Checking to be sure her uniform was properly put together, Elena suspected. She braced herself.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Your Wall of Hope project is an excellent idea.”
Elena blinked. Really? “Thank you.”
“I would like to offer my services in any manner befitting my position,” the nursing administrator went on.
“That would be terrific,” Elena said sincerely. “Organization is something we may need, and I suspect you would excel at that.”
Leila nearly smiled; Elena could see her lips quiver. “I suspect I would be. Contact me when you know what you need.” Inclining her head as regally as a queen, Leila walked on.
Elena stood where she was for a moment, until someone came along behind her and bumped her shoulder companionably. “The middle of the parking lot probably isn't the best place for daydreaming,” Candace said. “Good morning.”
Elena laughed as she fell into step beside her friend. “Good morning.”
Candace was wearing pink scrubs today. The color emphasized the soft bloom of color along her cheeks. Candace, thought Elena, was a lovely woman when she smiled. All too often, she had her head down in serious contemplation of who-knew-what.
“You seem happy,” she said. “I thought maybe Mrs. Hargrave would leave you needing to be cheered up.”
“Nope. The exact opposite. Would you believe she offered to help with the Wall of Hope?”
Candace looked appropriately stunned. “Amazing.”
“I know!”
As the two women continued into the hospital and headed for the elevators, several people stopped them. Elena received several more offers of help, a number of people informing her they were keeping the project in prayer, and more encouragement than she had ever anticipated. By the time she and Candace had stashed their lunches and purses in their lockers in the staff lounge, she needed a paper and pen to write down all the new volunteers.
As she swiftly divided them into prayer partners, flyer distribution and other tasks, Candace looked over her shoulder. “I couldn't organize anything that quickly if my life depended on it.”
“Yes, you could. You’re very organized.”
“I’m a good faker.”
The two women chuckled together as they headed to the second floor to begin their respective days. And Elena's heart felt light. Surely with all these good people ready to support the project, the townsfolk would step up financially.
Wouldn't they?
Chapter Sixteen
DR. HAMILTON?” ANABELLE STUCK HER HEAD INTO the office of the man who had saved Kirstie's life. He had been practicing medicine at Hope Haven Hospital for nearly forty years, and there were few people in Deerford who didn't recognize his name. Anabelle had worked with him for quite a bit of that time. Long enough, she thought fondly, that she could remember him with dark brown hair. Still, the silver was striking; it made him look even more distinguished.
“Hi, Anabelle,” the physician said, swiveling his chair away from his computer monitor and leaning back. He wore a lab coat unbuttoned over a white shirt and a deep red tie.
“How do you know I want anything?” she asked. “Maybe I’m just visiting you out of the goodness of my heart.”
“Are you?”
She laughed and shook her head. “No, you win. I need your assistance with something.”
Dr. Hamilton was grinning too. “Gotcha!”
She came all the way into the room and took a seat in front of his desk. “Have you heard about Elena Rodriguez's idea for a fund-raiser called the Wall of Hope?”
“Maybe a better question would be to ask who hasn’t?” he said, smiling. “Oh yes. I’ve heard about it. And heard about it, and heard about it.”
“That’s great! We’re preparing to publicize it within the community—”
“I know,” he said, grimacing. “I got a phone call this morning from Frederick Innisk. Have you ever met him?”
“Not personally,” Anabelle said. “Which I believe is a good thing for me.” That man hadn't succeeded torpedoing Elena's wonderful idea, she thought with satisfaction. “And if a fraction of the things I’ve heard about his temperament are true, I probably don't want to. He's bad-mouthing the Wall of Hope, isn't he?”
The physician nodded. “Yes. He tried to tell me the hospital will be leaving itself open to lawsuits if we use patients for publicity purposes. I don't know where he got a ridiculous idea like that, and I told him I couldn't imagine any health professional would do something like that.”
Anabelle crossed her arms. “I know where he got the idea. Well, maybe I don't know exactly how he heard it, but clearly someone has been talking ‘out of school.’”
“What do you mean?”
“Mr. Innisk must have heard something about the plans for publicity and misunderstood. He already blocked the newspaper from running an article, but now that the board approved the project over his objections, he won't be able to stop it.”
Dr. Hamilton pursed his lips. “Freddie Innisk wields a lot of clout in this town. It's about time someone reminded him we live in a democracy.”
Anabelle laughed. “Let me tell you what the Wall of Hope plans really include.”
Dr. Hamilton listened with interest as she explained Valera's initial news article's focus. Then she went on to tell him about the reporter's interest in doing a series of stories with former patients who were successfully cared for at Hope Haven. “And that's where you come in,” she added. “Although if we can't even get the first article published, I’m not sure what good the rest of these interviews will do.”
“Tell Elena not to give up,” the doctor advised. “I think of Freddie as a tsunami—he rushes in and overwhelms; but as his influence recedes, people come to their senses and begin to fix the damage he's done.”
Anabelle snorted. “I hope that's true.”
“So how can I help?”
“Other than counteracting the Innisk Effect?” she asked.
