To Heal A Heart (Love Inspired)

by Arlene James

  Hurrying along the sidewalk, he told God silently that he wasn’t trying to circumvent His will, that he would accept it without question if she wasn’t where he hoped to find her, but he also didn’t hesitate to ask that she be there. His pulse was racing more than necessary when he reached the square. Pausing, he shaded his eyes against the autumn sun—he’d forgotten his shades in his haste—and surveyed the area. She was sitting on one end of a concrete ledge on the other side of the square. He almost dropped with relief.

  Thank You. Thank You. Thank You.

  He pulled a deep breath, slipped his hands into the pockets of his pants and strolled toward her with a studied nonchalance that he certainly didn’t feel. He was halfway across the square when she looked up, turned her head and spotted him. She didn’t acknowledge his presence in any way, but she didn’t get up and leave, either; as he drew near, she lifted her gaze from her sandwich to his face again and nodded. Even though her usual smile was missing, he tried not to let it bother him, but his greeting was tentative nonetheless.

  “Hello.”

  “Hello.” She looked back to her sandwich, undecided for a moment, and then grimly bit off a small piece of it. He wandered closer. Chewing, she slid down a little, though there were yards of room on the wide ledge. She swallowed and said, “Have a seat.”

  Wary of spooking her into flight again, Mitch tried not to let his pleasure or hopefulness show as he hitched a leg up onto the ledge and scooted into place. They were actually sitting on top of a low wall that shielded the steps leading down into the underground passageways linking some of the downtown buildings. She almost had her back to him, but not enough to prevent his joining her.

  He realized suddenly that he hadn’t thought at all about what he was going to say to her because he hadn’t really expected to see her again. Making a quick decision, he ignored all that had happened before—her running away and then avoiding him—in favor of simple pleasantries.

  “How have you been?” Okay, not so simple, perhaps.

  “All right,” she said, not looking at him.

  He took that at face value. She wasn’t fine, she wasn’t awful, she was just okay.

  “Me, too,” he replied, adding, “Busy, as usual.”

  She adjusted her seat on the cold concrete and nibbled at her sandwich. “What happened with your Peeping Tom?”

  He savored her interest for a moment before answering. “He pleaded guilty to a minor offense after one of his victims decided to press charges.”

  Piper cut him a wry, knowing glance. “Did you have a hard time talking her into it?”

  His grin flashed before he could stop it. “Nope.”

  She disciplined a smile and arched a fine brow. “Is it enough to get your client the counseling he needs?”

  “My client’s husband, actually, and yes, it is. His court-appointed attorney made it a condition of his probation.”

  She turned her head, fixing him with an appreciative stare. “And was that difficult for you to arrange?”

  He tried not to feel smug or prideful. “It was, actually. The court probably would have doled out probation without counseling if his lawyer hadn’t asked for it, but I managed to convince her to fill out the paperwork and chase down the necessary signatures.”

  Piper hitched a shoulder contemplatively. “What did you have to promise her?”

  “Nothing much—just the usual quid pro quo.”

  Piper shifted so that she was facing forward, and he silently admired her profile: sleek head, thick hair plaited flat against her skull revealing one dainty ear, then hanging loose from her nape to the bottoms of her shoulder blades. He appreciated her smooth forehead, the slight indentation of a wide, almond-shaped eye fringed with glinting copper-gold lashes, the delicate bridge and tilt-tipped nub of her nose and the lush contours of her full mouth. Her slightly pointed chin seemed to lack its usual stubborn jut.

  He wanted to put his arms around her, tell her that everything was going to be fine, for he knew without doubt that she was deeply troubled. He assumed that such an embrace would be unwelcome, though. She sighed, looking so unbearably forlorn that he almost put that assumption to the test.

  Then she shocked him by saying, “I’m a nurse, you know, not a glorified clerk.” She put her head down. “Guess I’m having a difficult time making the adjustment to the new job.”

  A nurse. He’d thought that insurance had always been her field. Then again, lots of nurses worked for insurance companies in managed care. He cleared his throat and gathered his thoughts.

