janet dailey- the healing touch

by Janet Dailey

  "Not interested in having a dog, are you?" He gave her a beguiling smile and held the puppy out to her. "Here, I'll give him to you for a birthday present. Happy birthday, Rebecca! Don't ever say I never gave you anything."

  She laughed and shook her head. "Nice try, but my birthday was four months ago."

  "Happy Thanksgiving? Merry Christmas, maybe?"

  The puppy was cute and the offer tempting. But Rebecca had learned long ago that she couldn't adopt every cute, four-legged creature that needed a home. "Nope," she said. "You found him. You are responsible for him. I'm sure you'll find him an excellent home."

  "But how? I'm new in town. I don't know anyone."

  "Gee, what a great opportunity to meet your neighbors!"

  He scowled at her and raised one eyebrow. "I'm learning something about you, Rebecca Barclay. You are not a nice lady."

  "I'm a very nice lady. But I'm not going to puppy-sit for you."

  Rebecca enjoyed watching the wheels turning in his head. He was in a difficult position, to be sure, but she didn't intend to help him out of it. So many times she had witnessed the power of a small, whimpery fur ball to melt a heart encased in ice. Nothing broke down the barriers faster than the disarming innocence and charm of a puppy or kitten.

  Michael Stafford needed this pup more than the dog needed him, whether he knew it or not. Even if only for a few hours.

  "Take him home with you, hide him in your room so that Katie doesn't see him, and by tomorrow morning you'll probably have a great plan."

  Michael sighed and tucked the dog back inside his jacket. "Yeah, sure. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving Day. Unless I can truss him up like a turkey, no one is going to be interested."

  She stood, banded him a bag full of puppy formula and ushered him to the door.

  "Hey, wait a minute! I know what you can do!" she said brightly.

  He perked up instantly, gullible and hopeful. "What? What can I do?"

  "He's already black. Just stick a white collar on him and pass him off as a pilgrim."

  Chapter Six

  Michael hung up the telephone and flopped back on his bed, exhausted. Beneath the covers he could feel a soft wet nose, sniffing at his ankle. The tiny lump under the blanket slowly moved up his pajama leg to his knee.

  "Don't tell me...you're hungry again?" He reached between the sheets and pulled the pup out by the loose scruff of his neck. He held the animal up to his face and looked him in the eye. "I just fed you at seven, and six, and five, and four, and... no wonder I'm tired. I don't remember Katie being this much trouble when we first brought her home."

  Michael had to admit that she might have been this difficult, but he wouldn't have known. Those were the old days when he and a lot of other men believed that parenting young children was a pastime only for women. Beverly had been the one to roll out of bed at all hours of the day and night for feedings, changings, fanny pattings and lullabies.

  Now, looking back, Michael wasn't particularly proud of his record. He could have helped a bit more. Who was he kidding? He could have helped a lot more.

  Reaching for the miniature baby bottle, which he had wrapped in a heating pad to keep it warm, he wondered if that had been such a great idea. Last night it had seemed brilliant, but he had been half-asleep. This morning the concept seemed dubious, maybe even dangerous.

  "Here you go, Bruiser," he said, popping the nipple into the dog's mouth. "Chugalug. At least somebody will get to eat today."

  He had spent the past hour on the phone, calling around for a reservation at a restaurant for Thanksgiving dinner. But he had found only three establishments that were open and serving, and they were all booked solid. Even thinly veiled bribes to the maitre d' had done no good.

  Grocery stores were closed, even the convenience stores. So much for the fancy microwave dinners bit He was in trouble. Katie wasn't going to take this well at all.

  A knock on the door startled him. "Daddy, can I talk to you?"

  He pulled the bottle from the puppy's mouth and tucked both it and the dog under the blankets again. "Sure, come on in."

  The door opened and Katie appeared, wearing her pajamas, her beautiful black curls tousled. "Whatcha doin'?" she asked, her voice still bed-drowsy.

  "Doing? Ah.. .nothing. Why do you ask?"

