A Little Light Magic

by Joy Nash

  OneSexiLadi. Karla.

  Shit.

  Jason’s reply finally popped up. <12 it is, babe ; - )>

  Leigh stayed online for a while, chatting with everyone about nothing, all the while watching for Karla’s screen name to go from black to gray. When it finally did, she shut down her computer and got out her sketchbook and doodled a bit. Usually, drawing calmed her down. But tonight it didn’t seem to do the trick.

  At eleven forty-five she rooted through the mess on her closet floor and found the knotted rope. She didn’t need it to climb down off her balcony onto the patio below, since the stone piers supporting the upper terraces provided easy footholds. It was getting back up that was tricky.

  Her hands shook as she clipped the rock climbing carabiner to the railing and tossed the free end of the rope over the side. Then she swung her legs over and shimmied down until her bare feet found a niche between the stones. From the lower terrace, it was a short jump off the seawall to the sand.

  Jason waited in the lifeguard stand one block over. Leigh grabbed his hand and let him pull her up onto the bench beside him. God, he was strong. When he lifted her, she felt as if she weighed nothing. Talk of Jason’s physique had always ruled the girls’ locker room, but since he joined the Beach Patrol last year, his drool quotient had gone off the scale. And he was so cute, too, with blond, blond hair and dark, dark eyes.

  They’d been going out since the spring dance. Leigh still couldn’t shake the feeling she’d won the lottery. But there was a downside to dating the guy all the girls wanted. Her name was Karla.

  Leigh beat back her insecurities and snuggled into Jason’s side. He tipped her chin up for a kiss and made it last, holding her head and stroking his tongue across her lips and into her mouth. She sighed and just about melted. Jason was an incredible kisser. When he gave it his full attention, Leigh couldn’t think about anything else.

  She forced herself to break away before her head spun completely off her shoulders. “I didn’t come out here for this.”

  He smiled against her cheek. “No? Then you got more than you bargained for.”

  She nuzzled his chin. He smelled of sunscreen. “Yeah.”

  “If not this, then what?”

  “I need to tell you something.”

  He kissed her nose. “What?”

  “My dad won’t let me go to your graduation party.”

  She felt him stiffen. “You told him my folks were away.”

  “I didn’t! He already knew.”

  Jason was silent a beat. Then, “So what if he doesn’t want you to go? Come anyway.”

  “Oh, right. Like I could. He’d kill me.”

  “He doesn’t need to know. Tell him you’re staying overnight at Stacey’s.” Jason’s voice turned teasing. “That way you won’t have to worry about getting home before morning.”

  Leigh’s heart started to pound. “What do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean.” Jason’s hand slid into her open windbreaker. His palm cradled her breast while his thumb gently stroked its peak through her shirt. Her body responded, going into full meltdown mode.

  “I want to spend a whole night with you, Leigh.”

  Lightning shot from her nipple to the place between her legs. Oh, God. She covered Jason’s hand with her own, but whether she wanted to stop him or encourage him, she couldn’t say.

  “I…I don’t like lying to him. You know that. I don’t even like sneaking out here.”

  “You wouldn’t have to lie if your dad didn’t hate me. And I can’t figure out why. He doesn’t know me. He’s barely even said two words to me.”

  “I know. It’s not fair.”

  “Leigh, I want you at my party. It won’t seem right if you’re not there. I know we haven’t been together long, but I’ve never felt like this before.” He gave a rueful laugh, as if he couldn’t quite believe he’d admitted it. “I love you, you know.”

  “I do. I love you, too.”

  They sat silently for a while, listening to the waves break on the shore. A lone gull flew overhead, its vague night shadow skimming the sand.

  “Come to my party,” Jason whispered. “For me. Will you?”

  She could felt him withdraw a fraction for every second she remained silent. “Yeah,” she whispered finally. “I’ll be there.”

  He kissed her again, and the crazy fire he lit so easily sprang to life.

  She shoved her misgivings into a dark corner of her brain and kissed him back.

  Tori hated doctors.

