A Mother for His Adopted Son

by Lynne Marshall

  “What’s the name of the head of the department?” Sam asked.

  “Judith Rimmer. Or, as we volunteers like to call her, Helen Mirren without the star power. Hubba-hubba, if you know what I mean.”

  Sam’s brows rose at the thought—so even old guys had crushes—but off to the dungeon he went. Once he exited the elevator, he wondered why the fluorescent lights even looked dimmer down in the hospital basement, but pressed on. He passed the Matériel Management department, then Central Service—the cleaning and sterilization area. He knew where Pathology was—he’d visited there regularly to get early reports on his patients and to discuss prognoses with the pathologists. He’d also unfortunately been to the morgue far more often than he cared to in the line of duty. Nothing cut deeper than losing a child patient, and for the sake of science he’d sat in on his share of autopsies to help make sense of the tragedies.

  Sam sidestepped the morgue double doors, refusing to even glance through the ocean-liner-style windows for activity, then squinted and saw the small department sign for Ocularistry and Anaplastology in bold black letters. How many people would even know what it meant?

  The office was shoved into the farthest corner in the hallway, as if it had been an afterthought. The panel of fluorescent lights just outside the door blinked and buzzed, in need of a new tube, making things seem eerier than they already were. He wasn’t sure whether to knock or just go inside. He glanced at his watch, he’d wasted enough time finding the department, so without a moment’s further hesitation he pushed through the door of the “prosthetic eye people’s” department.

  A dainty, young platinum-blonde woman with short hair more in style with a 1920s flapper than current fashion arranged flesh-colored silicone ears under a glass display case, as if they were necklaces and earrings in an upscale jewelry store. She looked nothing like Helen Mirren but might pass as her granddaughter. What had that volunteer been talking about? On the next table sat a huge model of an eyeball. He narrowed his gaze at the odd juxtaposition.

  The woman glanced up with warm brown eyes surrounded with dark liner and smoky underlid smudges. Not the usual look he noticed in the hospital, and the immediate draw caught him off guard. His son was in Recovery, having just lost an eye, for God’s sake. He had no right to notice an attractive woman! The fact he did ticked him off.

  “I’m looking for Judith Rimmer.” Okay, so he sounded gruffer than necessary, maybe impatient, but it wasn’t even noon and he’d already been through one hell of a no-good, very bad day, to paraphrase one of his son’s favorite books.

  * * *

  “She’s currently in Europe,” Andrea Rimmer said. The intruder had barged in and brought a whole lot of stress with him, and her immediate response was to bristle.

  The brown-haired man with intense blue eyes, of which neither was prosthetic, stared her down, not liking her answer one bit. He may be a head taller than she was, but she wasn’t about to let him intimidate her. She’d had plenty of practice of standing up to men like that with her father.

  “When will she be back?” He seemed to look right through her, which further ticked her off. Wasn’t she a person, too? Was her grandmother the only one who mattered in this department?

  “Next week.” She could play vague with the best of them.

  “I’ll come back then.”

  It hadn’t been her idea to take the apprenticeship for ocularist four years ago. Nope, that had been good old Dad’s plan. She’d barely graduated from the Los Angeles Art Academy when he’d pressured her into getting a “real job” while she found her bearings in the art world. Now that she was in her last year of the apprenticeship, and since Grandma was threatening to retire and was expecting Andrea to take her place, she’d felt her back against the wall and resented the narrow choice being shoved down her throat. Work full-time. Run the department. The place didn’t even have windows!

  What about her painting? Her dreams?

  Had the demanding doctor brushed her off by assuming she was an inexperienced technician because she was young? She didn’t think twenty-eight was that young, but being short probably made her seem younger. If he thought he could be rude because she was young or a nobody, this guy with the tense attitude had just pushed her intolerant button.

  “She may not be coming back.” She sounded snotty, which wasn’t her usual style, as she rearranged the ears again. But she didn’t really care because this guy, who may be good-looking but seriously lacked the charm gene so who cared how good-looking he was, had just ruined her morning for no good reason.

  She glanced up. He raised a brow and stared her down in response to her borderline impudent reply, and she saw the judgment there, the same look she’d seen in her father’s eyes time and time again. I’m a doctor. You dare to talk to me like that?

  The imaginary conversation quickly played out in her head. What? Am I not good enough for you? A feeling, unfortunately, she’d had some experience with on the home front most of her life. After all, wasn’t she the daughter of a woman with only a high-school education? A stay-at-home mother keeping a spotless house for a husband who rarely visited? A woman so depressed she’d turned into a shadow of her former self? Half of her DNA might be genius, but the other half, often insinuated by her father, was suspect. Well, good ol’ Dad should have thought about that before knocking up her mother if it meant so damn much to him.

