The Wish List

by Myrna Mackenzie

  “Cause he’s a doctor? Is that why it’s special?”

  “Partly,” Faith agreed on a sigh. “The hospital wants him back pretty badly. They need him.” She looked at Cory, who finally, reluctantly nodded his agreement. Faith turned around, clipped her belt and they continued on their way.

  Long seconds of silence ensued. They were nearly to Mandy’s house when Cory spoke again. “Guess I don’t like doctors much. You have that list with you?”

  Pulling up in front of the baby-sitter’s house, Faith got out of the car and opened the back door. “The wish list? No, it’s at home.”

  Cory frowned. “Okay, but when you get home tonight, I want you to write something on it. All right, Mom?”

  Tapping his nose with her finger, Faith smiled as he climbed out. “You got it, sport. What is it you want me to add?”

  But she had already guessed.

  “Write down ‘Not a doctor.’ Okay?”

  “Definitely okay,” she promised as she dropped him at the door and kissed him goodbye.

  Not a doctor. Faith felt a sense of calm wash over her, thinking of the way Cory’s list was progressing. She couldn’t have made a better list herself.

  But darn, working in a hospital as she did, the choices were being pared down considerably. And with her hours so booked up, she had no time right now. None at all.

  It was going to take longer than she’d hoped to find the right man for her and Cory.

  ~ ~ ~

  Walking into Nathan’s house was like tiptoeing over a land mine today. She had taken herself in hand for the touching incident yesterday, which made for a slightly uncomfortable atmosphere today. And Nathan himself seemed too quiet. Like the eerie absence of sound just before a storm rips up the sky. He’d stopped fighting her.

  Maybe he’d noted her reaction to him the day before. She didn’t see how he could have missed it. Her hands had been shaking so badly by the time she’d left that she had barely been able to get the door open.

  The thought that she’d been so transparent was embarrassing. Faith promised herself to be nothing short of the perfect therapist today.

  “Let’s get to work, Nathan,” she commanded, getting right down to business.

  Silently he sat and pushed his hands toward her. “Let’s get it over with.”

  Faith noticed that he didn’t look at her. It was as if they were two sets of hands, no bodies. Perhaps she really had done a poor job of hiding her reaction to him yesterday and he was uncomfortable with her.

  Well, he wouldn’t have to worry about it happening again. From now on, she would touch him only in a clinical capacity. She would notice nothing but his progress as a patient.

  But as Faith leaned over Nathan, guiding him through a series of exercises, she couldn’t help but be aware of her surroundings. When they stopped to give Nathan a chance to rest, she couldn’t keep her eyes from roaming.

  Nathan’s house was all natural cedar and sunlight; a beautiful, airy house with few walls. It should have been homey. Instead it was somewhat...naked, empty. The furniture was warm, large and masculine, but the tables stood empty, their surfaces barren. The shelves in the room held little. There wasn’t a plant in sight, and the walls were large, lonely expanses of shining white. No pictures of any kind.

  Nothing except one small, framed portrait sitting on a distant shelf. A man, a woman, a child.

  Faith recognized Nathan’s face immediately, although the deep sense of satisfaction in his smile was foreign to her. He didn’t look like that now. He no longer smiled, at least not that way.

  The woman in the picture was lovely, with curling auburn hair and dark eyes. But the child was what drew Faith’s attention. Small and beautiful, she was a picture postcard little girl, very much like her mother...except for the eyes like green jewels and the dimples that dented her cheeks. It was hard to believe that child was gone, that somewhere on this earth she wasn’t smiling still, waiting for her father to come and find her.

  Faith turned and looked at Nathan, at the sharp jawline turned from her, and she saw that his gaze had followed her own. He was staring at the picture as though he hadn’t known it was there, as if he hadn’t seen it in a long time and was wishing that he hadn’t seen it now.

  Finally with a jerk, he turned his head away, looked straight into her own eyes which she knew were laced with concern. He held out his hands once again.