  “I take it you worked with patients before.”

  She nodded and looked down at the sandwich she obviously didn’t want. “I’ve always worked in a hospital until now.” She tossed him a wry smile that didn’t have much besides irony in it. “I thought this would be a good change of pace.”

  “But you miss the old job,” he surmised.

  She laid aside her sandwich with a grimace. “Frankly, reviewing cases is a bore.”

  “It’s important, though. You’re still making a genuine contribution.”

  “Am I? I don’t know.”

  “Then why not go back to what you love? The hospitals around here are always looking for help.”

  She shook her head firmly. “No.”

  That didn’t make a lot of sense to him. “Look,” he argued gently, “if the new job isn’t a good fit, then just change.”

  “Maybe I haven’t given it enough time,” she said listlessly. “Besides, it wouldn’t look good on my résumé—leaving after only a few weeks.”

  “So stick with it awhile longer, then go back,” he suggested.

  She looked away as if scrutinizing a distant future—or was it the past? Then she abruptly dropped her gaze to her lap.

  “We’ll see.”

  She seemed so sad that he took a chance by reaching for her hand. Gratified when she didn’t immediately pull away, he clasped it in both of his.

  “If it makes you feel any better, I’m going to pray for you regularly from now on.”

  Her smile trembled. “Thank you, Mitch. That’s very kind after…” Biting her lip, she ducked her head. “It’s not you,” she told him softly. “It’s me. It’s always been me.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said gently.

  She tilted her head back, gulping air as if trying to keep tears at bay.

  “I’m going to stop feeling sorry for myself,” she muttered fiercely. “I am absolutely going to stop this.”

  He chuckled in sympathy. “I find that a little distraction helps.”

  “Oh?” she returned lightly. Then she added, “What would you suggest?”

  His heart thumped, kicking his brain into high gear. She had opened a door, through which he was quite eager to carefully pass.

  “Uh, music.” Yes, that was good. He knew a little something of her tastes. “I have tickets to the Meyerson Symphony Center Tuesday performances.”

  He didn’t. What he meant was that his parents had a subscription and he often, sometimes, went in one or the other’s place. He felt sure that they’d give up both seats for a good cause, and he certainly couldn’t think of a better one than this. He didn’t bother explaining all that to Piper, though, and as it turned out, he didn’t have to.

  Her face lit with the first genuine smile he’d seen from her today, and her hand flexed between his. “That sounds wonderful!”

  He laughed. “It is. I mean, it will be—if you’ll go with me.”

  She leaned in a bit, a glimmer of the Piper with whom he’d become familiar, and confided teasingly, “I did assume that you were inviting me.”

  “Absolutely.” He couldn’t stop grinning. It was altogether too obvious of him, but he just couldn’t help himself.

  She cocked her head inquiringly, then after a moment asked, “What time?”

  “Ah!” He felt like the biggest dolt around. “I should pick you up, oh, about seven-thirty. Tomorrow evening. I did say that, didn’t I�
�Tuesday?”

  She grinned. “You did, yes. So tomorrow evening at half past seven.”

  “Unless you want to go to dinner first?”

  She laughed. “Eating again.”

  He remembered what she’d said before about sharing so many meals, given the relatively short amount of time they’d spent together. “Right.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Let’s skip it. I mean, by the time I can get home from work it’ll be going on six, and I want to have time to dress. It’s not formal, is it?”

  “Oh, no. Semi, at best. Some folks show up in their jeans.” He shrugged, adding, “Wear whatever you like.”

  “I’m correct in assuming that you won’t show up in your jeans, aren’t I?”

  “Only if you want me to.”

  She shook her head. “You tell me what you usually wear.”

  He shrugged. “Suit.”

  “And tie?”

  “Not always. Sometimes I wear a pullover under my jacket.”

  “Okay,” she said. “I’ll be appropriately dressed and waiting at half past seven.”

