by Cheryl Wyatt
“Those details are his to share.”
“Well, that’s not fair. You tell him everything about me. Yet hold his secrets sacred?”
Grandpa scratched his head. “Nah, I don’t. Do I?”
She planted hands on her hips. “What about your stories in the truck on the way to the ribbon-cutting that first day?”
“Well, I suppose I do share a lot about you with him. But that just proves I think about you as much as I do him, if not more. If something happened to me, he’d take good care of you.”
Sudden stark desperation in Grandpa’s eyes unnerved her. She rested her hand on his cheek. “God will take care of me.”
“Who says He might not use Mitch to do it?”
She started to open her mouth, but frankly, had no retort.
Because in truth, she’d been thinking steadily about Mitch all day. And admittedly, she missed his presence today more than she wanted to admit to anyone. Especially herself.
“I can see why he means so much to you, Grandpa. He’s a truly special individual.”
“One you’d be smart to pay attention to, heartwise.”
The last thing she ought to do was ponder what Grandpa might mean by that.
Yet the two-hour drive home was filled with nothing but pondering Mitch. No matter how hard she tried to think of other things, his face kept cropping up in her mind.
This simply would not do.
Especially since Grandpa hadn’t mentioned Mitch since leaving the park.
Yet Lauren’s mind continued to want to wrap itself around the strapping doctor whose heart and manners were sweeter than the Southernmost tea.
Chapter Eight
When Mitch arrived at the center early on Monday morning he discovered it eerily sedate. Good. He could work on staffing and recruiting trauma team members.
He found Kate huddled over a cup of coffee and the morning paper. “What gives?” He didn’t want to say the words quiet, calm or slow because then they’d get slammed.
She set down her pencil and stretched. “That amazing administrative clerk you hired is brilliant. She had the fabulous idea to try traveling trauma nurses and rent-a-docs.”
“So Nita is working out well?” She was the wife of a medic on Mitch’s team who was still deployed overseas.
“Very well. Unfortunately, the director you hired isn’t on my Employee Honor Roll list.” Kate scowled.
“So I heard.”
“I don’t have a good feeling, Mitch. Keep an eye on her.”
He nodded, explicitly trusting Kate’s instinct. “I regret that the center’s unexpected early opening hasn’t afforded me the kind of time to hire key office people that I’d like.” Kate’s newspaper crinkled as he pushed it aside to sit.
“Look at the bright side. You’re taking special care to hire staff to do direct patient care and triage.”
“True.” Mitch admired how Kate was great about pointing out the positives. That had been invaluable in combat care.
She turned to go, but before retreating, said boldly, “The halls feel empty without Lauren.”
What a coincidence. Mitch felt it, too.
Fortunately his feelings didn’t lead him around on a leash.
With everything going on, he needed to be commandeered by common sense right now. Kate studied his reaction intently.
Nosy girl was baiting him for information. Not inclined to bite, he made his features stoic.
Kate groaned. “You disengaged yourself from this conversation faster than flame follows mortar,” she said with levels of annoyance that made Mitch laugh.
“First off, this wasn’t a conversation. It was a stealthily exacted interrogation session and you know it.”
Kate laughed.
“Secondly, I’ll make my lack of intel up to you by giving you the rest of the day off with pay.”
“Lovely. That downs my excuse for not unpacking boxes.”
Humor and renewed thankfulness hit Mitch over his team’s willingness to uproot their lives to help start this center. Would Lauren ever uproot hers to be near Lem? He couldn’t get past feeling that she completed his team. Until now, he’d been successful at ignoring how often she’d crept into his mind this early in the morning.
Mitch needed a distraction. He met with the director about staffing and applied for grants. Then he organized with media and city officials a community call for trauma center employees. Eventually Ian sauntered into his office with two cups of coffee. He put one in front of Mitch.
“Thanks. What’s the status of staff and patients?”
“Most have been transferred out or were discharged except the few, like Mara, who are too unstable for transfer.”
“Thankfully Refuge and visiting staff have stepped in to cover shifts until I can hire more floor nurses.”
The voice-mail alert on his phone beeped. He replayed it. Lem’s voice, inviting him to stop over for breakfast, as was customary. Ian dropped off Mitch in Refuge later than usual.
He and Ian could’ve gone earlier, but Mitch was really trying to give Lauren and Lem as much space as possible and still have enough time to get the list done for Lem. Ian dropped off Mitch in Lem’s driveway, then Mitch strode to his truck to retrieve the keys Lauren had left in the ignition. As he reached for his folio, which contained notes on Lem’s projects, a letter fell out. He didn’t recognize the writing until it was too late.
“Dearest Mitch, this is the hardest letter I’ve ever had to write…”
A sick feeling fisted his gut. He clenched his hand around Sheila’s Dear John letter and thought about torching it. He didn’t fancy blowing up his truck though, so he popped open the glove box and crammed the note in. He felt around. The pricey ring was still there. He refused to bring it into his home.
That ring cost what a small home might. Yet Mitch couldn’t bring himself to take it out of the glove box where Sheila had left it…along with this letter.
