The Wish List

by Myrna Mackenzie

  With an internal shudder of resignation, as he mentally closed his eyes to what he was proposing, Nathan reached out and picked up the glass of juice she had put on the nightstand. He held the drink out to Cory, looking down at the little boy who was studying him so rebelliously.

  “I’m not afraid of the flu even if it is contagious,” Nathan said, giving the child the small plastic tumbler. “Why don’t we take you into the other room so that you can be near your mom?”

  The sudden hopeful look in the kid’s eyes nearly sent Nathan spinning away. It was such a small thing he had offered. Such a small, stupid thing.

  “Mom says I have to stay in my bed,” Cory said, chewing on his lip. “Little boys who are sick must get lots and lots of sleep,” he reminded the man, obviously quoting his mother.

  “Then you’ll just have to get lots of sleep, won’t you? I expect those eyes to drift shut just as soon as we get you set up on the couch. Doctor’s orders. Grab your bear now while I carry you. Can’t have you getting chilled.”

  And without waiting for Faith’s reaction, Nathan reached down and bundled the child, blankets and all, into his arms. He barely weighed more than a puff of air, so there was no reason for a man Nathan’s size to feel his knees buckling, no reason for him to feel that the other room was two million miles away, as if he’d never make it. Taking a deep breath, Nathan turned and strode toward the door. He could feel Faith close behind him, but he didn’t stop, not until he reached the slate blue couch. Gently, forcing himself to go slowly, he lowered the boy to the sofa, then stepped aside to let Faith tuck in her son.

  Faith plumped Cory’s pillows, smoothed the sheets and blankets, then whispered a kiss across his brow. Soft, gentle, loving. But when she rose and her glance moved to Nathan, the softness died and turned to exasperation.

  “Could we talk for just a second before we get back to work? In the kitchen, perhaps?”

  She moved nearer as she spoke, and Nathan breathed in the soft lemony scent of her He indulged himself for a few brief seconds, even though he recognized the fight in her eyes.

  Shrugging, he followed her lead, ducking into the bright red-and-white kitchen.

  As soon as they were out of earshot she turned to him, clasping her elbows as if she’d blow apart if she didn’t hold on to herself.

  “I thought we talked about control when we first began these sessions, Nathan. I was worried that you might be a bit high-handed, but you haven’t been, at least not much. At least not until now. That was some move, Murphy. I’d like to remind you that Cory is my son, my responsibility, and right now he’s sick. He needs to be in bed, he needs his rest...”

  “He needs his mother at his elbow,” Nathan corrected, moving close enough to feel the tension radiating from her, close enough to touch...if he thought he could handle it. “Besides, Faith, if you think he’s gotten one iota of rest since I’ve been here, then you and I must be using a different definition of the word. On the other hand, I’d be willing to wager that he’ll rest a whole lot easier now that he can see you and realize that I’m no threat to him.”

  Faith skated back, moving out of touching range. She turned away and fiddled with a loose knob on a cabinet. “He knows you’re no threat to him. I told him so.”

  “Maybe he needs to see that for himself. And maybe you misinterpreted my actions. Did it occur to you that I might have my own selfish reasons for wanting the boy in there with us? If you don’t have to keep jumping up and down like a jack-in-the-box between the two of us, we’ll get more done. I’ll be able to complete my sessions faster. And you know how much I want to get through this. After all, I promised you roses, didn’t I? To celebrate the end? Are you saying you don’t like roses?”

  She turned large, suspicious eyes on him. “I adore roses. I can’t wait for you to be better so that we can celebrate with flowers. But how about your convictions? You told me at the beginning—no children. Sharing a room with Cory will be very difficult, won’t it?”

  Five seconds of silence. Then Nathan shrugged. “I’m a surgeon, Faith, and dealing with kids is a part of that life. I’d damn well better get used to it.”

  There was no point in telling her that he was restricting whatever future practice he might have to adults. And no reason to let her know just how very difficult this interlude with her son was going to be.