  She gave him a suspicious once-over. "No reason," she said slowly. "I was just making conversation. But now that you mention it, what are you doing? You look guilty."

  "Guilty? Why would I look guilty?"

  The puppy, unhappy about having had his breakfast interrupted, let out a loud squeak. The blanket did little to muffle the protest. Katie's eyes widened, and she was instantly alert.

  "What was that?" she said, hurrying to the side of his bed.

  "What was what?"

  "That noise. It sounded like... like..."

  "I coughed, okay? It came out wrong."

  "No way. Not even you can make a sound like that. It's something little. Something cute. I can tell."

  She got down on her hands and knees and searched under the bed. Michael used the opportunity to peek beneath the covers and find the pup. Hoping to appease it, he stuck the tip of his finger into its mouth. But the dog had quickly learned the difference between a nipple that would give milk and a finger that wouldn't. He promptly spit it out and began to squeak again.

  This time Katie had no problem identifying the source. Michael grabbed her hand just before she yanked back the covers.

  "Now, you have to understand, Katie, that we're only baby-sitting. We can't keep this for our own, so don't even think about it. Okay?"

  "Okay," she replied, straining to see under the blanket.

  "Katie, I mean it. You already have a pet and—"

  "Ooo-ooh, it's ado-o-rable!" She lifted the pup gently and kissed the top of his head. "You got me a puppy for Thanksgiving! Thank you, Daddy!"

  "No, that's not it at all! I discovered him in the alley behind the showroom last night. I'm going to find a home for him, a really good home, today."

  Her face fell, her smile evaporated. "Oh."

  He felt like an ogre, the worst father on the face of the earth. But what could he do? With Rosebud, Katie really didn't need a dog. She was too young to take responsibility for both animals, and he was far too busy.

  "So," she said, "are we going to take him to his new home before or after we eat our turkey dinner?"

  "Turkey dinner... ah... well..."

  "We are going to have turkey, aren't we, Daddy? And pumpkin pie? We always have pumpkin pie. It's my favorite."

  "Don't worry, kiddo," he said with far more assurance than he felt. "I have something special planned."

  She cocked her head and gave him a scrutinizing look that made him want to crawl under the covers. "Do you really?" she said. "Or did you just forget all about Thanksgiving?"

  "Forget? Do you really think I'd forget Thanksgiving?"

  She nodded.

  "Well," he replied indignantly. "Now I know what you think of me. Forget all about Thanksgiving, really" He reached for the dog and popped the bottle into its perpetually hungry mouth. "Boy, are you going to feel bad when you see what I have planned! Forget, indeed."

  She gave him another probing look, then turned and slowly left the room.

  Michael groaned. "Bruiser, ol' pal, we've certainly stepped in it this time."

  Michael could have sworn the dog gave him a look that was very similar to the one on Katie's face.

  "All right, all right," he said with a sigh. "You had nothing to do with it. I'm in there all by myself."

  Since the other vets in town had families, Rebecca always offered to be the one on call when a holiday rolled around. Holidays were just like any other day to her, she had decided, and there was no point in depriving others of the opportunity to be with their spouses and children.

  Somebody had to be available. Unfortunately, accidents and illnesses didn't take time off just because someone had declared a national holiday.
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br />   "Just another day," she whispered as she stood at her living room window, wearing her terry-cloth robe and slippers, and holding her coffee cup.

  It would be so easy to simply sit at home, missing Tim, and feeling sorry for herself. But she had learned long ago that handling the situation in that way wasn't to her advantage. If she did, it took her days to crawl up out of her depression. Trial and error had taught her that it was better to avoid slipping down into that emotional mire in the first place.

  With a pager, she wasn't confined to the house, but as always, she faced the dilemma of where to go. Stores and amusement facilities were closed. Her friends were visiting with their own families. Tim's relatives and her own lived on the East Coast, too far away to consider dropping by for a turkey drumstick.

  "What to do, where to go?" she whispered.

