May Chong buzzed him on the intercom. “There’s a woman on line three who says she’s your sister. Do you want to pick up?”
A jolt of relief drove everything else from Mark’s mind. “Absolutely.” Then a wave of apprehension closed over him. It had been five years since he’d seen her. What kind of condition was she in? Would she even be coherent? Was she calling from a jail, seeking bail money?
He punched the button and asked cautiously, “Bryn?”
“You moved,” she said without preamble. “I pictured you still in Florida.”
“I’d have left a forwarding address if I’d known where to send it.”
“I found you on the internet.”
Her voice had a huskier quality than he remembered. The last time they’d met he’d seen the toll that drugs and alcohol had taken on his sister, sprinkling her brown hair with premature traces of gray and leaving pouches beneath her eyes.
“You’re easy to find,” she added. “Unlike me, I guess.”
“I hired a detective, but you dropped completely out of sight. Are you okay? Where are you?” He braced for her usual evasions.
“In Phoenix. I’ve been clean for two years.”
“Two years? Congratulations.” That sounded like an eternity, considering that she’d begun using as a teenager and hadn’t stopped except for the few times he’d persuaded her to enter rehab programs. She must be thirty-three now. Hard to imagine his baby sister being that old. “I wish you’d let me know sooner.”
“I wanted to be sure I could do this on my own.” In the background, he heard the rumble of a large engine.
“Are you at a truck stop?” That would be typical, sad to say. According to the detective, his sister had put her health and life at risk, picking up men for drug money.
“I work as a receptionist for a trucking company,” she told him. “Mark, I don’t blame you for doubting me. I put you through hell. But I’ve found a group that supports me. It’s called Celebrate Recovery—kind of like Alcoholics Anonymous, only it’s at a church.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Beneath her casual tone, he sensed that she’d called for a reason. “I’m happier than I can say to learn that you’re all right. You’re the only family I have.”
“No wife?” Bryn asked. “I was hoping for a few nieces and nephews by now.”
“Not yet. I’m still marveling at the idea that a home can be a refuge instead of a war zone.” Now, where had that come from?
“So you choose to be alone?”
“I’m not alone. I run a hospital and see patients. Long hours, but it’s what I always dreamed of.” Enough talking about himself. He wanted to find out more about his sister. “I was going to ask—”
“Why I’m calling,” she finished. “Because I always call with a motive, right?”
“That is the pattern, yes.” Blinking buttons on the phone caught Mark’s attention. People must be trying to reach him. Thank goodness his secretary had the sense to deflect them.
“One of the steps in our recovery is making amends to people we’ve harmed. And you’re the person I’ve hurt the most.”
“You want to make amends?” He didn’t see how a person could atone for so many years of disappointment and pain. Still, he loved her in spite of that.
“Maybe not for your sake, but for mine—if that’s okay?” Bryn added quickly. “The last thing I want is to cause you any more problems.”
Forgiveness might not come easily, but Mark was willing to try. “I’d be happy to see you.”
“I was hoping…how about Christmas?” she blurted. “I could drive out there.”
“That’s what, seven or eight hours?” A long trek for one person. “I’ll send you a plane ticket.”
“No, Mark. This is my responsibility.” She spoke with a maturity he’d never heard from her before. “I should arrive by late afternoon. But don’t let me disrupt your plans if you were going to spend Christmas with someone.”
That reminded him of Sam’s fundraiser. He’d promised to be there, but that didn’t preclude welcoming his sister. “You should come,” Mark told her. “It won’t be a proper Christmas without you.”
“I don’t deserve…” Her words choked off. She cleared her throat. “You’re the most wonderful brother in the world.”
“Just get here in one piece.” He gave her his cell phone number. “You can reach me anytime.”
She provided her own number. “I’m not going to disappear again. This is for keeps.”
“That’s the best Christmas present you could give me.”