He laughed aloud. “Oh, the fellows I play golf with are going to enjoy that.” Then he sobered. “I’ll do what I can outside the hospital to set things right. What else?”
His words gave her hope. Dr. Hamilton was well known and widely respected in the community. His words carried a lot of weight. “I have a list here,” she said, waving a sheet of paper at him. “It contains the names—or cases, in places where we couldn't remember names—of fifteen people who are former patients. Marge Matthews and Phyllis Getty helped me come up with the list. I’d like you to look over this list with me and see how many of these would be good possibilities for the interview series.” She went on to explain the letter she hoped to send out inviting them to volunteer.
“I’ll be glad to look at it.” He held out a hand for the list. “Once we have the list finalized, I’d be happy to send the letters out personally. The people who are interested could contact my office, and I could have a list compiled for the reporter.”
Anabelle's eyes widened as she handed over the sheet of paper. “Thanks. That's a generous offer.”
“It's the least I can do. After all, my job is on the line here too.”
His words were serious, but Anabelle realized it wouldn't be exactly the same for him. If the hospital closed, he still could have a private practice, as could most of the other physicians. It was all the other hospital staff who would be most affected by a closing. They stood to lose their jobs and their livelihoods.
When Dr. Hamilton had finished with the list, he laid it on his desk. “All right. Do you trust me to take care of this?”
Anabelle nodded. “Of course. Zane McGarry's office has the sample letter, if you’d like to use it.”
He nodded. “No sense reinventing the wheel. I’ll call down there right now and ask them to e-mail it to me.”
“Thank you,” she said. “You’re a peach.”
“I know.” He grinned modestly. Leaning back in his chair again, he said, “So how's my best girl doing t
hese days? She hasn't been in to see me in a long time.”
He was referring to Kirstie, with whom he had developed a special relationship after his heroic efforts to save her life when she’d been hit by that car. Kirstie still had a stuffed animal he’d brought her while she was in the hospital, a little white plush kitty with the softest fur imaginable. It had occupied a place of honor on her bed for many years; and while Anabelle doubted it still lived on Kirstie's bed, she knew for a fact that her daughter had packed it and taken it along when she moved.
“All grown up.” To her horror, Anabelle felt her chest tightening. She would not cry, she told herself fiercely. Releasing a deep breath, she said, “She got a teaching job.”
He nodded. “I heard. What grade?”
“Third. She loves it.” She managed a smile. “She moved into her own apartment last month.”
“Wow. I bet you’ve got empty-nest-itis in a big way.”
Anabelle chuckled, and it sounded shaky even to her. “You could say that.”
“It's natural,” he said gently. “Especially after everything your family has gone through with her. Instead of stepping back gradually as she grew and matured, you needed to be front and center again through a lot of her adolescence.”
“Once she got comfortable with her prosthesis, she became Little Miss Independence again, though, and we didn't have so much to do for her. Cam still drove her to school in any kind of bad weather so she didn't have to try to walk to and from the bus stop. And I checked her stump every night for any kind of skin lesion,” Anabelle admitted. “Even a tiny scratch can become a big problem if it isn't treated immediately.”
“You’re good parents,” he told her. “You encouraged excellent habits and routines, so she's adept at caring for herself.” He smiled. “Genna had a tough time when the last one of ours went off to school. Anytime a child moves away from home, it leaves a hole.”
Anabelle nodded. “I avoided it earlier because she lived at home while she was in college. So it's time. I’m just having a little trouble adjusting.” She sent Dr. Hamilton a wry smile. “Unlike Kirstie. She seems to be having absolutely no trouble spreading her wings and flying on with her life.”
He grinned at her expression. “That's the way you want it,” he assured her.
“I know,” she admitted, “but I don't have to like it!”
Candace was helping Brooke with a project on seahorses to be displayed in the summer science exhibition at the local Children’s Museum. Scanning the sheet of instructions, Candace said, “Okay. You know what they look like and how many kinds there are. Now you need to research what they eat and where they can be found. And it says you should include any other unique or interesting facts about your animal.” She set down the paper. “How did you decide on seahorses?”
Brooke shrugged. “I saw a show about them on the Discovery Channel last week, and I thought they were interesting. Mommy, did you know the fathers are the ones that have the babies?”
Now that wasn't a sentence she’d expected to hear from an eleven-year-old. “Are you sure?” she asked. “Females almost always are the ones—”
“No, it's the fathers,” Brooke insisted.
Her words reminded Candace that Brooke had a counseling appointment set up for next week. Tony Evans had squeezed her into his schedule right after Candace called.
“They said it on TV.” Brooke arched her eyebrows as if the TV's authority ended the discussion.
Candace resisted the urge to tell Brooke not to believe everything she saw on television. It was such a clichéd motherly statement. Instead, she said, “All right. Get on the Internet and find me three separate references that say that. And they have to be knowledgeable sources, like zoos or national aquariums.”
Brooke heaved a sigh. “All right,” she muttered. “Boy, are you going to look dumb when I find them.”
“Brooke!” Candace decided she and her mother had jinxed themselves when they talked about adolescence the other day. But her daughter had already trudged out of the room.
The telephone rang then, and she rose to answer it. “Hello?”