  “More,” he said, nudging his fingers against her own. “I’m ready to begin again.”

  Faith reached out and took his hands. It was all she could do since she knew he wouldn’t welcome her comments or her questions about his family.

  As she made sure that his hands were relaxed, she couldn’t help noting how small and feminine her fingers looked against his. And yet her helpless-looking hands were still capable while his grip was still slack, his fingers clumsy. The accident had taken so much. He’d lost it all. His family, his skills.

  Resolutely, Faith sat up higher, more determined. This impairment to his hands wasn’t permanent. They could do something about it. And Nathan was impatient to do just that, or at least to work himself free of her presence. She could tell by the way he sat forward, trying to begin before she was done examining him.

  “We’ll get there, Nathan. I won’t let you down. But you have to let me set the pace. I’m trained to know what’s too much, when to move ahead and when to slow down.”

  Nathan suddenly flipped his hands over so that her fingers were resting on his scarred palms, more evidence that for once he was the patient.

  Slowly he lowered their hands to the table. “I’m trying to step all over you again. One more example of just how annoying and pushy we doctors can be?”

  “You sound like my son,” Faith said with a laugh. Then realizing her error, she promptly sucked in her lips.

  Nathan tilted his head. “Cory have a bit of a bad experience with doctors, did he?”

  “Oh no, nothing like that,” she said, then stopped, unsure what to say. “It’s just...it’s just—nothing.”

  Nathan held one injured hand out as if waiting for her to put something in it or asking for her to come clean. “It’s not nothing judging by the look on your face,” he told her. “There’s a problem with your boy?”

  “Nothing much,” she said, reaching for the hands that he now moved away from her touch. “You were right yesterday. Cory’s just having a little trouble adjusting to my being away. It’ll get better.”

  A frown appeared on Nathan’s face. “He’s only four, I think you said. Young.”

  She nodded. “Really, Nathan, I’m sorry I mentioned it. I’m sorry I even mentioned Cory. It was a slip. Let’s get back to your therapy.”

  Reluctantly, it seemed, Nathan moved back into position.

  Five minutes later, he looked up. “I asked you not to bring him, but don’t apologize just for saying his name, Faith. You’re his mother, damn it. Of course you’re going to think of him. He’s your child. He’s your world. That’s the way things are.”

  But when Faith opened her mouth to speak, Nathan’s face was shuttered, closed again. And in the days that followed she noticed that the picture on the shelf was gone. Now the room was totally bare...and Nathan was more distant than ever.

  The days went by, and in a short time, Faith and Nathan fell into a pattern, a sort of wary, impersonal waltz as she moved him through a series of exercises, teaching him what to do when she was away and keeping a careful watch on his progress.

  She never touched him again, except for his hands. She never mentioned Cory, never asked any personal questions, and she tried to avoid those mesmerizing eyes as she moved through the motions of helping Nathan regain the flexibility in his fingers.

  He was a good patient, intelligent and driven. But she could sense that he was growing more impatient as time went on. She could feel the lava starting to boil beneath the surface.

  One day she came in and found him staring at the small bit of rubber that he sq
ueezed to strengthen his grip.

  Looking up as if she’d startled him, Nathan managed a small and sheepish smile. “I’m beginning to hate the sight of red rubber,” he confided.

  She raised one brow and smiled back. “I could get you blue.”

  He stood then, forcing her to look up at him. With one finger he reached out and touched her still smiling mouth. A small feather of skin against skin, but Faith’s lips burned as though he’d stroked her with flame.

  “Don’t bother,” he said, withdrawing his hand with a small frown. “I’ll survive. You look—you look different today. Happier. Are things...all right at home?”

  It was the first time he’d referred to the conversation they’d had about Cory. And Faith didn’t fail to notice that his question was rather nonspecific.

  “Fine,” she said with a nod. “I see your grip’s improving a bit,” she added, nodding toward his hand, moving the conversation onto safer ground.

  They were back to their professional relationship. It was as if they’d never smiled, as if Nathan’s touch had gone unnoticed.

