“Because?” Zane prompted.
“Because I believe in people,” he said in an impassioned voice. “I think this community will step up with significant donations and that we would raise a larger amount without setting a price.”
“That's what I think too,” Elena added.
“And me too,” Zane said. “But Quintessa thinks we’re crazy and that we’d be taking a huge risk.”
Albert nodded. “I can understand her caution. I’m certain some of the board members will feel the same way. However, I’m equally sure some others will think as we do.” He took his hands out of his pockets and punched the button on his inter-office speaker system. “Penny, can you get Bernard Telford on the line for me, please? We need to see about convening an unscheduled meeting of the hospital board.”
Chapter Eleven
CANDACE SAT AT ONE OF THE COMPUTERS IN THE second floor nurses’ station when Anabelle came bustling in. She looked frazzled and harried as she dropped several files on the counter and put her hands up to massage her temples.
James stood in front of the automated medication-dispensing station along one wall. “Hi, Anabelle,” he said. “Do you have a headache?”
Anabelle took a deep breath. “Yes. Bad day.”
Candace looked up from the data she was entering. “Did one of your patients take a turn for the worse?” she asked.
Anabelle shook her head. “I’m just worried about Kirstie. She hasn't called me since the day before yesterday, and I get a little nervous.” She massaged harder. “I want to call her, but I don't want her to feel like I’m hovering. But you’d be proud of me. I’ve resisted the urge to drop in.”
Candace laughed, and James asked, “How's the place?”
“It's a cute little apartment, and she doesn't seem to be having any trouble getting around.”
“Why would she?” James asked. “She walks so well no one would ever guess she wore a prosthesis.”
“I know,” Anabelle admitted. “But I still worry that living alone is going to be too much for her.”
Candace rose and went to Anabelle's side, wrapping a supportive arm around her friend's shoulders in a gentle hug. “I think I understand why you’re worried. It's hard enough to let them go when everything's fine. When your child has a problem, you just want to fix it for them.”
Riley Hohmann, the nurse supervisor of the Birthing Unit, stuck her head into the nurses’ station, her vivid blue eyes inquisitive. “You okay, Anabelle?”
Anabelle nodded and smiled. “Yes, thanks. Just having a mother moment.”
Riley rolled her eyes. “My sympathies. Kids are wonderful, but they sure do turn our lives upside down, don't they?” Barely pausing for breath, she said, “Hey, Candace. Do you want to take your break now? Things are pretty quiet.”
“Sure.” Candace gave Anabelle's shoulders a final squeeze. “I’m dying for a cup of coffee.” Taking her leave of her friends, she slipped up one flight of stairs to the third floor and entered the staff lounge.
A large, polished aluminum coffeemaker that could make anything from one to more than four dozen cups of coffee stood on a counter at one side of the room, along with a microwave and a toaster oven. Paper towels hung on a roll above a stainless-steel sink. Beside the coffeemaker were Styrofoam cups, sweeteners, creamers and stir sticks, as well as a selection of tea bags for the few employees who preferred to brew a cup in the microwave.
Candace tossed a quarter into the basket beside the pot and got herself a cup of black coffee. Blowing on it to cool it, she sat down on one of the vinyl couches, slipped off her clogs, and propped up her stockinged feet on the blocky metal coffee table in the center of the seating arrangement.
“Hello, Candace.”
She had to twist to face the far door on the other side of the lounge. Heath Carlson, the man she had met when his brother's baby was born, had just entered the room.
“Oh, hello.”
He smiled at her as he went to the coffeemaker and got himself a cup of the brew. “Mind if I join you?”
She waved a hand in a vague gesture of assent. “Please do.” She indicated the coffee table. “Ignore my feet.”
Heath laughed. “No problem. It feels good to sit down for a few minutes. We’ve been busy all morning in Diagnostic Imaging.”
“We haven’t.” She grimaced. “Which probably means that ten minutes before my shift is supposed to end, we’ll get half a dozen ladies in labor all at once.”
