by Lyn Cote
“Don’t call me that name!” His teenage half-sister twisted her face in a heartfelt grimace.
“It’s your name, little dove.” Marco teased her with the translation of her Spanish name, one that had been in her father’s family for generations.
“I’m just Maria, okay?” She ducked around the corner, then returned with her book and notebook. His sister had taken a recent dislike to the family name her father had insisted she have, and she’d announced she would be called by her middle name, Maria.
“Why don’t you want to be distinctive? There are millions of Maria’s, but very few Paloma’s.” Two weeks ago, Paloma had decided to change her name. So far she’d had very little luck in changing her family’s mind. Had someone at school teased her about her name? If she kept this up, he’d have to delve deeper and see what was bothering her.
Their mother shook her head at them and left with Marco’s dishes in her hands. Paloma wiped the table with a napkin, then spread her textbook and notebook in front of her brother. “I’m having trouble with these four problems.”
For the next twenty minutes, Marco and his sister went over her assignment. Then the back door opened and shut. “I’m home!” The cheerful voice of his stepfather, Santos, boomed in the kitchen. His mother’s laughter greeted her husband.
Marco and Paloma looked up, as Santos walked into the dinette. “Marco, hola, did you have a good day?”
Marco nodded, glancing at the barrel-chested man who had married his mother when Marco was fourteen.
“I see our girl needs more help with her math.” Santos, a plumber, rolled up the sleeves of his khaki work shirt to wash for his late supper.
“We’re just finishing up.” Marco looked at his sister. “You’ve got that now?”
“Sure. At least, for today. I just hope it sticks for the test.” Paloma made a face.
“Your brother has set you a good example. No going out with friends this weekend if that test score isn’t good.” Santos shook his finger at her.
Paloma frowned. “I know.”
Wishing Santos wouldn’t always wave Marco’s success in his little sister’s face, Marco rose and lifted his sports jacket from the back of his chair. “I think it’s time I went home.”
“You don’t have to run off like that,” Santos objected.
“I’ve got some patient notes to look over and early rounds at the hospital.”
“You need to learn to relax a little now, son. You have earned the right to enjoy yourself.”
“Medicine is a twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week kind of job.”
“Then, you doctors need a better union,” Santos joked.
Marco nodded politely to his stepfather and walked out to his car. As he drove away, his mother stood at the kitchen window, waving goodbye.
Loneliness snaked through him. Santos was a good man. His mother was happy, and Paloma was a treasure. But he’d never felt at home in that house. His family really had ended with his father’s death, and nothing could change that. Or, at least, nothing ever had.
Then Spring Kirkland’s lovely face flickered in his memory, as it often had in the days since he’d seen her again—after all the years apart. He’d meant to call her to ask for her help, but every time he stood with the receiver in his hand, he ended up putting it down without calling. What would he say?
“Spring?” Hannah’s voice came over the phone line.
Trying to suppress her nervousness, Spring settled back in the chair beside her bed, but she couldn’t stop herself from accusing. “Hi, you didn’t call me when you said you would.”
“I’m sorry. I’ve been really busy. Deadline frenzy with my new cookbook.” Hannah sounded stressed.
“Did you find out about Mother’s latest blood work?” Spring asked.
“I was going to call you last night, but I forgot you’re an hour earlier than we are—”
“What did the test reveal?” Spring interrupted.
“It wasn’t as good as the doctor had hoped, but he said not to worry.”
Easy for him to say. Hannah’s worried. I’m worried. “Is Father upset?”
“He says he’ll just continue to pray.”
Of course, prayer is what we all are doing, but why don’t I feel comforted? Spring tried to think what to say. “How’s Guthrie?”
“Wonderful.”
Spring couldn’t think of anything more to say and guessed that her sister felt the same. The dread over their mother’s health had silenced their usual chatter.
Spring started, “I’ll call soon—”
“Have you asked Aunt—”
“I will.”