  Faith should have been glad. She was the one who had made the choice to ignore his concern, his contact, and keep things businesslike. But as the evening passed, she found herself wishing she could make him smile again, a real smile this time, full-lipped and devastating. Dangerous.

  There was a good reason for wanting his smiles, she told herself, a very good reason. Recovery involved more than muscles and bone. It was as much psychological as physical. And she’d been cheating Nathan so far, trying to protect herself at his expense. She’d try to remember that in the future.

  But the future came sooner than she expected. She was reminded again of just how all-encompassing a therapist’s job was a few days later when a hospital staff meeting threw Faith’s schedule out of whack. Having rearranged her own patients, she arrived at Nathan’s house early to find Hannah, Nathan’s new housekeeper, still there.

  “Just leaving,” she said. “I’m out tonight,” the woman boomed at her. Hannah had a body like a semi and a voice to match. “Got a family dinner, but don’t worry. I’ve got Mr. Nathan all set up. The food’s all set to go. I’ll be back in the morning bright and early.”

  “But where’s Nathan?” Faith asked, looking around.

  “Oh, he’s about. In the shower,” Hannah said, cocking her head.

  “Nathan? In the shower? Alone?” Faith asked.

  “Alone? Well, I should think so,” Hannah told her with a bewildered look. “Might as well sit down. I ran out of liquid soap and he wouldn’t let me buy anymore. Wants to stop babying himself, he says, even though managing a bar of soap’s a little rough. It takes him a bit of time to get anywhere near clean. But he’s a very independent man. All male, you know. Doesn’t like having anyone make things easier for him. Likes to manage alone.”

  Faith certainly did know. She remembered her first glimpse of the kitchen. Before Hannah had come. That’s how well he had managed alone.

  So as Hannah bustled out to her car, Faith wondered just how Nathan was faring. He’d been so tense lately. He needed successes, not the frustration of handling a slippery bar of soap. She wanted his attempts at doing things for himself to offer encouragement and to give him a sense of accomplishment. The prospect of Nathan forcing himself to wrestle a slippery piece of soap across his body wasn’t exactly what she had in mind.

  Faith knew then that she had been lax, that she should have discussed such things with him and made sure that he didn’t need help beyond what Hannah could give him.

  What kind of a therapist was she, she asked herself. The answer came back, fast and hard. She was a damned good therapist, one who was just a bit off-kilter at times with this particular patient.

  Faith stood outside the door of the bathroom, shifting from foot to foot. Eight times she heard the bar drop, followed by Nathan’s low curse as she stood there, wrapping her arms tightly about herself, clenching her elbows.

  She nearly called out his name, but forced herself to remain quiet. If he wanted help, he would say so.

  Still, the whole process seemed interminable. What time had it been when he walked into that bathroom? How long had he been in there? Was that the soap dropping she heard again?

  No, it had to be him putting it down for the final time. The water stopped. He must be getting dried off.

  The thought of the whole length of Nathan naked and wet as he pushed the towel over his skin was too much for Faith. She couldn’t just stand here anymore. She especially didn’t want to be found hovering outside the door when he emerged.

  Moving into the kitchen, she tried to prepare herself for his reaction to finding her there. He’d know that she’d heard his struggle with the shower. How was he going to feel about that? She could guess that he wouldn’t be pleased.

  No matter. Her job was to be encouraging, to remind him that his strength was returning slowly and that things would get better.

  But as she turned at the sound of him nearing the doorway, she couldn’t think of a single word of advice to offer. He was standing there in unbuttoned jeans, his shirt opened all the way. He was barefoot and still damp in places. His hair was wet and spiky, his eyes mirrored his frustration at the less than satisfying experience he’d just gone through.

  Still, he wasn’t going to say anything. She could see it in the belligerent set of his chin, the way he was looking at her, daring her to offer any of those inadequate comments she’d been about to make.

  Instead, she simply turned and took two glasses from the cabinet, pouring the tea she’d found in the fridge. At the last moment she remembered that she’d poured Nathan’s glass too full. He would have trouble handling it.