“Murphy's Law,” he agreed.
There was a moment of silence as they each sipped at their coffee.
“How's your nephew doing?” she asked.
Heath smiled, blue eyes softening in a very appealing way. “Terrific. I think he's starting to recognize me. I go over there almost every day after work to give my sister-in-law a little break.”
“That's thoughtful of you.” Impressed, Candace gave him her full attention.
Heath shrugged. “No, just self-serving,” he said with a chuckle. “I don't get many opportunities to be around little ones, and I don't want to miss out on a minute.”
“Every day is an adventure with children around,” she said. “What did your brother and sister-in-law decide on for a name?”
“Michael.”
“Mike for short?”
Heath shrugged. “So far he's Michael, but we’ll see.” He looked over at her with a grin that made his dimples flash. “Did anyone ever call you Candy?”
She shuddered. “No. Thank heavens. And my sister Susan has never been called Susie or Sue. I’m not sure why.” Then she laughed. “But we’re grateful.”
Heath chuckled. Speaking of Heath's new nephew made her think back to the years when her own two had been babies. Oh, how she wished she could go back to those days, back to a time when Dean was living and they had two beautiful children and life had been so happy and normal.
“You look sad,” Heath said gently. “Is something making you unhappy?”
Startled by his perception, Candace shrugged. “I was just thinking about when my children were babies. I wish they were tiny again. I loved having little ones.” Which was true enough, although it wasn't the reason she’d been feeling blue. She forced herself to chuckle. “Not that Howie's anywhere near grown up. But it's really beginning to hit me that when he starts school this fall, my life will change again.”
She removed her feet from the table and stood as she glanced at the time and saw her break was nearly over. “I’ve got to get back to work.”
“You have to get ready for that rush of laboring moms,” he said.
She shook a finger at him. “Bite your tongue!”
They shared a laugh.
“It was nice to see you again, Heath.”
“It was nice to see you too.”
James pulled his minivan to a halt in his in-laws’ driveway. Switching off the ignition, he pulled the key out and let his head flop against the headrest for a moment.
Lord, help me, he prayed silently. Fill me with enthusiasm and confidence, and don't let Fern see how worried and upset I really am.
He lifted the mail that he had picked up when he stopped by the house after work to get out some chicken to thaw for dinner. Flipping up the flap of one envelope, he slid the single sheet of paper out and reread it. Sadly, nothing had changed.
It was the fourth response he’d gotten to the queries and résumés he’d sent out, and it was as negative as the rest. We regret to inform you that we have no employment opportunities for you at the present time…. The only two positions on which he still awaited answers were the ones farther afield. What was he going to do if he couldn't find work within a reasonable distance of Deerford? Grimly, he decided he’d better take a second look at all the job possibilities around Deerford. Even if they were ones he’d passed over on his first round of letters, he probably should send more résumés out.
“Hey, Dad!” His younger son, Nelson, had come out onto the porch of his grandparents’ home, waving
madly as he slung an arm around one of the porch posts and leaned far out to one side.
“Hey, Nelson,” James replied as he opened the door of the van. Here was a reason to be enthusiastic. Hiding away his concerns, he smiled as he came up the walk from the driveway and approached his son. “How was school?”
Nelson screwed up his face in an expression of utter loathing. “Rotten. It rained all morning and we couldn't go out for gym class and then we had to play dodgeball instead. Dodgeball, Dad.” He shook his head in disgust.
James passed a hand over his face to disguise his laughter. “Sounds awful.”
“It was,” Nelson reiterated. “We had to play with the girls.” He would be finishing seventh grade in a couple of days, and at the ripe old age of thirteen, he still thought girls were an alien life-form. Preferably one he could send far, far away.
