call him Heart of Stone around here,” Sharon said, laughing.

  “I can see why,” Libby muttered. “He’s about as friendly as a rattlesnake.”

  “But he’s cute,” Casey countered, eager to defend the physician.

  “Yup. Real cute,” Sharon concurred. “And a great doctor.”

  “Why do you call him Heart of Stone?” Casey asked.

  Frankly, Libby was curious to know herself. Clearly he wasn’t the warmest person, but it sounded like there was more to it than that.

  “He breaks hearts. Plenty of women who work here have set their sights on Dr. Stone, but he isn’t interested. I suspect he had a bad experience with someone and avoids hospital relationships.”

  Apparently, he was looking to avoid relationships altogether, if his reaction to her was typical. The nerve of the man. Rarely had Libby taken a dislike to anyone the way she had old Heart of Stone. From the look of it, the feeling had been mutual.

  “We brought you more hats,” Casey said.

  “That’s wonderful.” Sharon took the two plastic bags and set them behind the counter.

  “I’m Libby Morgan.”

  “Glad to meet you, Libby.”

  “Can we look at the babies?” Ava asked.

  “Of course.” Sharon led them to the window that overlooked the nursery. “The newborns are here but the preemies are in a separate section.”

  The babies were lined up in neat rows in small cribs with the surnames posted on the headboards. Each one was swaddled in a blanket of either pink or blue.

  “They’re so cute,” Casey said, staring at them through the window.

  “That one is crying,” Ava said, pointing to the baby with the name Wilcox printed above his head. “Shouldn’t someone see what’s wrong?”

  “Crying is good for their lungs,” Sharon explained. “But we’re also short-staffed. We rely on volunteers to come in and rock the babies.”

  “Could I volunteer?” Casey asked. “I love babies.”

  “Sorry, sweetie, you have to be over twenty-one.”

  Libby noticed the rocking chair in the corner.

  Sharon must have followed her gaze because she looked at Libby and said pointedly, “Like I said, we could use a few more volunteers.”

  “Don’t look at me,” Libby said, pressing her hand over her chest. “I don’t know a thing about babies.”

  “You don’t need to,” Sharon insisted. “All that’s required is to hold the baby and rock. You’d be amazed how comforting it is. I swear the rockers get as much out of it as the rockees.”

  Comforting? Babies? Libby had given up her marriage because she’d insisted on delaying having children until her career was at the right point. Seeing these newborns stirred awake a long-buried desire. She couldn’t help but wonder what might have happened if she’d given in and had Joe’s baby. Well, it was a moot point now. Still, the thought lingered.

  “You might consider volunteering,” Sharon urged softly.

  The most astonishing thing happened to Libby—her breath caught in her throat as the suggestion took root. She’d taken up knitting, and now after only a few minutes in the hospital she was actually considering becoming a volunteer. Was this what Hershel meant when he suggested that she get a life?

  Chapter 5

  Phillip Stone stood and escorted the young couple to the door of his office. Friday morning he would be operating on their three-pound son, who had been born ten weeks prematurely. Baby Blaine had a defective heart valve, a not uncommon defect. Over the course of his career Phillip had done this same procedure more times than he could remember.

  Still, he’d never performed it on their son, and both parents looked as if they were about to cave in from anxiety and fear.

  “I’ll see you Friday,” Phillip said in his most reassuring voice.

  The wife paused and held his look. Her own eyes were rimmed with tears. “Dr. Stone, do you pray?”

  He debated on how best to answer. When he was a kid, he’d memorized the prayers his mother had taught him. She was Catholic and his father, well, his father wasn’t much of anything. His grandmother had given him a Bible for his high school graduation. He still had it … somewhere.

  “Annie.” The husband urged his wife toward the elevator.

  “This is our first baby,” the young mother said, her voice quivering. “He means the world to us.”

  “I pray,” Phillip said, after a lengthy pause. He hadn’t recently, but there’d certainly been times over the last thirty-nine years when he’d called upon God. Not always in the politest of terms, or in ways that might technically constitute prayer, but it was as close as he got.

  “Then pray on Friday,” she urged, before turning away and joining her husband.

  The couple entered the elevator. The husband placed his arm around his wife’s slim shoulders. Phillip noticed how she leaned into him, as though the love and strength of her mate was the only thing that could keep her upright.