  Suddenly, she thought of Michael Stafford and his new charge. How were they getting along? Had they made it through the night?

  Of course, they had. But she decided she had to go out to Casa Colin a and check on them. After all, it was the only neighborly thing to do.

  "Chinese food, for Thanksgiving? This is your special surprise? Oh, Daddy, you really blew it this time."

  Katie stared down at her chicken chow mein and sweet and sour chicken, both of which Michael had tried in vain to convince her were turkey. The kid had pretty sensitive taste buds and wasn't that easily fooled.

  In fact, he didn't believe he had fooled her about anything today. She knew exactly what had happened, and his pretending otherwise had only made the situation worse.

  "Come on, kiddo," he said, reaching across the table for her small hand. "It isn't what we eat, is it? Thanksgiving is supposed to be a day when we count our blessings. We can do that whether we're eating turkey, or hamburgers, or chow mein. Right?"

  She nodded.

  "Then let's think of some things we're thankful for."

  "I'm thankful for Rosie, and Mrs. Bridget and Mr. Neil, and you, of course, and Dr. Rebecca."

  Michael named off his list which included Katie and all of her favorite people as well as Mrs. Abernathy.

  The ritual took less than five minutes, and with the traditional stuff out of the way, Michael was at a loss as to how to proceed with the festivities. Katie was obviously still upset with him, and he wasn't naive enough to think it had anything to do with the lack of pumpkin pie on the table.

  Inside his jacket, which he had refused to remove, Bruiser had wakened from his nap and was beginning to wriggle around. Michael certainly hadn't wanted to bring a puppy into a restaurant, but what else could he do? The little guy was too young to be left at home for that long, and the weather had turned chilly, so he couldn't leave him in the car.

  Glancing around at the red, black and gold decor, and the tables—all empty, except theirs—Michael felt another rush of shame. He loved his daughter so much. Why hadn't he arranged a traditional Thanksgiving for her? All in all, he considered himself a responsible sort. He never forgot a shipment or delivery date at work. Never. So how could he overlook something like this?

  "Daddy," Katie said, "can I ask you something?"

  "Sure, kiddo." He braced himself because he could tell by the sadness in her eyes that it was something painful.

  "Now that Mom's gone..." She paused and swallowed hard. "I guess we're not like a real family anymore, right?"

  Braced or not, he was thrown for an emotional loop by her question. He couldn't blame her for asking such a thing, but her words still stung.

  "Sure we are, Katie," he replied. "I mean, we aren't the all-American family with a mom and dad, three kids and a dog. But we live together, we love each other, we try to do what's best for each other. I think that makes us a family, even if there's only two of us."

  When she didn't reply, he nudged her under the table with his foot. "What do you think?"

  After a long hesitation, she said, "I don't think we really are, 'cause we don't do the things that a real family does together."

  "Like what? Besides eating turkey on Thanksgiving, that is."

  "Like going on vacations, going to Disneyland, playing games at home on Saturday night, camping out, you know... stuff like that."

  "Stuff like we used to do before Mom got sick, right?"

  She nodded. "You don't even make your pineapple pancakes on Sunday morning anymore. I really liked those."

  Tears welled up in her eyes and seemed to spill over into his. The chow mein was suddenly difficult to swallow.

  Pineapple pancakes. He had made them for Beverly on their first weekend together and had won her heart forever. They were a Sunday treat every week for as long as they had been together. Until she had gone to the hospital that last time. He hadn't even thought of them since.

  "Katie, I'm so sorry. I can see I have some explaining to do." He thought for a moment, then continued, "What would you do if you found yourself face-to-face with something that really, really frightened you?"

  "Something really scary?"

  "Well, let's just say it's something that scares you."

  She bit her lower lip, concentrating, trying to come up with the right answer. "I guess I'd either hide or try to run away."

  "Me, too," Michael replied. "When you were born, I thought I was always going to have a wife to help me raise you. I was really worried that I wouldn't be a good dad. But your mom helped me learn, and after a while, I relaxed and began to really enjoy being a father. But then she got sick, and she died, and I was really scared."