Why was it out? Maybe Lem had to get into the glove box for a flashlight or something. He took a moment to compose himself before leaving the truck…and the memories of that unexpected heartbreak behind.
He tucked the folio under his arm and went to pull out his tool box. His hand wrapped around something papery. Lifting the handle, he peeled a note of a different sort, taped to it.
Unlike the handwriting on the last letter, he didn’t recognize this one at all. He unfolded it.
Hi, Mitch. Just wanted to say thanks for letting us use your truck. We had a lot of fun and made some great new memories. My only regret for the day was that you weren’t included in the memories, too. I’m sorry about how I’ve been acting. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I do know you’re not to blame for how I feel. Thank you for being in Grandpa’s life. Once I go back to Texas, I’ll rest better knowing he has someone as special and strong as you watching out for him.
Love, Lauren.
Love, Lauren?
The two words pressed his mind with relentless force.
Love, Lauren.
The concept hadn’t remotely entered his mind until the two words ambushed him.
Sheila’s note had ended with Regards, Sheila.
The difference between the two letters and how each of them made him feel was something that taunted him all the way to Lem’s porch. He couldn’t shake the inner sense of a growing attachment to Lauren. This simply wouldn’t do.
He’d thank her for the gesture but get rid of the letter. Keeping it could endear him to her in ways that would matter to his heart. He went back to the truck, put Lauren’s letter next to Sheila’s and closed them up where they belonged.
Lauren met him inside Lem’s door. “I heated your plate.”
A childhood flash of Mitch’s mom meeting his dad at the
door with hot dinners each night accosted Mitch out of nowhere.
He stared at the plate then met Lauren’s gaze. “Thanks.”
She had no idea the sweet but forgotten memory she’d just evoked. Unfortunately that memory also bore the intriguing association of what life with Lauren as a wife might be like.
Nonsense. He had more pressing things to think about than flimsy daydreams. Because her home was in Texas. And his heart was here in Illinois, with the trauma center. And he wasn’t willing or ready to set it out on another high-risk wall, like Humpty Dumpty.
“Everything okay, Mitch?” Lauren eyed his untouched plate.
He forced himself to poke the food around. He didn’t have the heart to tell Lem he’d already eaten. Plus, for some reason, thoughts of Lauren leaving at summer’s end obliterated his appetite. For Lem’s sake, of course.
“Still a little tired. Haven’t caught up on sleep.” Not a lie.
She nodded, but the concern etched into her extraordinary features was palpable enough for him to diagnose doubt.
He noticed something else, too. Her makeup appeared fresh. “Did you and Lem go somewhere fun this morning?” he asked, because he was really interested in her answer.
Her eyes darted toward the floor. “No. Just, you know, fiddling around the fields.”
Which equated to her putting on makeup merely for his arrival? Mitch couldn’t discern why that both pleased and uneased him.
Midway through the day, she got a call from her building contractors. Then one from the friend she went into business with. Both calls left Lauren visibly upset. Not that she was demonstrative about it. He knew her well enough by now to be able to tell with very little outward emotion on her part.
“What’s wrong, carrottop?” Lem asked over the counter.
“Nothing to worry about.”
Then what put the glisten of tears in her eyes? It was enough to worry Lem too because he gnawed the inside of his cheek like he always did when he was worried. “You can tell us.”
She eyed Mitch, then Lem.
Mitch straightened. “I think I left something in the truck.” He made swift strides toward the door so Lauren could feel free to talk about whatever went down during the phone call.
But as he passed Lauren, she snagged his sleeve. “You can stay.” She eyed Grandpa funny. “The contractors are trying to pull a fast one and delay the timeline in our contract. My friend may need me to come home sooner. Grandpa, I’m so sorry.”
Lem’s countenance fell. “How soon?”
She looked like she was unsuccessfully swallowing a brick. “M-maybe as soon as next week. For sure by next month.” Her chin quivered and she hovered on the edge of tears.
Lem froze at the stove. His motions became fidgety then twitchy. He gnawed his cheek and roiling tongue the way he did when he was at high-fret level. “Do what ya gotta do, I reckon.”
“It’ll work out,” Mitch blurted, disappointed for them both. This threw a wrench in everything—for everyone.
“Mitch is right,” Lem said. “We just gotta have faith.” He tugged Mitch’s sleeve. “Come ’ere.” He met Lem in the hall. “I need you to run me to town right quick. She likes cola and it dawned on me this morning that I don’t have a drop in the house.”
Mitch put a calming hand on Lem. “I got it. Don’t worry.”
Now Lem’s eyes glistened. “Maybe if I paid better attention to her instead of being so scattered and obsessed with winterizing this house, she wouldn’t want to leave.” He trembled.
Mitch thought carefully about what he was going to say. “Lem, to be completely honest, I don’t think she wants to leave.”
“You think?” His countenance lifted, and trembling abated.
Mitch nodded. “God’s at work.” He smiled. “Just trust.”
Lem blinked. “You remember?”
“I remember every phrase you taught me because I began to live my life by your word and God’s. Let’s eat.”
Lauren observed them in a subdued manner as they returned to the table. Lem said grace then rubbed his palms. “Dig in.”