  One of her earliest memories involved a hospital waiting room. She was sitting on the floor, playing with one of those push-the-bead-along-the-wires toys. It was shiny and new; she’d never seen one before. She tried her best to look only at the beads, and not at the man who sat behind her, smelling of beer—her mother’s latest boyfriend, Ed. A doctor materialized, saying her mother was lucky this time, but had to stay overnight. Ed muttered a single, sharp word. He took her home and she stayed out of his way until morning.

  Another memory—she was about eleven in this one—involved another white-coated doctor in another hospital waiting room. Tori’s mother wasn’t so lucky that time. Tori stayed with a policewoman that night, until Aunt Millie came in the morning. But just a couple years later, another man in white broke the news that Aunt Millie’s stroke meant she wouldn’t be coming home ever again.

  And that was why Tori hated doctors. And hospitals. She realized it was a shoot-the-messenger kind of thing, totally undeserved, but there it was. She would cross four lanes of traffic rather than meet someone in a lab coat on the sidewalk.

  Nonetheless, here she was, in an OB-GYN waiting room, perched on the edge of her chair next to an enormously pregnant woman. She tried not to look, but her eyes kept drifting to the woman’s round belly. She wanted to ask if she could put her hand on it and feel the baby, but of course, she didn’t.

  The woman had an older child, too. A cute, pudgy toddler who was playing with one of those push-the-bead-along-the-wires toy.

  Tori looked away.

  Looked up, actually. But that wasn’t much better. Directly in front of her was a huge corkboard covered with photos of newborn babies with red, wrinkled faces and screwed-shut eyes. In some of the pictures, older children clutched the newborns on their laps, with a parent or two hovering nearby. In other photos, adoring grandparents beamed at the camera.

  Families.

  A nurse moved in front of her, blessedly blocking the view. “Victoria Morgan? The doctor will see you now.”

  Dr. Melissa Janssen was a petite woman with short hair and an even shorter smile. She briskly asked why Tori had come, even though she’d already told the nurse, who had duly noted it in the file currently open in the doctor’s hand.

  “It’s my period,” she said. “It hurts so much the first day I can hardly walk.”

  The doctor nodded. “Cramps?”

  Right. Cramps. Tori proceeded to inform the doctor that cramps described her monthly torture about as accurately as, say, a pinprick described a knife wound in the gut. The doctor nodded and scribbled in the file.

  Tori answered a slew of questions during the exam. Afterward, she found herself in the doctor’s private office, eyeing the framed certificates above the desk. Just why did medical schools feel obliged to print up poster-size diplomas when a simple eight-by-ten would do just fine?

  Dr. Janssen got right down to business. “In my opinion, you have a severe case of endometriosis.”

  Tori fiddled with her purse strap. “Is that a kind of cancer?” Because fear of cancer was the only thing that could have driven her into a doctor’s office. She was terrified she was dying.

  “No, not at all. It’s the abnormal growth of endometrial cells outside the uterus.”

  Tori gave her a blank look.

  “Sometimes, the lining of the uterus migrates into the body cavity, causing severe pain during menstruation.”

  “But it’s not…serious?”

&n
bsp; “Not life threatening, no. However, the condition often leads to infertility.”

  For a moment, Tori couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe, even. “Infertility?”

  “That’s right. The fallopian tubes become scarred, preventing conception.”

  “I…see. But…I’m not infertile! I was pregnant last year. I told the nurse.”

  The doctor consulted the nurse’s notes. “That’s a good sign. Your pregnancy ended in a miscarriage, I see?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Were there complications?”

  Tori looked at her hands. “I bled so much, I ended up in the emergency room. They did…some kind of procedure, I guess.”

  “Which most likely led to even more scar tissue, which may make it even more difficult to conceive in the future. You have options, though.” The doctor paused. “Do you hope to have children at some point?”

  “Yes.”

  “In that case, though I could prescribe hormone therapy, I’d rather do surgery, both for more extensive diagnostics and for treatment of the condition.”

  Surgery? In a hospital?

  Tori’s throat closed. Panic spiked and the room started to sway. She gripped the edge of the exam table.