  “All right, then. Thank you, Nathan. These last few days have been hard for Cory. For me, too. I hate not being able to help him. Now, come on, let’s get back to your hands.” She took a step toward the door.

  “All right, but...not yet. I have a question.” He touched one long finger to a tawny curl of her hair, stopping her progress as effectively as a granite wall.

  Turning slightly, she looked back over her shoulder. She stood there waiting, suspicion shining in the depths of her eyes. “Yes?” she said softly.

  “Your boy...Cory, he’ll be home for another few days?”

  She nodded silently.

  “In the daytime, when you’re here—the hospital administration…they aren’t giving you any grief, are they?”

  Faith looked up at him, her teeth worrying her lip. “No one’s said anything, but I do have to go back. Cory’s sick, but not as much as he was. And I can’t take more time off. Tomorrow I’ll take Cory to the children’s center at the hospital. I can’t take him back to the sitter while he’s sick.”

  “The children’s center? He’s been there before?”

  She nodded. “Once, a year ago. Just for a day. He was a little scared, I think.” Faith’s voice had dropped to a strained whisper. It was obvious that she wouldn’t be taking her son to some impersonal children’s center if she had any other choice.

  Nathan moved closer. He opened his mouth to speak but found he had no words of comfort to offer. Faith held out her hand to stop him from saying anything.

  “Don’t talk about it anymore, Nathan. I don’t want to. Besides, the clock is ticking and you’re wasting time. Did you plan on giving me those roses in this century? Don’t you want me out of your hair, Murphy?”

  Lord, yes, he did. He wanted her out of his hair, out of his life, his thoughts, his dreams. He wanted a world where he had never met her, a world where the scent of lemon didn’t remind him of a woman’s lips moving beneath his own.

  “You’ll get your roses, Faith. Just as soon as I can manage it.”

  ~ ~ ~

  When Faith returned to the living room, Cory gave her one long, solemn stare. Then he smiled slightly and turned on his side. Within five minutes he was breathing the short, shallow breaths of a fevered, sleeping child.

  From her seat at the table, she looked up at Nathan who was still standing. His gaze drifted around the room, taking in everything but her sleeping son.

  He’d said he wasn’t a good father, that his child’s death was his fault. And yet, he’d been careful with her son, gently bundling him up to keep him warm, carrying him into the living room when there was nothing at all wrong with Cory’s legs.

  Why? Was he paying his dues, doing penance for the past? Faith didn’t know, and it was clear as calm water that Nathan wasn’t about to explain his actions, and that he wasn’t at ease with those actions. When he’d finally deposited Cory on the couch, he’d stepped away quickly. And while he’d been kind, he had also radiated discomfort. She’d been more right than she’d thought when she’d told Cory that Nathan was afraid of children.

  “You’re too quiet, Faith. Are you...are you worried about him?”

  Nathan hadn’t looked Cory’s way, but it was obvious who “him” was.

  Faith couldn’t hide her small, exasperated smile. The man wasn’t going to let it alone. “Do doughnuts have holes, Nathan? Of course I’m worried about him. I worry about him all the time. All the time. But Cory and I have been through this before. We’ll go through it again. And again and again. So don’t worry. This isn’t really anything you need to concern yourself with, so don’t go looking at me like that.”

>   “Like what?” His green gaze locked onto her own so intently that Faith wanted to slide back in order to escape that dangerous pull.

  “Like—like you’re thinking about bundling me up in blankets and ordering me off to bed, too. I’m not four years old, Nathan. The words doctor’s orders don’t intimidate me.”

  Nathan chuckled. “If there’s one thing I know about you, Faith, it’s that the word doctor doesn’t faze you in the least. But there are some words that are upsetting to you. Words like children’s center. You don’t want to leave him there, do you?”

  Nathan’s words pricked at her conscience. Slowly, she blew out a breath of air, bracing her elbows on the table.

  She pushed her fingers through her hair in a gesture of frustration. “It’s not a bad place,” she said softly, miserably. “They have toys and games there. The staff is friendly and committed.”