“Candace?”
“This is Candace.”
“Hi, it's Robin Overing.” The young woman sounded chipper and relaxed.
“Hi, Robin. How are you feeling?”
“Fat,” the woman said with a laugh. “But I wanted to tell you that this morning Andrew and I had a joint meeting with my oncologist, the surgeon, the anesthesiologist, my obstetrician and the pediatrician who will be caring for our baby.”
“My goodness. That's quite a powwow.” Candace was ecstatic. “Did the group of you come to any decisions?”
“Yes. I wanted you to know right away that I listened to you and asked a whole lot of questions about the surgery. I’ve decided to have the lumpectomy. You were right—it sounds much less complicated and invasive than a mastectomy. And the anesthetist made me feel a lot better about that part of it.” But then she stopped, and Candace felt a hesitation in her silence.
“But?” she prompted.
“It's not really an objection,” Robin said. “The one thing we didn't resolve is really just a question my oncologist, the pediatrician and I need to discuss a little more. My doctor wants me to have chemotherapy as soon as possible after I give birth.”
“All right,” Candace said slowly.
“But I had really gotten excited about breast-feeding,” Robin said wistfully. “It would be so much better for the baby.”
“Better, perhaps, but not critical to good health under most circumstances,” Candace offered.
“You think I should start chemo and not breast-feed, don't you?”
“My opinion isn't important, Robin,” she said patiently. “You and Andrew have far more information than I do about all the complexities of your case, and you can make your own decisions. But I want to congratulate you on being proactive and talking with all those doctors. I think you’re making the best decision possible with the information available to you.”
“I hope so,” Robin said in a small voice. “I have a few weeks yet to decide about chemo. It can't start in any case until after the baby's born.”
Candace chuckled. “Not too long to go, then. Babies have a way of wreaking havoc on any attempts at scheduling,” she advised. “You and Andrew had better be ready to make that last decision at any time.”
“Oh, I don't think I’ll deliver early,” Robin said confidently. “My mother was two weeks late with me.”
Candace and her friends had agreed to meet for lunch at the Corner the following Monday. James joined Candace first, with Anabelle only moments behind him. The three exchanged family stories while waiting for Elena, who came flying in five minutes later.
“Great news!” she crowed as she slid onto the dark green vinyl seat of the booth beside Anabelle.
Candace smiled at her friend's enthusiasm. “What's that?”
“The paper printed the introductory article about the Wall today. Look!” She passed out copies of the day's Deerford Dispatch. “Hot off the presses, with our smiling faces right on the front page.”
James smiled. “Honestly, Elena, why don't you show a little more enthusiasm?”
She made a face at him, and they both grinned.
“I’m so glad Frederick Innisk didn't manage to squash this,” Anabelle commented. “I still can't understand why he’d object to any attempt to keep the hospital from going under.”
“Zane told me that Dr. Hamilton is speaking to people,” Elena confided.
Anabelle looked just a teeny bit smug. “I may have mentioned to him that Innisk was causing trouble when we spoke about the letters.”
Elena threw her arms around her friend. “You’re amazing! Thank you!”
Candace had to laugh. “You’re pretty amazing too,” she told Elena. “You’ve taken this project from a mere kernel of an idea to something the whole town can support.”
Elena's cheeks bloomed with color. “It wasn
't really such a big deal.”
“It will be if this hospital stays open.” James's tone was serious and dampened everyone's high spirits.
“You’re right,” said Candace. She thought of the conversation she had had with her mother. “It's almost impossible to fully appreciate what a wonderful thing it will be if the hospital stays open. I’m sure local businesses share our concern.”
“The pharmacy's business would decrease without the hospital,” James said. “And the town's tax base will be significantly smaller if a lot of hospital employees are without work or are forced to move to new locations.”
Candace nodded. “If people move and take their families away from Deerford, it's going to affect how many teachers are needed in the schools. And if there are fewer teachers, that affects the tax base even more.”
“Fewer people to spend money locally,” Anabelle said. “Which directly affects any retail businesses, from the dry cleaners to the bicycle repair shop.”
“It creates a chain reaction,” James said.
“Wow,” Elena said. “I guess I didn't realize just how significant the economic impact on this town will be if Hope Haven closes.”
“And the last thing any of us need is more financial stress,” Anabelle said. “So good work, Elena. We’re behind you all the way.”
Chapter Seventeen
THE PERSONNEL DIRECTOR AT THE CHILDREN'S Hospital of Illinois in Peoria looked across her desk at James. He’d made the ninety-minute drive earlier that morning and had undergone an extensive interview. “And moving your family from Deerford would not be a problem for you, Mr. Bell? What if the Deerford hospital stays open?”
James swallowed. Lord, don't let me blow this. “I love my current job. But I support a family of four, and I have to think of them first. The thought of moving doesn't make me jump up and down and cheer, but I can't live on what-ifs.”
There was a short silence when he finished speaking. The personnel director tapped away at her keyboard, presumably entering a few notes on their conversation. Or maybe, James thought with a sudden burst of humor, she was checking on her friends’ status updates on Facebook.
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