  Their baby’s chances were good; Phillip didn’t anticipate complications. The boy would do fine … God willing.

  He spent the next hour doing paperwork and was surprised when he glanced up and saw that it was already after seven. He’d meant to leave earlier. Old habits die hard, harder than he realized. Finding balance in his life had demanded discipline and restraint. It was much too easy to fall back into the trap of staying late at the hospital and completely immersing himself in his work.

  He saved lives, and these babies needed him. What he’d discovered, though, much to his chagrin, was that he wasn’t much good to anyone if his entire focus remained in the hospital. After he and Heather split, he’d realized the problem was his. At the time, he’d felt she wanted more of him than he was willing to give.

  After the breakup another realization had hit him. Working such long hours, he’d completely lost sight of himself. Every day at the hospital he became enmeshed in the life-and-death drama of what was happening around him, taking no time to reflect on or absorb the impact of these events. He needed to get away, think, make time for himself and for a life outside the hospital.

  Since then, he’d given a lot of thought to his tendency to be so completely single-minded and focused on his work. He realized there was more to this personality trait of his than just pure dedication. Self-analysis wasn’t comfortable or especially easy, but he knew that if he was ever going to find fulfillment in life outside of work, then he was going to need to change. It struck him that he was the kind of person who found rigorous self-discipline and accomplishment actually easier than relaxation. He hadn’t gotten to the point where he was comfortable lowering his guard, but he was working on that.

  One of the first things he’d done was set a hard-and-fast rule that he had to leave Seattle General before seven o’clock. For a while, he’d cast about to find something other than work to occupy his time. That was when he’d stumbled upon the idea of sailing. He enjoyed the water, and being on either Puget Sound or Lake Washington looked exhilarating. So after much research and a series of sailing lessons, he’d bought his own sailboat and made a friend in the bargain. Phillip got along well with his sailing instructor, and the two often went out together for a couple of hours. They weren’t bosom buddies, but it felt good to hang out with Fred.

  Phillip spent many a summer evening on Lake Washington, soaking in the sunshine and the warm breeze. Recently he’d been invited to join a poker game with a group of other physicians. He’d accepted and enjoyed the camaraderie. Cards had never been his forte and he’d lost far more than he’d won, but being able to laugh with the guys was all the compensation he needed. The funny part was that despite the fact that he always e
njoyed himself, he often had to talk himself into going. At heart, he was still a loner.

  He logged off his computer, ignoring the long list of emails requiring his attention. They could easily wait until morning. Most evenings he grabbed a quick meal in the hospital cafeteria. The food wasn’t half bad; it was tastier than anything he could make himself and it was a damn sight more nutritious than anything he could pick up at a fast-food place.

  As he headed down the wide corridor he recognized several nurses. Since he’d started at the hospital a few of them had made it clear that they wouldn’t be opposed to seeing him outside of work. Rule number one in Phillip’s book was not to get involved with anyone in the medical profession. That was a lesson he’d learned early on in his career, and it’d stuck.

  Every now and again he wondered about Heather. They’d met in medical school, fallen in love, moved in together, and decided to marry when they finished their residencies. That was the original plan. But they both worked crazy hours and they barely saw each other. With so little time together it felt like they slipped out of sync—they practically had to start at square one on the rare days they both had off at the same time. He knew they were drifting apart but he didn’t realize how far until one day he returned to the apartment only to find it empty. Heather had moved out. He tried to talk to her, to reason things out, but she hadn’t listened.

  Fine. Whatever. He played it cool for a month or so, gave Heather space, and waited for her to come to her senses. Only she never did. The next thing he heard, Heather, the love of his life, had married another doctor and moved out of the state. Just like that.

  It took him six months to get over the shock of it. He dated again, but the results were mostly the same. Marsha Lynch, a reporter who worked for The Seattle Times, and Phillip had dated for almost a year before she called it quits. It’d shocked Phillip because he thought their relationship was going along just fine. Sure, he worked long hours, but that was to be expected with his profession. They’d actually discussed marriage at one point. When Marsha walked out she claimed marriage was out of the question. With tears in her eyes, she told him he was remote and too hard to get close to. She said he worked ridiculous hours, but she could live with that if he wasn’t so closed off when they were actually together. The ugly scene had lingered in his mind for months afterward.