“Oh no, not with the girls!” James said, shaking his head. “Sorry, kiddo. Sounds like the worst thing in the whole wide world.” But it won't for much longer, he thought with amusement. At fourteen, Gideon had already discovered that girls weren't so terrible. His amusement faded. James and Fern had discussed it on more than one occasion. Gideon was bigger than most boys his age, and he looked older as well. It was a worry. He wished he could turn back the clock and have them playing Legos again.
A rush of affection for his sons filled him. Stepping onto the porch, he caught Nelson in a headlock and rubbed the top of his head vigorously.
“Hey!” Nelson's voice was muffled in his dad's shirt. “No fair. I wasn't ready.”
James sent his son a superior look as he released the boy and headed for the door. “Excuses, excuses,” he said, grinning.
Nelson grinned back as he followed his father into the house. “Aw, Dad.”
“Aw, Nelson,” James mimicked. “How much homework do you have?”
Nelson shrugged. “English and science. We got some time at the end of class today, and I have most of it done. You can check it,” he offered.
“I’ll look over it at home,” James told him. “Where are Mom and Grandma?”
“Sitting on the back porch,” Nelson reported. “They’re snapping peas.”
“Thanks. Get your things together. We’ll be heading home soon.”
James made his way through his in-laws’ home to the back door. As Nelson had indicated, his wife and his mother-in-law were seated in lawn chairs with a large bowl of snapped peas between them. Each of them had a smaller bowl in her lap, and a trash bag for the snapped-off ends of the peas stood between them. “Hello,” he said, opening the door. “So we’re snapping peas today, are we?”
“Hello there.” Fern twisted in her seat, raising her face for his kiss. “How are you?”
“Fatigued.” James leaned back against the doorjamb. “But getting my second wind. It always takes me a little while to make the transition from work to home.”
His mother-in-law smiled warmly at him. “We’ve had a lovely day. Got a lot of peas done.” She gestured at a nearby seat. “Why don't you sit for a spell?”
“Thanks. I think I will.” James sprawled in the lawn chair.
“I told Mother about your thoughts on remodeling the house,” Fern said. “She thought it was a great idea.”
James tensed. He was sorry he’d mentioned remodeling at all. What if they had to move away? The depressing thoughts whirled in his head, as they did nearly all the time now.
If they moved, they’d be uprooting the boys from their schools, taking Fern away from her close supportive family, starting over in a whole new community.
“Honey?” Fern was looking at him strangely. “Are you feeling all right?”
With an effort, James forced himself to relax and smile. “Yes, just a little tired, like I said.”
“Did something upsetting happen at work today?”
“No.” He could answer that honestly. “It was a good day. My prostate cancer patient went home today, and a lady with pneumonia is doing much, much better than we had feared she might.” He smiled. “Although Anabelle is worried about her daughter moving into her first apartment.”
“Oh, Kirstie. She's a lovely girl,” Fern said. “Remember when she taught Nelson's Sunday school class?”
James nodded. “I bet she's a great third-grade teacher.”
“Would you like a glass of lemonade or tea?” Fern's mother asked.
“Iced tea would be great.” James took a deep breath and slowly released it. He would think about the job situation later.
Candace walked into Rishell Elementary School at three thirty on Friday afternoon. School ended at two forty-five, and Janet had already picked up Brooke. Candace was meeting Brooke's teacher, and she would decide later whether or not to tell her daughter about it. Perhaps Brooke did not need to know. The child would have spent the entire day—no, probably the entire week—worrying about what her mother and her teacher were going to discuss.
The doors to the school were locked, so she rang the bell and announced herself on the intercom. When the door unlocked with a little snick, she tugged open the door and walked into the school. After signing in at the office and receiving a visitor's pass, she walked to the fifth-grade wing.
Although the fifth graders changed classes for a few subjects, they still received much of their daily instruction from one educator. Mrs. Parker, Brooke's homeroom teacher, was in the second room on the right. She was exceptionally tall and thin. Her dark hair had one dramatic streak of silver right in the front, and her eyes had deep purple shadows beneath them. She was one of the best teachers Brooke had ever had.