“All right. Good night.”
“Good night.” Spring put down the receiver. No more waiting for the right time. Tomorrow I ask Aunt Geneva about Connie Wilson.
Suppressing a yawn from lack of sleep, Spring stood on the patio outside her aunt’s sweeping Florida room, the all-season porch that spanned the rear of the house. Beyond the patio, palm trees stood like sentinels above her aunt’s lush garden, and beyond the fence, the azure Gulf. Spring took up her box of well-used pastels and contemplated the blank paper on her easel. She hadn’t had time to draw for nearly six months. She didn’t really feel like it now, but she’d decided this would take them out of the house, away from her aunt’s housekeeper, Matilde. Whatever was said, she wanted to keep the secrets surrounding her mother’s birth private.
“You make such a picture standing there.” Aunt Geneva sat in the shade of the roof with her knitting in her lap.
Spring glanced down at her white shorts and pale yellow shirt—nothing special. Once again, she tried to come up with a way of introducing the subject of her mother’s natural parents. Her mind was a blank.
“What should I sketch today? Something I can see or something inside my mind?”
“Suit yourself, dear.” Her aunt’s needles clicked, weaving pale pink baby yarn together into a knit cap for a newborn at the nearby hospital.
Spring stood there, wondering which to do. Worry over her mother’s illness and her own timidity about asking Aunty “the question” capped any creative energy she possessed. In default mode, she selected blue and began to stroke a fine layer of blue chalk over the top half of the paper on the easel. Just say it! “Aunty, you know about Mother’s illness….”
“Yes, dear, I’ve been so thankful for her remission. What would your father do without her? Ethel has always been the practical one. I wonder if your father has ever realized how lucky he’s been in having a wife like Ethel.”
“I’m sure he has—”
“Well, he better, that’s all I can say.”
Spring glanced over her shoulder at Aunty. How could she just ask—out of the blue like this? Taking a deep breath, she began the foundation for the big question. “You know, before she went into remission, the doctor said that she might need a bone marrow donor. All three of us girls were tested, but none of us was a match.”
“Uh-huh.” Aunty appeared to be counting stitches.
Spring gazed skyward, gathering momentum. “That was a great worry to us. I mean, what if Mother had reached the point where she needed a donor and none of us could help her?”
“I see.” The needles started clicking again. “But that didn’t happen.”
“But it might have. It might happen in the future.”
“But Ethel is in remission!”
The moment had come. No more beating around the bush. “Aunty, my sisters and I want, need—”
“Señora Dorfman, Paloma has come.” Plump Matilde, with her salt-and-pepper gray hair in a bun, ambled out through the Florida room to the patio, her arthritis slowing her. A pretty girl who had long black hair and wore blue jeans and a red T-shirt trailed behind her.
Spring paused and turned. Matilde had been her aunt’s housekeeper for the past thirty years. She’d spoiled Spring right along with her aunt. But right now, when she’d just worked up the courage to ask her aunt THE q
uestion—she wished Matilde anywhere pleasant but here.
“Excellent.” Aunt Geneva smiled. “Hello, Paloma. So you’re going to start helping Matilde out on the weekends?”
“Yes, ma’am.” The young girl looked up shyly.
Aunt Geneva motioned toward Spring. “This is my niece, Spring.”
“What a pretty name.” The girl glanced at Spring, then seemed to freeze, gazing at her.
Spring hated it when people stared, but she merely returned the girl’s regard. The Hispanic girl’s face was lovely, fresh, her expression so winsome. “I’d love to paint you.” The words popped out of Spring’s mouth.
“Oh! I…” The girl blushed.
I’ve embarrassed her. Spring had forgotten how sensitive teenage girls could be.
“Oh, that would be wonderful.” Matilde clapped her hands. “Her quinceañería is in just a few months, the end of April. It would be a wonderful gift for her parents!”
“What’s a quinceañería?” Spring asked.
