by Peggy Webb
Moonlight coming through the window illuminated his profile, and she lay on her side with Ricky cuddled close, studying the man who turned her inside out.
“I’ll sleep here, you’ll be there, in case Ricky wakes.”
That’s what Joseph had said when they went inside his trailer. That and nothing more.
He’d made no attempt to kiss her again, no move to indicate that he had anything on his mind except the well-being of the child.
Noble and proper. That’s how Callie would view her current sleeping arrangement if she weren’t so honest. But she’d never lied to anybody, especially herself, and she wasn’t about to start now.
Certainly she wanted to be there for Ricky. But she was in Joseph’s trailer because she wanted to be with him. Even if she couldn’t be in his bed, she could be close enough to watch him sleep, to listen to him breathe.
Even to touch him if she wanted to.
Her hand stole from under the covers, reached across the way. And suddenly his was there, closing around hers, fingers linked, palms pressed close.
“I thought you were sleeping,” she said.
“No. Dreaming.”
He rolled onto his side facing her, and their hands swung in the space between the beds.
“We’ve made a bridge,” she said.
“I hope so.”
Ricky stirred, burrowing his little body closer to hers. She’d never thought of herself as maternal, but with the sleeping child next to her, she felt a kinship to mothers everywhere.
“What will happen to Ricky?” she said.
“Foster homes, probably.”
“I can’t bear to think of that.”
“As long as this area is quarantined, nothing will change.”
She tried to read his face in the silence, but there wasn’t enough light. He was wrong, of course. From the moment she came into his trailer, everything changed.
No matter how they viewed their relationship, their colleagues would take the obvious view: they were lovers.
Joseph had to know that: he was too smart not to. Personally she didn’t care what anybody thought or said about her as long as she was comfortable with herself.
“Callie, I’m glad you came out when you heard the child crying.”
“Ricky wasn’t the only reason I came out.”
“He wasn’t the only reason I asked you to stay.”
“I know.”
“If you weren’t over there, and he weren’t beside you…” Joseph squeezed her hand. “So many ifs.”
“Good night, Joseph. Sweet dreams.”
“You can count on it, Callie.”
Ricky was the first one awake. He sat up in bed, looked at the two doctors, and decided on the spot to adopt them. He climbed out of bed, stood exactly between their beds and gave them the first hint.
“Mommy and Daddy always kissed me good morning.”
He made his announcement in his loudest voice, and in very good English so they would understand. He laughed when they both sat up.
“Callie first,” Ricky said.
She hugged him when she kissed, and he liked that. She smelled nice, and he liked that, too. She kissed him and patted his head and kissed him again. She was pretty when she laughed.
The doctor was sitting on the bed watching them, and Ricky hadn’t decided exactly what to call him.
“I’m stealing all his sugar, Joseph. You’d better come and get yours before it’s all gone.”
Ricky decided to call him Joe.
“What’s stealing sugar, Joe?”
“It’s another name for kissing, probably learned from her Mississippi relatives. Why don’t you ask Callie the origin.”
“What’s orchin?”
“You started all this, Joe. I’m going to leave it with you while I go and roust Peg out of bed. Bye, sugar, I’ll see you later.” She waved to them at the door.
“Okay,” Joe said teasingly.
“I was speaking to Ricky.”
“You wound me.”
Callie put her hand on Joe’s forehead, then took his wrist and counted his pulse, just like she did in the hospital except it never took so long when she did it for Ricky.
“You’ll live,” she said.
“Yes, but will I be happy?”
“Time will tell,” she said.
After Callie left, Joe told him all about origin and beginnings and roots that had nothing to with stuff you planted in the garden, and for a little while Ricky forgot that he would never see his mommy and daddy again.
He had to stay with Sister Beatrice that day, and she was all right. She taught him a new song about six little ducks and told him stories about the three bears and a little girl called Goldilocks, but he liked Callie’s stories best.
Tonight he was going to ask her to tell another story, and then he was going to cuddle up close to her so he wouldn’t have bad dreams.
When it got dark he had dinner with Sister Beatrice and then she told him it was time for bed.
“Where’s Joe?” he asked.
“He’s still at the hospital. Don’t worry. I’ll stay right here until he gets back.”
She hugged him and he nearly smothered under her long robes. His mother had told him they were called habits, and then he wondered if they were bad habits. She was so pretty when she laughed, and then she’d explained how a nun’s habit was different from a bad habit like going to bed without saying your prayers.
“Can I wait to say my prayers until Joe and Callie come?” he asked.
“Callie won’t be coming here, only Doctor Swift,” she said, but Ricky knew better. “I think it’s best if you say your prayers before you go to sleep.”
“Okay.” Ricky knelt beside his bed and asked God to bless everybody he knew except Sister Beatrice who didn’t tell good stories.
Then he climbed into bed and shut his eyes, but he wasn’t about to go to sleep. He was saving his real prayers for when Joe and Callie came home.