  But the words she hadn’t said were the ones that haunted her. The children’s center was a nice place, but it was in a hospital, part of a large, sterile institution, and Cory had been scared the last time. He’d only been three...and Cory, who almost never cried, had cried for her—miserable sobs she’d continued to hear long after she’d gone.

  “I’ve stopped in there,” Nathan stated. “They make every effort to make the kids comfortable. It’s a workable solution when you have a sick child.”

  Faith nodded. “That’s what I’ve been telling myself. And it won’t be for long, anyway. Less than a week. By next Monday, Cory will be fine and able to go back to preschool. He can stay with Mandy again in the afternoons. He feels safe with her.”

  Nathan reached out and touched Faith’s jawbone with one tense finger. “You’re a good mother, Faith, so don’t look so guilty. There’s nothing more that can be done.”

  There’s nothing more that can be done. Nathan was still saying those words when he turned to leave—when he was finally forced to walk past the couch and look at the child.

  The blankets had bunched down around Cory’s waist. He was sleeping on his stomach, his small behind sticking up like a baby’s. His teddy bear had gotten crammed down between the cushions, and Nathan knew the boy would be looking for it again when he woke up.

  Without hesitation, Nathan pulled the small bear free, lightly laying it by the child’s hand. When the fluffy fur touched the boy’s fingers, he shifted, pulling his legs higher beneath him, blinking his eyes open sleepily.

  “You going?” he asked groggily.

  Nathan nodded. “I’m going. You go back to sleep. Get your rest so you can take care of your mom, okay?”

  “Okay, Doctor,” Cory agreed, snuggling back into his covers, closing his eyes again. “See you tomorrow.”

  “See you tomorrow...Cory,” Nathan finally answered. See you tomorrow. But not before the boy had made his trek to the hospital, not before Cory had spent the day in a strange place filled with smiling strangers and antiseptic smells.

  As Nathan edged around the door and started down the walk, he turned, looked back and saw her. Faith was framed in the doorway, all eyes and tawny hair and softness. She was an incredibly strong woman, one who wouldn’t let life beat up on her, who wouldn’t let a small setback stop her. So why did she look like a frail, beautiful flower torn from the stem? Why did she look as if she needed someone to hold her? And why, damn it to hell, why in the world did he find himself wanting to run back and wrap her in his arms, promising he’d protect her when he knew damn well that he wasn’t made of the right stuff for that role?

  Faith closed the door, and the light went off. But still Nathan stood there, watching the house for several seconds before he got into his car and drove off.

  There was a full moon shining. It should have been a bright and sparkling night, a good night for a drive. Clean and fresh and promising.

  Instead, Nathan could only picture the little boy, snuggled in his dinosaur sheets, resting peacefully in his safe, warm cocoon. He could only hear Faith’s worried voice.

  It won’t be for long. It won’t be for long. He’d wanted to do something to reassure her that her son wouldn’t be sad or scared because of the decision she’d been forced to make. But in the end he’d said nothing. He had let her go back and face her doubts alone.

  She was alone. She had no one else to watch her sick boy. No one to turn to.

  Nathan wondered if that was the way it had been for Joanna, having a mostly absentee husband, a man too caught up in work to stop and offer to help.

  Braking at a light, he thumped the wheel with his palm. He couldn’t do anything about Joanna. He couldn’t change the past.

  And he couldn’t help Faith, either. It was impossible, unthinkable.

  What she needed right now was an alternative, a babysitter she could trust. He couldn’t help with that. Besides, there was no way she would trust him, not a man who’d argued with her, fought her and kissed her when her guard was down.

  He wasn’t the one for this job.

  But as he drove on, Nathan couldn’t help remembering another child and another anxious mother. He and Joanna had taken Amy to the emergency room for stitches. Amy had clung to him, whispering frantically. “I’m scared, Daddy. I’m scared,” she’d said as tears rolled down her pale cheeks.

  It wasn’t the same, not at all. Cory was going to a bright, well-stocked child care center, not an emergency room. It wasn’t nearly the same thing.