“It’s her fifteenth birthday, a special occasion in a girl’s life. The custom comes from Mexico, where her father was born. I went to school with her father, Santos.”
“But I’m here to work,” Paloma said quietly, looking from one to the other of the three ladies.
“Well, you can sit for me briefly in between your chores,” Spring suggested.
“Excellent!” Aunt Geneva beamed.
“Bueno,” Matilde agreed.
“Come sit here in this chair,” Spring instructed as she pulled a wicker chair into place. The sun would come over the girl’s shoulder and cast interesting shadows over her face.
The front door chimes rang out. “I’ll go get that.” Matilde hurried away, favoring her bad knee.
Spring arranged the ill-at-ease girl in the wicker chair. “With the garden behind you, this is going to be lovely.”
“But I’m in work clothes. I—”
“Today I’ll just begin. I just need to look at you and study your face and form. When we get to the clothing, you can bring something else to pose in.” Spring lifted the girl’s chin to the right and left, trying to decide which was her best side.
“Señora, it’s the doctor.” Matilde stood aside at the doorway.
At these mundane words, Spring spun around. Marco! Here?
Marco walked in, carrying a small black bag.
The sight of him in a crisp dark suit sent a sharp zigzag of excitement through Spring. All the years away from him melted away.
Marco began in an all-business tone—unaware of Spring and oblivious of her marked reaction to him. “Mrs. Dorfman, you didn’t come for your blood-pressure check—” He broke off, staring at his sister. “Paloma, what are you doing here?”
Aunty and Matilde turned to look at him.
Matilde recovered first. “Marco, your sister is going to start helping me on the weekends. I need another pair of hands on Saturday. And now Spring wants to draw her portrait for her quinceañería. A present to thank your parents!”
“Paloma, when did your father decide you needed to start working?” Marco demanded, glaring at her.
Marco’s tone bothered Spring. He was overreacting. What’s going on?
Paloma rose hesitantly. “I…I want to start saving for college. Matilde had mentioned that she’d be needing help…I…” The girl’s voice died away.
Marco scowled.
Knowing Marco from years ago, Spring realized he was humiliated to have his sister working as domestic help. Marco’s overly sensitive pride had been all too evident years ago and that had not changed.
“So, Doctor, you’ve chased me down,” Aunty rallied. “I was planning on coming over early next week. Anyone would think I was at death’s door—”
“I’m your doctor and I told you I wanted to monitor your blood pressure closely through this month. Now please take off your jacket and I’ll get this done. I’m on my way to the hospital to check on some patients.”
His sharp tone surprised Spring. Please, Marco, don’t be so upset. Then an unwelcome thought intruded. What was so wrong with Aunty’s blood pressure that Marco would come to the house?
Aunt Geneva followed his instructions, and he put the black cuff on her arm. Though unsettled by this development, Spring tried to act naturally. She motioned to Paloma to sit back down, then contemplated which color to use next.
The young girl looked uncomfortable and kept glancing at her brother. Spring smiled at her, trying to put her at her ease while she strove to ignore her own keen awareness of Marco.
“Well, how did I do?” Aunty asked tartly, when Marco finished.
Spring was silently asking the same question.
“You’re still higher than I want you to be. I don’t want to increase your blood-pressure medicine until I’m forced to. Have you started exercising, as you promised me?”
Aunt Geneva sighed. “No, I’ve been so busy—”
“Make time.” Marco packed up his blood-pressure kit. “I expect to see you walking regularly and losing a few pounds.”
“Yes, Doctor.” Aunty grimaced.
Spring frowned. Was this what had prompted her aunt to think about retirement homes? She had to find out if her aunt’s health really was declining, even if it meant putting herself in the path of Marco’s unconscious yet risky charm.
“I’ll be going now.” Marco glanced at Spring.
She tried to read his expression but couldn’t. “I’ll walk you to your car. Paloma, why don’t you go ahead and help Matilde, and when you’re done come back to me.”