Mitch fingered a flower petal on the table. It felt velvety rather than plastic. “Wow. Those are real.”
“Lauren brought them for me.” Lem’s voice had grown thick.
Lauren’s head dipped with a semiguilty look.
Mitch leaned over when Lem went to the restroom. “What?”
Her lips pursed. “I took them from his flower beds.”
Mitch laughed. “He doesn’t know?”
She shook her head. “He has so many. He’ll never miss them.”
Mitch nodded. “So which one of you likes fresh flowers?”
“Me. But he got me started picking them when I was little.”
As Mitch imagined Lauren’s life with Lem, he felt a little like an intruder today. The feeling didn’t shake off well.
After he ate, Lauren insisted on washing his dish. Then the three retreated outside and went to war with Grandpa’s most ancient tractor, affectionately called Bess the Beast.
Lauren eyed the tractor’s bumps and bruises. “She needs more repair than Monday’s marathon of trauma patients combined. I like to tinker on these old tractors.”
“Me, too,” Mitch admitted. “Now, whether they run or not afterward is a different story.”
The three shared a laugh then set about fixing Bess. Lem began finding random reasons to leave the two of them alone. Mitch watched him go inside for the umpteenth time to look for another “whatchamacallit.” Last trip in, it was to search for a “doohickey” and the time before, a “hoopendiker,” whatever those were.
“I’ll give him credit, he’s creative with excuses.”
Lauren’s eyes widened, proving she was as surprised as Mitch that he’d acknowledged Lem’s matchmaking maneuvers out loud.
“You noticed his matchmaking penchant, huh? We need to help Grandpa see that a summer romance between us would never work.”
“Yeah, because that’s all it would be.” When he played, he played for keeps. None of this temporary stuff. He was far from ready to hand out his heart again, and she was not only Texas-bound but highly annoyed at Mitch’s intrusion in Lem’s life.
“I’d hate for Lem to get his hopes up, only to be disappointed. The sooner we convince him to disable Cupid and confiscate his ill-aimed arrows, the better,” Mitch stated.
Lauren laughed. “Good luck with that. You’ve no idea how stubborn he can be.”
Though Mitch did know, he smiled. “Should I be scared?”
Her eyes shone vulnerably for a flash. “Very. So should I.”
They shared a laugh, yet a trepid element resided in it.
Midway into lunch at Lem’s the next chore day, Mitch received a frantic phone call from Nita that her brilliant plan wasn’t working so well today.
He got off the phone and explained to Lem and Lauren, “Nita feels it best if the regular staff trickle back in. The center’s heating up with complicated patients. The traveling staff isn’t as familiar with where things are, which lessens efficiency and safety.”
“We understand,” Lem said. “Seconds matter in trauma care.”
A concept which disturbed Mitch more than he cared to process when Lauren didn’t offer to come to the center with him. After all, she was more familiar with where things were than all the traveling nurses and rent-a-docs combined.
Yet it wasn’t her fault Mitch had come to depend on her despite her warnings she would do it only temporarily. Her same code of ethics that kept her at the center the bus crash day kept her seated now. He knew by the stubborn look on her face that she was still fearful of the more complicated cases, which apparently the center had today.
Fine. Maybe she wasn’t the perfect person for the job, b
ut she was better qualified than the crew there now. Still, he’d put her in a position she hadn’t asked for, and a lack of preparedness on his part shouldn’t constitute an emergency on hers. Bottom line: he needed to hire someone for her position rather than wait and hope she’d take it. Right?
Lord, grant me guidance and wisdom.
Mitch left for the center fighting frustration over not getting more done at Lem’s. Perhaps if he’d gone over earlier today and yesterday, he might’ve made better headway on the work.
Yet he’d wanted to honor Lauren’s wishes to spend uninterrupted time with Lem. Her contagious laugh still echoed in his ears long after leaving Lem’s.
Once at the center, Mitch poured his heart and skill into the cases that captivated him. All the while, he did his level best to fend off other images bent on captivating him. Those of Lem’s granddaughter. Of fiery hair that matched her temper. He didn’t mind if she never tamed both.
Ian approached. “What’s that look about, Wellington?”
Mitch shook his head. “Trust me, you don’t want to know.” He kept intentionally busy the rest of the night.
When relief came on shift the next morning, he returned to Lem’s to help finish the tractor. Mitch hated to begin a project and not finish, but sleep was essential, too. Thankfully he’d been able to catch some z’s in the trauma center doctors’ lounge between cases. Plus, he’d promised.
“You look haggard and worn,” Lem commented when he arrived.
“I was on call all night.”
Mitch only slightly regretted that Lauren looked remorseful. She hadn’t offered to help and Mitch hadn’t pushed. He wanted to tread lightly and give her an opportunity to take the initiative. “Let’s go fix old Bess.” They headed outside.
“She’s my favorite.” Lauren patted the tractor’s gills next to the engine they’d spent many hours repairing.
“Ready for a ride?” Lem asked her.
“You don’t have to ask me twice.” Lauren climbed the tractor like an outlaw would a getaway horse and fired up Bess.