  Except that Cory was a child. A small, sick child. And therefore, more easily frightened than usual.

  Then there was Faith. A woman who’d had far too much stress in her life lately, a fair share of it coming from him. Faith, who was worried about her son, but trying not to let it show.

  Swearing beneath his breath, Nathan pulled into his drive. He pulled out his phone and made a call. Then, turning the car around, he drove back the way he’d come.

  Her house was dark when he got there. Nathan moved around to where he knew Faith’s window would be. He rapped lightly, and called out in a low voice, afraid he’d wake the boy or scare Faith.

  Her light flicked on. She peeked out the window and pulled up the sash. Nathan could see that she was wearing a soft pink robe that covered her from neck to knees. It was the kind of thing that was supposed to look demure, but only made a man want to pull it off to see what was hidden underneath.

  “Nathan?” she whispered, shoving her long, loose hair from her eyes. “What’s wrong? Come in.” She bent out the window, motioning him toward the door. “I’ll let you in.”

  “No.” He placed his fingers over her soft lips to stop any words that might follow. She gazed up at him over his fingers, her eyes still hazy from sleep.

  “Faith, I had to come back. I’ve been thinking. Cory—he shouldn’t have to go to the children’s center. That’s not right. Not when I’ve got nothing to do all day. So, if it’s okay with you, I’ll come stay with him tomorrow. Hannah will be here part of the time, too. I’ve called her, and she has a few hours she can spare. You can leave the boy at home then. He could stay in bed, with his own things.”

  She was wide awake now, her eyes following the movement of his lips. Leaning out into the night, she reached up and touched the stiff line of his jaw, the one he’d been holding rigid ever since he’d made the decision.

  A small smile lifted her lips. Slowly she shook her bead. “I couldn’t let you do that.”

  “Because you don’t trust me? I thought that might be it. That’s why I thought of Hannah. She’s got lots of kids and grandkids of her own.”

  Faith mimicked Nathan’s actions, sliding her own fingers across his lips. “It’s not because I don’t trust you, Nathan. I saw how gentle you were with Cory. It’s because of you. Being with Cory—you don’t want that. Not really.”

  “I won’t lie to you,” Nathan said, his lips brushing against the pads of her fingers just before she moved them away. “The very thought scares me. It’s hard to look at any child and not see my own or remember my own failings. I’m a man with lo
ts of regrets, and I know how much you’re worried about your boy, wondering if he’d be scared staying in the hospital. If I could have saved him that and didn’t, well I think I’d have a whole lot more regrets tomorrow than I do today. I can’t afford that, Faith. I don’t think I can afford even one more regret in my life. Besides, I could probably keep him happy for just a few days. Hannah will be around when she can, and Cory will rest a lot. I’d treat him right, I promise you.”

  “I know that,” she whispered. “I trust you.”

  He shook his head, but she stilled him as her hands framed his face. “Will this take away the guilt about Amy?” she asked.

  Nathan slid his hands up to clasp Faith’s wrists. “Nothing’s ever going to erase the past. I’m never going to forgive myself. But if I can help you—well, you’ve helped me. It’s only right. It’s something I need to do.”

  Her smile transformed the night. She leaned close, and quickly dropped a feathery kiss on his lips, her mouth warm and giving against his own. “Then, thank you, Nathan,” she whispered. “I accept. I probably shouldn’t, but I will.”

  Nathan stared at her. He streaked one finger across his lips where her own had rested just seconds ago, then touched her mouth. “Gratitude?” he asked with a smile.

  “Gratitude. It works both ways,” she agreed.

  “I’ll see you in the morning, Faith. Early.” Nathan stepped away. Then he waited for her to lower her window and lock things up tight before he drove away.

  When he climbed into the car his mind was reeling, remembering the feel of Faith’s lips against him. She’d kissed him. She’d touched him voluntarily, for the first time since she’d seared him with her palm that first session weeks ago.

  But it was only because she was grateful, he reminded himself.