Spring didn’t give anyone a chance to object. She walked swiftly toward the house with Marco in her wake.
Outside, in front of her aunt’s sprawling ranch, walking toward Marco’s car, she asked, “Is my aunt’s health something I should be concerned about?” She lowered her gaze to limit Marco’s effect on her.
“I can’t be specific, but let me tell you that I’m glad you’re here. She needs someone who can get her to take better care of herself.”
Spring worried her lower lip. “Is it her age?”
“Age is a factor, yes.”
“She’s always been so healthy, I think it’s difficult for her—” and for me “—to accept the fact that she is finally feeling the effects of being nearly ninety.”
“No doubt, that’s correct. Now, make sure she comes to me twice next week.”
“To save us a trip, could you check her blood pressure after the next garden show meeting?” Spring chanced a glance at him—suddenly glad that he was her aunt’s doctor.
Marco pursed his lips. “I’m glad you brought that up. I need your help.”
Spring lifted one eyebrow. “With what?”
Chapter Three
With Spring’s lovely blue eyes gazing up at him so seriously, Marco felt as tongue-tied as a young boy. Why hadn’t the years toughened him so that this beautiful, unattainable woman would no longer have the power to make him want to pull her close for a stolen kiss?
Spring Kirkland, I thought I’d completely forgotten you.
But his heart had played him for a fool again. He still wanted her. He still couldn’t have her.
She touched his arm. Even through the double layer of fabric, shirt and jacket, her touch shocked him. He swallowed to moisten his dry mouth so he could answer her.
“What is it, Marco? You look so worried.”
Get a grip, man. “I’m just…busy. When Dr. Johnson sold me his practice so reasonably, it was a great stroke of luck—”
“Don’t you mean a blessing?” She let her hand drop to her side as she leaned gracefully against the car. Her long, slender legs stretched out in front of him.
He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Didn’t she realize what an enticing picture she made? Why hadn’t some successful Anglo man married her by now? He hung onto the thread of their conversation. “A blessing, yes. But taking on a full practice right away brought huge responsibilities with it.”
S
he folded her slim arms in front of her. The sunlight glinted off the diamond tennis bracelet she wore.
He steeled himself against her allure. “I joined Golden Sands so I could contribute to the club’s scholarship program, which had been a godsend to me. But I’ve never really used the membership. I’ve been hoping you could help me.”
She nodded, encouraging him.
“I’m not the country-club type and I don’t have time to waste on garden show meetings. I’ve been wanting to ask you for days—can you think of a polite way of getting me out of them?”
“I see. You want me to help you resign from the committee?” She pursed her lips. “You’re wasting your time?”
“It’s not that I’m ungrateful for all that Golden Sands did for me. Without working there and without the club’s generous scholarships, as a fatherless immigrant from the Dominican Republic, I wouldn’t have been able to finish college without a crushing load of debt, but…” He pushed one hand through his hair, hating to voice so much of his history of need. “I just think my time would be better spent doing what my education prepared me to do—medicine.”
Her long, golden hair flowing over her shoulders and veiling her face, she looked down at the asphalt drive. “You were upset to see your sister working with Matilde?”
The question, so off the subject, threw him. “What?”
“You don’t want your sister to work for my aunt.” She glanced up at him, her lovely face so intense.
He tried to read her expression but couldn’t. How had she known how embarrassed he’d been? “I just don’t think it’s necessary for her to work right now.” The words sounded stiff even to his own ears.
“I think you have some seriously wrong ideas about my family.” She tossed her hair back from her face.
Her totally unexpected words, along with her undeniable attractiveness, left him in confusion. He clung to the topic at hand. “What has that got to do with what we’re talking about?”
“A great deal.” She pushed away from the car. “I’ll let you get back to your busy practice.”
Unable to stop himself, he turned as he watched her saunter away. He’d obviously had no effect on her! “Will you help me?”