  “Ms. Morgan, are you all right?”

  It took a moment for Tori to answer. “I…don’t have insurance,” she managed at last. “I…I couldn’t possibly pay for surgery.”

  Dr. Janssen’s frown deepened. She made a few notes in the file. “All right, then. If that’s the case, we’ll start you on hormone therapy right away. It’s similar to taking birth control pills.”

  Tori’s stomach cramped. “No. I can’t take those. I tried once, and it was a disaster. I had horrible mood swings. All in the down direction. I cried night and day. I couldn’t function.” She tried to drag oxygen into her constricted lungs. “Isn’t there anything else? Some diet I could follow? Special exercises?”

  Dr. Janssen peered at Tori over her glasses. “While a good diet and exercise are always worthwhile, I’m afraid they won’t cure your condition.”

  “There’s got to be something besides drugs or surgery.”

  The doctor sighed. “I’m afraid the only natural treatment for endometriosis is pregnancy.”

  Pregnancy? Tori stared at her.

  “Hormones again,” she explained. “After nine months without a period, the endometrial masses shrink. Breast-feeding’s beneficial, too.” She consulted the file again. “But I see you’re not married. Are you in a steady relationship?

  Maybe with the father of the baby you lost?”

  “No. He and I…It didn’t work out. I’m on my own now.”

  “So I’m guessing a baby isn’t an option for you at this time.”

  “No,” Tori whispered. “I guess it’s not.”

  Chapter Four

  A little brother is fun to play with, fun to reduce to tears, and a good reason to beat up the neighborhood bully.

  But sometimes, you just want to kill him.

  Nick expelled a breath. This Bayview job was turning out to be a freaking pain in his ass. Today’s fire was a feud between Nick’s painting foreman and a carpentry subcontractor. Bill Arnett’s drywall installers were behind schedule sanding the newly spackled wallboard. As a result, a half dozen painters were standing around on Nick’s dime.

  “Get some extra guys out here, pronto,” Nick told Arnett. “I can’t let the painting go another two days. How could you let this happen? Johnny gave you the new schedule weeks ago.”

  Arnett spit into a pile of drywall cuttings. “Your brother gave me nothing.” He produced a crumpled paper. “This is the only schedule I got, and I’m on it.”

  Nick checked the dates. “This is the old schedule.”

  Arnett shrugged. The man looked like five miles of bad road and smelled like stale tobacco, but his work was decent and his prices were rock-bottom. “It’s the only one I got.”

  Mentally, Nick consigned Johnny—his youngest brother and Bayview’s project manager—to the lowest and most painful level of hell. But Nick should have expected this. A monkey humping a football was a prettier sight than Johnny running a construction site.

  “Look,” Nick told Arnett. “The owner and his candy-ass architect are breathing down my neck. You gotta get more men out here.”

  “No can do, Nick. They’re all on that big casino job. If I’d known about this two weeks ago, I mighta been able to stall them. But now…” He shrugged. “It’s not gonna happen.”

  Nick toyed with the idea of fratricide as he left the job site. A tempting thought, but it would upset the family to no end, plus Doris would quit, so it was pretty much a nonoption. Even so, he almost reconsidered when he arrived at his office and found Johnny in the waiting room, dressed in green surgical scrubs.

  His brother’s bare forearms rested on the low wall in front of Doris’s desk, a quart-size Starbucks container perched precariously near his elbow. A barbed-wire tattoo peeked from beneath his sleeve, and two silver hoops glinted on one earlobe. Doris sat at her desk, spine straight, eyes on her computer monitor, but Nick would have bet money his secretary’s wide smile had nothing to do with his accounts payable.

  Johnny straightened as Nick entered the room. “Yo, bro. How’re the dawgs at Bayview?”

  “Rabid and foaming at the mouth. Why the hell didn’t you give Bill Arnett the updated schedule?”

  Johnny blinked. “I did. At least, I gave it to Rachel when I took her out to lunch.”

  “Rachel?”

  “Arnett’s receptionist. You know, the one who looks like Angelina Jolie?”