  “Better make it seven,” he said on second thought, “if that gives you enough time. I want to find a good parking spot. Otherwise, we could be all night getting out of the lot.”

  “I can manage seven,” she agreed readily. “Oh, and I’d better give you the code to the security gate.”

  Mitch smiled. “All right.”

  She recited the sequence of numbers, which he instantly committed to memory. He repeated them back to her.

  “That’s it,” she confirmed, adding playfully, “You’re my first breach of security.”

  Mitch felt for a moment as if he could walk on air. Then she pulled her hand from his, picked up her sandwich and remarked that the weather was unusually fine today.

  “Never seen finer,” he told her honestly, remarking silently that this might well be the best day in recent memory.

  Melissa helped her dress for the evening. She insisted that Piper wear the long-sleeved, form-fitting orange top. They settled on a slender, ankle-length black skirt and a long black scarf to go with it. Accompanied by black, wedge-heeled shoes, matching stockings and a silver chain with a turquoise pendant, the outfit seemed stylish, even dramatic, without being overly dressy.

  They wrangled over her hair, but Melissa won in the end, simply because they ran out of time. After laboring for what seemed like hours, Melissa had just pronounced her chignon complete when the doorbell rang. Melissa went to answer it while Piper took a final look at the twisted and coiled mass from which tendrils drifted artfully, one long tress snaking from its very center. It was much more elaborate than her usual confining braid, and a tad trendy for her taste, but it would have to do.

  She sighed with resignation even as she heard Melissa introduce herself while letting in Mitch. His deep voice replied, and Piper was aware of a fluttery feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  She briefly closed her eyes in a bid for courage, wondering again if she had made the right decision. His invitation had seemed like a Godsend yesterday in the square, an opportunity to get her life back on a familiar, even keel, and yet she was all too aware that Mitch Sayer represented some danger to her. What that was she could not exactly determine, and truthfully she almost didn’t care any longer.

  Life had somehow gotten ridiculously complicated, and she wanted relief in a half-comfortable form. Any danger that he represented seemed a suitable price to pay for an evening of sedate classical music. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about going deaf from the experience!

  Leaving her tiny bathroom, she swept a small black leather handbag from atop her rented dresser and strode into the living area. Mitch stood with his back to her, his hands in the pants pockets of his expensive black suit as he conversed with Melissa.

  “That’s the beauty of a small apartment house,” he was saying. “The neighbors get to know one another.”

  Before Melissa could reply, he turned to greet Piper.

  “Ready as I’m ever going to be,” she announced, too nervous to let herself register his expression. Instead, she fiddled with the chain strap on her handbag, settling it on one shoulder, then checked the lay of the scarf, which she had simply draped around her neck in front, leaving the long ends to dangle down her back.

  Belatedly, she realized that the room had quietened into an unnatural silence. Glancing up, she caught Melissa’s eye. Folding her arms smugly, her friend lifted an eyebrow and gave her head a slight nod in Mitch’s direction. Piper steeled herself and pivoted. He stood there in the middle of her floor with his mouth open, one hand resting on the front of the sleek, ice-blue pullover under his suit coat.

  “I think you knocked his eyeballs right out of his head,” Melissa muttered.

  “Umm.” Mitch grinned sheepishly in agreement.

  Piper rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “I guess I look okay, then, huh?”

  “No,” he said, quietly serious, “you look stunning.”

  Her smile widened. “Stunning? Really?”

  His gaze swept her appreciatively. “And then some.”

  “Why, thank you.”

  Melissa made a show of buffing her fingernails on her sleeve. “My work here is done.”

  Laughing, Piper crossed the room to kiss her friend’s cheek. “Get out of here before your head swells up so big you can’t force it through the door.”

  “The door wouldn’t dare get in my way,” Melissa joked dramatically, dancing to it and pulling it open. “Now, remember, children, the coach turns back into a pumpkin at midnight.”

  “Yes, fairy godmother,” Piper said, tongue in cheek. “Thank you, fairy godmother. Goodbye, fairy godmother.”