After they hung up, Mark sat amazed at this development. He’d feared his next contact with Bryn would be a call informing him of her death, or that he might never learn what happened to her. This was beyond anything he’d dared to hope for.
If it was real, and not just another of her deceptions.
A tap at the door broke his reverie. Without waiting for an invitation, a blond whirlwind in a teal blouse and gray tweed skirt breezed in, head high and mouth set in a determined line.
“Sam.” Mark got to his feet. “I was wondering where you’ve been.”
“Licking my wounds. Well, I’m done with the self-pity. Now I’ve got a plan.”
“What kind of plan?” he asked warily.
“I’ve decided to call a press conference.”
“Excuse me?”
She beamed. “I’m sure reporters will be very interested to know what’s happening to the clinic.”
“I decide when the hospital holds a press conference and what information we release to the media.”
She held up her hands in a peace gesture. “Sorry. I was just taking a poke at you. I want to announce the Christmas fundraiser. That’s all.”
“Why not simply send out a press release?” Putting Samantha together with the media was like cleaning a linoleum floor with gasoline. One spark and the whole house blew up.
“It’ll get lost on somebody’s desk. There’s only a couple of weeks left, after all, and this is the fastest way to reach our supporters. Also, a local caterer agreed to provide food at cost in return for publicity. Jennifer believes we can get the press conference organized by Monday.” With an unexpected note of pleading, Sam added, “Please? If the fundraiser fizzles, we’re sunk.”
It was hard to argue when she spoke so reasonably. “I suppose so. No mention of having to move out of the offices, though,” Mark warned. “We’ll be presenting the plans for the fertility center in a controlled manner. I can’t have you hijacking the subject.”
“And flying it into the side of a mountain?” Samantha observed wryly.
“Do I have to remind you about past slipups? Such as the time you announced on the internet that we were giving away beauty makeovers?” Mark would never forget the uproar when a swarm of Samantha’s teen moms—including Candy—arrived at the hospital to demand free pampering.
“I just said we ought to make single moms who keep their babies feel like Cinderellas at the ball, even if it meant providing…” She shook her head. “That was over the top, I admit. But it turned out all right.” A local salon, glad to reap the TV coverage, had donated makeovers.
“This is much more serious. Bad publicity about the hospital could hurt our recruitment efforts and shake up stockholder confidence.” And he’d lose the chance to recruit the kind of director who could put Safe Harbor on the map.
“You don’t need to lecture me, Mark.”
They faced each other across his desk, a gulf that seemed wider than ever. He wished he knew how to cross it, not just for the sake of their professional relationship, but because he had a very strong desire to kiss her again. Right now. No matter who might walk in on them.
With a mental wrench, he returned to the topic. “What time Monday?”
“One o’clock.”
“We’ll go over the presentation beforehand. You, me and Jennifer.”
“You plan to be there?”
He shrugged. “I’ll p
ut it an appearance.”
Sam folded her arms. “If you insist. But honestly, boss, I promise to color inside the lines.”
“Spoken like a pediatrician.”
When she grinned, sunshine flooded the office. “We really are on the same team, most of the time.”
After she left, Mark took a moment to remember how to breathe. Then he got back to work.
Chapter Four
Through the window of the Sea Star Café, the gray sky gave the harbor a flat, subdued air. Once darkness fell tonight, strings of holiday lights on the moored sailboats and yachts would provide a fairyland display, but this morning the scene matched Samantha’s gloomy mood.
Lori slid into a seat beside her at the table, the aroma of spices wafting from her steaming cup of chai. Joining them, Jennifer set down a mug of coffee. Their faint reflections in the window showed the contrast between Sam’s own blond ponytail, Lori’s reddish-brown hair and Jennifer’s darker coloring, a tribute to a Hispanic heritage on her father’s side.
That reminded Sam: she’d always wondered what her children would look like. Well, she wasn’t going to have any. Not genetic ones, anyway.
“If you stare out the window any harder, the glass is going to shatter,” Lori said.