  “Arnett said he didn’t get it.”

  Johnny snorted. “That guy would lie to his own grandmother.”

  Nick suspected that was true. “Maybe, but that’s not the point. Scheduling is your responsibility. You should’ve followed up, made sure Arnett was on top of things. This’ll put us another two days behind. Three more and the penalty clause kicks in. We’ll be giving back a chunk of our profit for every day this job drags on.”

  Johnny just shrugged.

  “Why are you here, anyway?” Nick said. “You have a preconstruction meeting at Light house Harbor at eleven.”

  Johnny plucked a stethoscope off Doris’s desk and slung it around his neck, doctor-style. “Well, that’s the thing, Nick. I can’t make that meeting. You’ll have to cover for me.”

  “What? Christ. I knew the doctor getup was bad news. What the fu—” Nick noticed Doris’s raised eyebrows and cut himself just off. “What is it this time?”

  Johnny flashed a smile that might have snowed Nick if he hadn’t grown up with it. “Not sure yet, but my agent wants me in New York by two.” He leaned toward Doris, glancing right and left as if scouting for eavesdroppers. “Rumor has it Franklinville General’s looking to hire.”

  A radiant smile broke over Doris’s face. “Oh, Johnny, you’d be perfect at FH! But…” Her eyes went round behind her tortoiseshell glasses. “Does that mean…”

  Johnny’s smile vanished, transformed into an expression normally reserved for funerals. “I’m afraid it does.”

  Nick could’ve sworn he saw tears jump into Doris’s eyes.

  “Poor Natalie!” she breathed. “And after all that dear girl’s been through. And the baby, Johnny—what’s she going to do about the baby?”

  Johnny patted her hand. “Nat’s a survivor, Doris. She’ll make it.”

  Doris reached for a tissue. “I know. I know. It just seems so…so…” She blew her nose.

  Nick looked from his brother to his secretary. “Um…am I missing something here?”

  “It’s my story,” Doris said. “Franklinville Hospital. Dr. Marshall was shot by the drug dealers who broke into the hospital pharmacy. He’s on life support.”

  “His wife is pregnant with their first child,” Johnny put in. “It’s a real tragedy. The whole town is in mourning.”

  Understanding dawned. “Christ. You’re talking about
a soap opera.”

  Doris nodded. “I know it’s silly of me, but I get so caught up with the characters.” She took off her glasses and wiped her eyes. “Poor Dr. Marshall. He reminds me of you, Nick. So dark and handsome. I was so hoping he’d pull through.”

  “Thanks,” Nick said. “I think.” He eyed his brother. “You have a soap opera audition?”

  Johnny fiddled with the end of the stethoscope. “I’m hoping.”

  “Hoping.”

  “Yeah.”

  “How many other wannabe actors are hoping? A hundred? A thousand?”

  Johnny scowled. “I know where you’re going with this.”

  “You ought to. I’m paying you good money to handle this meeting at Light house Harbor, and you’re blowing it off for a cattle call that’s going to come to nothing.”

  “Listen, you might not think I’m good enough to get the part, but—”

  “Damn it, Johnny. It’s got nothing to do with how good you are.”

  Johnny scooped up his coffee and headed for the door. “Doris says you’re clear till two. Work with me on this one, Nick. I can’t miss this audition. I’ll make it up to you. You know I always do.”

  “Yeah, right. What about the takeoffs for the Carter bid? I need those numbers by tomorrow morning.”

  “You’ll get them.”

  “Don’t you have a comedy gig tonight?”

  “Yeah. At eleven. So?”

  Nick shook his head. “Do you sleep? Ever?”

  “Sleep’s overrated, big brother. So many more interesting things to do.” Johnny glanced at Doris, then leaned toward Nick and dropped his voice to a whisper. “You should try some of them sometime. Might lighten you up.”

  “Johnny—”

  But Johnny was already half out the door. “Bye, Doris,” he called over his shoulder. “Say a novena for me, will you? I have a feeling this one’s gonna break big.”

  “I certainly hope so, Johnny.”

  “See you tomorrow, love.”