  “Ta,” Melissa said, fluttering her fingers at them as she pulled the door closed.

  Piper laughed. Mitch just shook his head. “Honestly, you look beautiful.”

  “Honestly, I thank you.”

  “I mean, you always look beautiful,” he amended, “but tonight especially so.” Then he offered his arm. “Shall we?”

  Piper slipped her hand around the crook of his elbow, quipping, “Those parking spaces are filling up as we speak.”

  “Funny, I don’t really care anymore,” he said as he led her toward the door. “I think I’d like being stuck in a parking garage with you. Or anywhere else, for that matter.”

  She didn’t know what to say to that, so she just ducked her head and let herself be swept out into the courtyard.

  The Meyerson was a wonder, an architectural and acoustical jewel with all the finest amenities. Seated comfortably in the eleventh row, with Mitch at her side, Piper felt a certain reverence in the great hall. People spoke in hushed, respectful tones even as they shifted to and fro in search of seats and companions. Mitch was right about one seeing every mode of dress, from cowboy hat and boots to the understated tuxedo. The majority, however, were dressed as she and Mitch were. Piper had never felt more attractive or more eager for an evening of Mendelssohn and Mozart.

  The music was breathtaking. She had never experienced a full, live professional orchestra before, and from the moment the musicians began to tune their instruments, Piper was enraptured.

  “Now, this is more my speed,” she murmured in the midst of the first selection, wondering how she had ever let herself be talked into nightclub-variety rock music.

  Mitch bent his head to hers, whispering, “Did you say something?”

  “It’s wonderful,” she told him softly. “I’m so glad you asked me.”

  He folded her hand in his. “Makes two of us.”

  During the break she had to be coaxed to stand and stretch her legs, but she didn’t want to leave her seat even for the promise of drinks in the beautiful lobby. A few others seemed of like mind, though most crowded the aisles, surging toward the concessions.

  A small, elderly man accompanied by a child rose from the seat in front of them, stretched and turned to greet Mitch with a handshake. Outfitted in a t
uxedo that had seen better days, not to mention a better fit, he wore a dapper blue bow tie, presumably to match his eyes.

  “Mitchell.” He ogled Piper openly, craning his balding head around rather stiffly. “I see that you’re not with one of your parents this evening.”

  “No, sir. Not tonight.”

  “And for good reason, it would appear.”

  Mitch’s mouth quirked with a grin. “Very good. Allow me to introduce her. Mr. Ivan Sontag, meet Miss Piper Wynne.”

  The elderly gentleman took her hand in his own gnarled one and lifted it almost to his mouth, bowing over it in a very courtly manner. “My pleasure, Miss Wynne.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Your name inspired by the bird, I take it?”

  “It is, yes.”

  “Well, then, you have something in common with my great-grandson here, Robin Sontag Phillips.” He nudged the sloe-eyed child with the lank, slicked-back hair. “Make your greeting, Robin. Remember what Papa has taught you?”

  The boy displayed all the characteristics of Down’s syndrome. Sweetly compliant, he folded an arm across his middle and bobbed a bow. Piper smiled.

  “Hello, Robin.”

  “How do you do.” He looked up at his great-grandfather expectantly and received a pat as reward.

  “You’re looking very handsome tonight, Robin,” Mitch complimented, taking in the smartly tailored tux and pin-tucked shirt.

  The child beamed. “Thank you.”

  “I especially like the red bow tie.”

  Robin stroked the red silk proudly, then he pointed at Piper. “Her hair’s pretty.”

  “Why, thank you, Robin,” Piper said.

  “I have a girlfriend,” he announced with a giggle.

  Ivan Sontag chuckled and gathered his great-grandchild close to his side. “She’s a very pretty little thing, too,” he said affectionately.

  “Papa spoils me,” Robin confessed happily.

  “And you spoil Papa,” the old man returned, prompting the boy to clasp his arms about the elder’s waist.

  “Papa’s old,” the boy stated baldly. “He’s ninety!”