  "Of what? Of me?"

  He laughed softly. "No, sweetheart, not of you. I was afraid I wouldn't do a good job of raising you, of providing a good home for you, of making a real family with you. I love you so much, and I was afraid I would blow it."

  "Really?" Her blue eyes showed that she was astonished at this revelation of her father: He was afraid of something, something having to do with her.

  "Yes, Katie. I was scared then, and I'm still scared now. I'm afraid I won't do it right, so sometimes I try to hide from it, or run from it. Not very courageous, I'll admit. But... do you understand any of this?"

  She nodded thoughtfully. "I guess it's like when I was scared to go bowling with Sandra and her friends. I was afraid that I'd do it bad and they'd laugh at me. Is it kinda like that?"

  "Kinda, but I care a lot more what you think of me than you do what Sandra thinks of you. Whether or not I do a good job with you is the most important thing in my life. I suppose that's why it's so scary for me."

  A small, shy smile brightened Katie's eyes and a corner of his heart. "I don't think you need to be so scared, Daddy," she said. "You're a really good dad. Turkey and pie aren't all that big a deal. I just wanted to know that... you know."

  "That I love you?"

  She nodded and bent her head, staring down at her still full plate.

  He reached across the table and cupped her chin in his palm, causing her to look up at him. "Katie Stafford, I couldn't possibly love you more," he said, feeling her chin quiver against his fingers. "But I could be a heck of a lot better at showing it."

  At that moment, the restaurant owner appeared, bearing a pot of fresh jasmine tea. With no one else eating in the restaurant, he had apparently sent his staff home and was running the show himself.

  "You like food?" he asked, pointing to their plates, which had hardly been touched. "Something wrong?"

  "No, nothing's wrong," Katie piped up. "Me and my dad have just been talking about important family stuff."

  "I see." He nodded politely as he poured her another cup. "And you, you like food?" he asked Michael.

  Michael opened his mouth to answer, but all anyone heard was a distinct and plaintive howl from inside his coat.

  He cleared his throat, trying to cover the sound. But the puppy had decided that he had been ignored and imprisoned long enough. With another piteous yowl he demanded to see the warden.

  The restaurant owner nearly dropped the teapot. "What that?" he asked, glarin
g at Michael. "What make that sound?"

  "Nothing, nothing important," Michael said, mentally searching for some reasonable excuse. He had never been skilled at making up lies under pressure. Inevitably, the truth always came blurting out before he could think of anything good enough to use.

  The dog howled again, even louder than before. Katie gasped and clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle.

  "Animal!" the restaurant owner shouted, his face turning dark with anger. "You have animal in coat!"

  "Just one little bitty dog," Michael began, reaching into his jacket. "He isn't hurting anything, he's just—"

  "No! No animal! No dog in restaurant! Inspector see dirty dog, take license!" He reached over and snatched both of their chopsticks out of their hands. "Out! You, out of Lee's restaurant with dog!"

  Michael's temper soared. "Wait a minute, buddy! We haven't even finished eating yet!"

  "You lucky. You no pay. Out!"

  A moment later, Michael, Katie and the offending canine stood outside the restaurant as Lee slammed and locked the door behind them.

  "I can't believe this," Michael said, shaking his head, "eighty-sixed from a Chinese restaurant. What a Thanksgiving this has turned out to be!"

  He looked down, expecting to see Katie's woebegone little face. But, instead, she was snickering, still holding her hand over her mouth.

  "Well," she said through her laughter, "it's one we won't forget. Not ever!"

  Rebecca thought she recognized Michael's car as she turned down Cleveland Avenue. How many dark green Jaguar XJ 12s could there be in town?

  But why was he heading in that direction, the exact opposite of his home or office?

  She decided to follow him and try to get his attention. Soon her question was answered as the Jaguar came to a stop in front of Beatrice and Jack Riley's house.