“Mrs. Crenshaw,” she said, rising from her desk with a smile. “Thanks for coming in. How can I help you today?”
Candace sank down into a student desk, and the teacher pulled another one around to face her. “Thank you for seeing me,” Candace said. “I’m concerned about how Brooke is doing socially with her peers.” She explained the odd behavior with the birthday party invitation, going on to say that Brooke and Tiffany did not appear to have any animosity or ill will between them. She spread her hands. “As far as I can tell, Brooke just didn't feel like going to the party.”
“Maybe that's all there was to it,” the teacher suggested. “Although you wouldn't be here if you believed that.”
Candace gave a rueful smile. “Right.” She shifted in the seat and prepared herself for her next sentence. “You know Brooke's father passed away when she was in second grade.”
The teacher nodded.
“She had a number of issues related to that, and we went to counseling for a while. By the end of fourth grade, she was only going once a month. The counselor suggested we take the spring semester off and see how things went.” She hesitated. “Everything has been fine, except that I just have this funny feeling that something isn't right.”
Mrs. Parker tilted her head. “I almost always find that my intuition is right on the money. When I’m smart enough to listen to it, that is.” She chuckled and then took a deep breath. “I’m glad you called, Mrs. Crenshaw. Brooke's grades are fine. She appears to be well liked by her classmates, and I have not seen any behaviors that might indicate otherwise. Nevertheless, I intended to contact you because I also have a feeling something isn't quite right.”
“What's Brooke doing?” Candace knew her alarm showed.
“Nothing,” the teacher reassured her. “At least, nothing obvious. I’m just a little troubled. I have noticed that Brooke behaves oddly whenever another student's father comes to the classroom. One day, Susie Kelly's father came to help with an art project, and shortly after he arrived, Brooke said she felt sick. I didn't think anything of it, and I sent her to the office. An hour later, she returned, and she seemed fine for the rest of the day.”
Candace sat frozen as the teacher went on. “Another time, Jamie Kinnear's father, who lives far away, came in to observe, and Brooke volunteered to take the attendance sheet to the office. Once there, she didn't come back for almost an hour, and when
I called up to see where she was, the secretary told me she was lying down in the nurse's office. She returned to class after recess—after Mr. Kinnear was gone.”
Oh, Brooke. “Do you think she's ill?” Candace suspected she knew where this was going, but she wanted to be sure she wasn't overreacting.
Mrs. Parker shook her head. “No. I don't think she's ill. When Annie Penn's father helped with the Halloween party, Brooke skipped the group game that he was overseeing. When Josh Trainor's dad showed them how to conduct an experiment to go along with their science unit, Brooke asked to use the restroom and again didn't come back for a long time. I began to connect the dots and realized there appeared to be a pattern, a common denominator, if you will, to Brooke's disappearing acts. She appears to be avoiding her classmates’ fathers. There may have been other, earlier ones that I didn't notice.” She shook her head. “I hate to even mention it to you, but I think there may be some cause for concern.”
Candace crossed her arms and sighed, bowing her head. “I think you’re right, Mrs. Parker. Thank you for your diligence. A lot of teachers might never have noticed a pattern.”
“Given your family's loss, I thought it might be important to mention it to you,” Mrs. Parker said, giving voice to the issue they both recognized.
“I think so too,” Candace confirmed in a shaky voice. She drew in a deep, careful breath and then released it, forcing herself to think only of her surroundings, the white streak in the teacher's hair, the slightly sticky surface of the desk in which she sat. “It sounds as if Brooke needs to continue with her therapy.”
As quickly as she could, she concluded the conference, thanking the teacher one final time. Then she walked back out to the parking lot and climbed into her Honda CR-V.
Sitting in her small SUV, she fumbled with her seat belt until the clasp clicked into place. Her eyes were swimming with tears that made it impossible for her to put the key in the ignition, much less drive.
The Best Medicine Page 11