Joseph knelt beside the sleeping child to take his pulse. At least that’s what he’d intended, but something happened when he got close. He was no longer a doctor caring for a patient: he was a man filled with tenderness and longing, tenderness for the small homeless boy and longing for things he’d told himself he could never have—a wife, a child, a family of his own.
He put his hand on the little forehead, and was relieved when it felt cool. Then he lifted the tiny hand and studied the little network of veins, the smooth brown skin, the plump fingers, and he was filled with wonder.
Such a miracle, a child. Such a perfect little being. What were his hopes, his dreams? How would life shape him?
Joseph would never know. As soon as his job here was over, he’d move on to the next one, and the next. On and on until he was a very old man, if the fates were kind and the Great Spirit smiled on him.
Old and alone.
Impatiently he shut out his thoughts, checked his watch and started counting the heartbeats.
“Joe?” Ricky sat up, rubbing his eyes and looking around. “Where’s Callie?”
“In her trailer with Peg.”
“I want Callie.”
“I do, too, but it’s bedtime, pal. Time for you to go back to sleep.”
“I saved my prayers for you and Callie.”
“Okay, pal, let’s hear them.”
“No, not till Callie comes.”
Joseph had no experience dealing with children. He was an only child, and after Maria died he avoided being around other people’s children. Ben had tried to draw him into his family life a couple of times—invited him to ball games and birthday parties—but Joseph always remained aloof.
Now he wished he’d taken Ben up on his offers. Here was a sleepy, querulous child—who had suffered loss that would fell most adults—making a simple request.
The one request Joseph had to deny.
“Listen, she’s worked very hard today and she’ll have to work very hard until all those people in the hospi
tal are well.”
Or dead. Joseph shook his head to clear it.
“She needs her sleep, and so do you.”
“I have to pray before I sleep or I’ll die and go to hell.” Ricky puckered up. “I want Callie.”
Joseph had seen the way Sister Beatrice looked at him when he came home. The damage was already done. What would one more night in his trailer matter?
With that, he made his way to Callie’s trailer.
“Callie, I need you.”
Joseph’s voice penetrated her sleep, and Callie was instantly alert. Almost as if she’d been waiting for him.
She flung aside the covers and slipped out the door. There he was, standing in the moonlight with a blanket wrapped around himself, a blanket with a hump that could be none other than little Ricky.
Callie had a hard time making her heart behave. Of course he was there because of the child, but he’d said, I need you.
I need you too, Joseph, she thought, but she wasn’t about to say the words aloud. She was too smart. Darkness brings out our fears as well as our dreams, her grandmother had told her, and now she was facing both, for Joseph was both dream and fear.
“I’ll come,” she said, and he nodded, then strode ahead of her toward his trailer.
The minute she stepped inside, the rest of the world vanished. Nothing existed for her except this child, this man and this moment.
“I didn’t want to wake you, Callie, but this is an emergency.”
Alarmed, she looked at the small boy cradled against Joseph’s shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
“Ricky’s crisis is not physical, it’s spiritual. He says he can’t say prayers without you, and if he doesn’t say his prayers he’s in mortal fear of eternal damnation.”
Callie suppressed a smile, and Ricky leaned back so he could look at Joseph.
“What’s infernal dalmation?”
“This is going to be a long night.” Joseph’s gaze swept Callie from tip to toe. “A very long night.”
Heat rose in Callie, and she pushed her heavy hair back from her flushed face.
“We’ll talk about all that tomorrow, Ricky,” she said. “Let’s hear those prayers so we can all get a good night’s sleep.”
Joseph set Ricky in the middle of the bed, but he barreled out then faced them, hands on his hips.
“We have to all hold hands,” he announced.
“Like this?” Callie caught one hand and Joseph the other.
“No. In a circle.”
When Joseph caught her hand, she felt the shock all the way to her toes. Even the roots of her hair tingled.
“God, it’s me—Ricky—and my new mommy and daddy.”
A little boy blurted out his dream, and Callie squeezed Joseph’s hand so hard her knuckles turned white. Oh, God, what were they going to do?
“Bless the sick people and make them well. Bless the nuns…Sister Beatrice, too, and help her learn good stories.”
The little hand squeezed hard, and Callie thought his prayers were over.
“God, I saved the best for last,” Ricky whispered “Bless Joe and Callie best in the world. Amen.”
Ricky was asleep by the time they’d tucked the covers under his chin. Callie turned to Joseph to ask the question burning in her mind, but one look at him, and her words died.
He cupped her face, then tangled his hands in her long hair and gently drew her toward him. Her white gown brushed against his thighs. The heat of him seared her, even through the cotton material.
“I can’t look at you without wanting you,” he whispered. “All of you.”
She was tempted beyond imagining. How was she going to endure the night?
“This is neither the time nor the place, Joe.”
His grip tightened and he tugged her so close her breasts were flattened against his chest. Desire raged through her so hot and heavy she swayed. Joseph slid his hands downward shaping her slender neck, her narrow shoulders.
Callie held her breath, fighting temptation. But for the child beside them, she would be lost.