  “Leave it,” he said. “I’ll manage.”

  With a movement that seemed like a slow-motion video, Nathan slid his hand to the glass, resting it there a moment. Then, slowly, he curled one finger around the curved surface. Then another, and another, until his hand was securely around the perimeter of the glass.

  Gritting his teeth, he slowly raised the container to his mouth, his knuckles white, his brow furrowed.

  After three deep swallows, Nathan clattered the glass to the counter, turning to her defiantly. “You look just like my mother used to when I climbed up to get the cat off the roof. I warn you, if you say ‘Very good, Nathan,’ I’ll smash this glass against the wall.”

  She hadn’t been planning to say that, but the words she’d been going to utter sounded equally condescending to her now. And she wasn’t about to let him know that.

  Instead, Faith looked him dead in the eye and filled his glass again. “You shatter that glass, and you’ll take the broom and sweep up every broken bit.”

  They stood there, staring at each other, breathing heavily, their brows furrowed like two animals fighting for territory.

  Then Nathan smiled, slow and lazy.

  “You’re a real lion tamer, Faith. One tough lady.”

  That’s exactly the way she felt, like a shaky lion tamer caged up with an unpredictable and exhilarating beast. He was wild, he was dangerous, and she didn’t know what the hell to do with him except try to keep him from getting too close to her—or hurting himself.

  Faith needed to back away. She couldn’t think and look into Nathan’s eyes at the same time. Dropping her gaze, she found herself staring at his exposed chest, the light, silky hair that covered it.

  “Buttons are still a problem,” he said, as if reading her mind.

  It was a difficult admission to make, she was sure.

  “I can handle a few buttons,” she offered. She’d spoken quickly, not wanting him to have to listen to the silence, wondering if she was pitying him. Now, seeing the sudden fire that came to life in Nathan’s eyes, Faith wondered who was actually to be pitied here.

  “It’s all right, Faith. I’d say that dressing me goes beyond the bounds of duty.”

  It was also beyond the bounds of what Faith felt she’d be comfortable doing
right now, but she’d promised herself to become more involved in Nathan’s progress, to stop shying away from him like a fresh-faced teenager faced with her idol.

  “I’ve dressed patients before,” she said. But those other patients had been nothing like Nathan.

  At her words his look turned dark and intense.

  She moved to him, lifted her hands to tug on the edges of his shirt—and instantly felt warm, hair-roughened skin. Damp flesh pulsing beneath her fingertips. She inhaled and breathed in his scent—soap...man. Beneath the pads of her fingertips, she could feel his heart beating, or it seemed that way. Her fingers stilled. She looked up at him, uncertain how to go on.

  “Maybe it would be better to leave your shirt unfastened,” she faltered. “You’re still damp.” Swift heat flooded throughout her body. “And it is warm in here.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” he said thickly.

  But as Faith stepped back, she wasn’t so sure. She could have had the buttons done up in a trice, and looking at the exposed muscles of Nathan’s chest was almost as unnerving as touching him.

  “Hannah left your dinner,” she said quickly, looking for a change of subject.

  Nathan let out a breath as if he, too, had been uncomfortable with their situation. He looked at the table, then turned back to Faith. “Care to join me? I’m starved. And frankly, I—I wouldn’t mind the company.”

  What could she do when he asked so nicely? Nice for Nathan, at any rate. Managing a smile, Faith nodded. “Sounds good. Hannah left a meal big enough to feed the entire hospital.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Nathan watched her as she walked across the room to where Hannah had left the food. He was relieved to have her move away from him, and yet he felt a vague sense of loss at her going.

  Thank God she’d given up on helping him with his shirt. When her strong, capable fingers had rested on his chest seconds earlier, he’d been afraid that he’d give in to the urge to touch her, too; to slide one hand beneath all that long, honey brown hair he’d been staring at for so long and expose the vulnerable nape of her neck. To his eyes. His lips.