“Or you’ll focus the light and set fire to one of the sailboats,” Jennifer added.
“I’m entitled to be moody,” Sam grumped. “Deal with it.”
She’d broken the news about her medical results to her friends yesterday, and had hoped they could all put the subject behind them before their regular Saturday power walk and coffee-guzzling. Instead, Sam sat here brooding. Well, they ought to understand. “We are dealing with it, by making jokes,” said Lori.
“At your expense.” Jennifer softened her words with a smile. “In the nicest way possible.” With an adopted three-month-old and an adoring husband, the newlywed beamed at everyone and everything. Constantly. To the verge of being nauseating.
Honestly, how could she sink so low as to resent her friend? Sam thought in dismay. Just because she was suffering herself didn’t mean she wished the same misery on anyone else.
She looked up to see Lori frowning. “Sam, I never thought you were that eager to have kids. You always seemed preoccupied with saving the world.”
True enough. “Frankly, my reaction surprises me, too. I should be worrying about the counseling clinic, not my silly personal issues.”
“Early menopause is hardly a silly personal issue,” Jennifer said.
“Well, it is personal. But it’s not silly.” Lori eyed a cinnamon-nut muffin passing by on someone’s plate. “You think I worked off enough calories to eat one of those? I’d hate to lose my girlish figure, especially now that I’m single again.” Perhaps realizing that she hadn’t actually been married, she added, “In the totally unattached sense.”
“Do you feel ready to date?” Jennifer asked. “That would be a good sign.”
Lori shrugged. “Wish I did. Then I might stop obsessing about Jared. Only…every guy I meet, when he finds out I’m an obstetrical nurse, the first thing he says is how much he wants kids. Can you believe it?”
“Yes.” To her embarrassment, Samantha felt the sting of tears. What was wrong with her?
“I’m sorry. I keep forgetting you can’t have…” Lori grimaced. “That’s even worse, me dwelling on it.”
“We should find a neutral topic. Unless you two would rather discuss your…issues.” Jennifer peered from one to the other. “It’s fine with me either way.”
“Do you have to be so nice?” Sam roared.
Lori held up her hands. “I’ve got an idea. Let’s talk about somebody we all hate.”
“I don’t hate anyone,” Jennifer said.
“Mark,” Sam proposed.
Lori shook her head. “It’s not his fault he’s booting out the counseling clinic. Besides, I can’t hate him. He’s my doctor.”
“Neither can I. After all, he hired me,” Jennifer reminded them. “And he’s a great boss.”
Sam didn’t hate him, either. The truth was, she’d done far too much thinking about Mark during the past few days. Did he guess how she melted inside when he drew close? A part of her wished they’d followed up on his suggestion to figure out how to proceed after their kiss. If only the stupid hospital corporation hadn’t thrown a wrench into everything.
If only I weren’t wildly attracted to the wrong man. “Why do you hate Mark?” Jennifer asked. “Seriously, I realize you two cross swords on a regular basis, but I figured there were sparks.”
Was it that obvious?
“He may drive you crazy, but he’s supportive when you need him,” Lori declared.
That did it. “Let me tell you about men,” Sam burst out. “First they’re all warm and supportive, but the next thing you know they sucker you into darning their socks.”
“Dr. Rayburn would never ask anyone to darn his socks.” Lori stirred her tea so vigorously it slopped over. “When they get a hole in them, he throws them away and buys new ones.” Amazing what details some nurses noticed about their physicians.
“Who asked you to darn his socks?” Jennifer asked.
“Well, no one, literally,” Samantha admitted. “But there was this guy I almost married in college. I nearly dropped my plans for med school so I could put him through law school.” Brad Worthy. Or rather, Brad UnWorthy. She saw his high-boned, angular face as clearly as if she’d dated him last month instead of fifteen years ago at UC Berkeley.
“He must have been an exciting guy, if you cared that much about him,” Lori said.