His fingers were on her buttons, then on her skin, hot as they moved across her throat, burning as they shaped the mounds of her breasts, searing as they massaged her nipples.
She had died and was in heaven. There was nothing in the world except stars, brilliant as they exploded around her, and the man, the passionate, primal man.
He lowered his head and took her nipples, first one and then the other. His mouth was magic, his tongue, fire.
Callie melted, her insides writhing and twisting. She wove her hands through his hair, pulling him closer, murmuring soft words of encouragement.
Nothing could stop them now. Nothing. Not even the child sleeping in the bed beside them.
She whispered his name, followed by a soft plea. For mercy? For more?
She was beyond knowing, beyond caring.
He knelt in front of her and buried his face in the soft folds of her gown. She felt his breath on her belly, and it turned her to flame.
“Oh, Callie, you make me want so much.”
“I know, I know.”
She knelt in front of him and they held each other close, foreheads touching, swaying like reeds caught in the wind. From the bed came the soft sounds of the sleeping child.
“You are right, Callie. This is neither the time nor the place.”
He pulled her to her feet and pressed his lips to her forehead.
“Ricky needs you. If you’re willing to risk the censure, I’d like you to continue staying with us,” he said.
“I’ve already taken the risk, and I don’t give a rat’s behind about what other people say. Of course, I’ll continue coming…for the child’s sake.”
“This won’t happen again. I promise.” He didn’t have to elaborate. She knew what he was talking about. “Good night, Callie. Sleep well.”
She doubted if she would sleep at all. Easing back the covers, she crept in beside Ricky and took comfort from his small warm body. A cloud passed over the moon, and she could see nothing of Joseph except a mound in the darkness.
Would there ever be a time and a place for them?
Chapter Eight
“What do you two do over there every night?” Peg asked.
She and Callie were in the tiny office on one of their rare breaks from caring for the sick. Ordinarily Callie would ignore a question that personal, but Peg was motivated by concern, not curiosity.
“We don’t do anything except take care of Ricky. Poor little kid.” It was true: she and Joseph hadn’t touched since that night Ricky prayed that they would become his parents.
The strain was telling on Callie. She was exhausted, physically and emotionally. She propped her feet on a stool and leaned her head against the back of the chair.
“Do you ever think about having children, Peg?”
“Yes. All the time. Mike wants to start our family now.”
“And you?”
“Part of me does, part of me wants this.” Peg swept spread her arms to encompass the makeshift hospital, the sophisticated equipment, the safety suit. “This work is so exciting. I can’t imagine giving it up.”
“Why not have both?”
Peg snorted. “Are you kidding?”
Callie smiled as if to say, of course, I’m kidding. The truth was, she’d been thinking about that for days now, about having both a child and a career.
Not for Peg, though. For herself.
Every day she grew more attached to Ricky. He was smart and funny and he had a way of attaching himself to her heart that made it impossible to think of a future without him. She was thinking of adopting him.
She had told no one, not even Joseph. What would he say? What would he do?
Nothing, probably. He was part of her heart, but he wasn’t part of her plans. Both of them were very clear on that.
Callie was opting for single parenthood. Why not? It was happening more and more: career women who didn’t want the commitment of marr
iage but wanted the satisfaction of motherhood were adopting children.
“Speaking of Mike,” Peg said. “How soon do you think this will be over?”
“It’s hard to say….”
A loud commotion outside stopped Callie.
“I demand answers! The whole city demands answers!”
Callie and Peg rushed to the door in time to see a reporter in boots, gloves, mask and makeshift safety suit confronting Dr. Joseph Swift.
“Out!” Joseph yelled. “Out!”
“The public has a right to know what’s happening here.”
Icicles were cozy compared to the stare Joseph gave the reporter.
“The fool,” Peg muttered. “Doesn’t he know what he’s stepped into?”
“That’s just the problem,” Callie said. “I think he does.”
Instead of retreating, the reporter advanced.
“My lord, look at that. He’s got more courage than brains.” Peg opened the door, but Callie pulled her back.
“Wait. We can’t risk being cornered and questioned.”
As they watched, Joseph turned on his heel and stalked off. Within seconds guards were strong-arming the reporter out the door, through the empty lot and over the barricades.
“Now what?” said Peg.
“Now we return to work. Joseph will handle this.”
There were three TV sets in the mayor’s office, and every one of them was tuned to the six o’clock news where Dr. Joseph Swift was the lead story.
Grim-faced and sober, Mayor Jim Dillard and Joseph sat on two padded leather chairs listening.
Mac Sanford, the reporter who had breached security at the hospital, led the way.
“The big question tonight is, what’s going on in Houston’s east side? There’s a hospital over there—behind barricades—full of the sick and the dying. And presiding over it all is the world’s top virologist, Dr. Joseph Swift of the National Institute of Virology.”
The mayor’s face whitened. “He’s done his homework,” he muttered.
The cameras panned in for a close-up of Mac Sanford.
“Virology is the study of viruses, and when I found Dr. Joseph Swift he was wearing a safety suit. So was everybody in that well-guarded, secret hospital.