“Smart and passionate.” And terribly hurt when his starry-eyed girlfriend came to her senses. “He couldn’t figure out why I put my dreams ahead of his.”
“Why couldn’t you both pursue your dreams?” Jennifer asked.
“Too expensive. Well, from his perspective.” Brad had freaked out at the prospect of running up hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt between them. “I didn’t care if we ever owned a house or sent our kids to private school. But he did.”
“He broke up with you over that?” Lori said. “He sounds like a snob.”
“Lucky you discovered that you had such different values,” Jennifer added.
In retrospect, their breakup had been lucky, Sam reflected as she checked her watch. “I’m afraid I have to go. Candy’s being released this morning. I want to make sure she and the triplets are okay.”
Lori regarded her dubiously. “It’s after ten. She might have left already.”
With a guilty pang, Sam realized she’d been dragging her feet. These past few days, seeing those three darling babies had reminded her painfully of her own condition, and she’d found it increasingly hard to sympathize with the serious challenges Candy faced.
First you resent your friends, and now you envy a young mother you’ve mentored? What’s wrong with you?
Sam hauled herself to her feet. “Please forgive my bad mood this morning.”
“I will, if you’ll forgive me for boring you to death about my broken heart,” said Lori.
“And if you’ll excuse me showing you my honeymoon pictures twice by mistake,” Jennifer put in.
“They’re great pictures. I didn’t mind a bit.” Scooping up her oversize purse, Samantha said goodbye and emerged from the cozy café into the chilly seaside air.
She set out at a brisk pace on the uphill march to the hospital. A couple of cyclists swooped by, muscular legs pumping as they bent low over their racing bikes. From a nearby veterinary kennel, a chorus of barks welcomed a visitor or perhaps a meal.
Sam kept an eye out for an empty storefront or sign advertising a small office that might house the counseling clinic. A place right along busy Safe Harbor Boulevard would at least draw walk-in traffic. But how was she going to pay the rent? The hospital facilities had been free.
Somehow, today, she couldn’t spare any more energy for other people, even those who were suffering. She just wanted to mo
ve past her own deep pain. Thank goodness for exercise.
A few minutes later, her leg muscles burning, she strode into the medical center elevator. On the third floor, the doors opened on three volunteers wheeling a trio of bassinets toward her, trailed by Candy in the obligatory wheelchair. Sam’s heart lurched when she spotted sweet little Connie with her strawberry blotch.
I’m going to miss her.
“Hey, Doc!” Toward her ambled the father, Jon, a thin fellow with scraggly facial hair. “Where’ve you been?”
“I came to the hospital earlier to examine them.” She’d cleared each of the babies for release before leaving to meet her friends. “Congratulations. Your children are in great condition. That’s not always the case in multiple births.”
“I thought you were going to fix her.” He indicated Connie.
Like a broken toy? “We’ll deal with the birthmark when she’s older and stronger.” Although the triplets had arrived in remarkably good shape, Samantha preferred to let the infant gain weight before subjecting her to laser treatment.
The wheelchair rolled alongside them, its occupant frowning. “This is kind of scary. I’m not sure how I’m going to care for all these babies when it takes three volunteers just to push the bassinets.”
Candy did face a daunting task. Sam had spent a lot of time reviewing the issues with her in advance, and despite the occasional hesitation, the girl had seemed determined. But was she responding to my enthusiasm? Did I influence her too much?
This was hardly the moment for a change of heart. Once Candy settled in, with help from her mother and from volunteers, she’d gradually gain confidence. “As I’ve explained, a nurse will come by your apartment this afternoon to get things organized. Some of our hospital volunteers are going to be relieving you for a few hours a day for the next few weeks. Do you have the schedule I gave you?”
The girl waved a sheaf of papers. “It’s in here somewhere with all the hospital forms… I think. Otherwise, I have no idea where I put it.”
The Holiday Triplets Page 4