  The invading doctor continued to stare down his nose at her. Andrea wasn’t about to back down now. The nerve. Did he think she was a shopgirl, a department receptionist minding the store while Granny frolicked in France? She’d just spent a week making this latest batch of silicone ears, measuring the patients to perfection, matching the skin color, creating the simplest and most secure way to adhere them to what was left of their own ears. And unless anyone looked really closely, no one would notice. Just ask the struggling musician Brendan, who’d had his earlobe chopped off by a mobster, what he thought about her skills!

  “What do you mean, she may not be coming back?” His tone shifted to accusing as if he should have been privy to the memo and voted on the decision. Wasn’t that how demanding doctors, just like her father, behaved? I need this now. Don’t annoy me with facts. He stood, hands on hips, his suit jacket pushed aside, revealing his trim and flat stomach—wait, she didn’t care about his physique because he was rude—refusing to look away from the visual contact they’d made. Something really had this guy bothered, and she was the unfortunate party getting the brunt of it.

  “It’s called retirement.”

  His wild blue stare didn’t waver, and, as illogical as it seemed under the circumstances, something was going on with the electrical charge circulating around her skin because of him.

  A beeper went off on his belt, breaking the standoff and the static tickling across her arms. He glanced at it. She was glad because she really didn’t know how much longer she could take him standing in the small outer office, and most especially gazing into those intense eyes.

  It was her job to notice things like that. Eyes. Yeah, she’d become quite an expert during her apprenticeship. If she kept telling herself that, maybe she wouldn’t scold herself later for falling under the spell of a completely pompous stranger based solely on his baby blues.

  “I’ve gotta go.” Obviously in no mood to deal with her touchy technician act, he turned and huffed off, right out the door.

  Wilting over her bad behavior, she tossed her pen onto the countertop and plopped into the nearest chair. Why had she behaved that way with him? She’d knee-jerked over the intruding and demanding doctor, but wasn’t he acting exactly like her father? Arrogant and overbearing. Lording his station in life over her. Where’s the head of the department, because you’re not good enough. Step out of my way. He didn’t need to say the words; she’d felt them.

  Andrea caught herself making a lemon-sucking expression and
let it go. Maybe she was the one with the attitude, and she hadn’t even tried to control it. That man had just got the brunt of it, too. Truth was, she needed to be more accommodating to clients and doctors, especially if she actually ever agreed to take over as the department head. Which she sure as heck wasn’t certain she wanted to do. Especially if catering to demanding doctors like that guy would be part of the routine.

  She hadn’t expected a young doctor with such interestingly pigmented irises—because that was what she’d learned to notice since beginning her apprenticeship—and penetrating eyes as that guy’s to set her off on a rant. And she’d acted nothing short of an ass with him.

  Shame on her.

  Guilt and longing intertwined inside her. She’d fallen short of the mark just now, and it was a symptom of the battle she fought every day when she came to work. This was her job, creating prosthetic eyes for people who needed them, silicone ears, noses and cheeks for cancer victims and veterans, too, and it was a noble profession. She actually loved it. Loved the patients and making their lives better. But she liked things the way they were—working four days a week at the hospital and painting the other three. Her heart yearned to paint, not run a windowless department in the bowels of a hospital.

  Andrea put her elbows on the counter and rested her forehead in the palms of her hands. If Grandma ever retired, some lousy department head she would make.

  A week later...

  It had taken Sam a good day and a half to calm down after his ridiculous encounter with the young woman in the O&A department. Where did they find the employees these days anyway? But to be fair, she didn’t have a clue that he’d just come from watching his son have his eye removed in surgery. He may have been more demanding than usual, but he’d been in no shape to judge how he’d come off to her, or, at that moment, to care. All he’d wanted had been to ensure his boy could have the best person possible make a realistic-looking eye to replace the one Dani had lost.

  That woman couldn’t have been more than in her early twenties. How could she possibly have the skill...? Yet, he reminded himself, he’d eventually realized that Judith Rimmer had a reputation known all over the country for excellence in her specialty. He’d read up on her online while little Dani had napped one afternoon. She wouldn’t leave her beloved department in the hands of a novice. Would she?

  Now, having completely calmed down, and being back on the job with a miraculous break in his schedule that morning, thanks to a no-show patient, Sam prepared to return to the basement to discuss Dani’s need for an eye.

  He reached the ocularistry and anaplastology department door, took a deep breath and entered with a plan to apologize for inadvertently insulting the still-wet-behind-the-ears ocularist—if that was even what she was. How could he know for sure? They hadn’t gotten that far. Because his foster mother hadn’t raised an ungracious son—she’d knock him upside the head from the grave if she found out, too. Nor had she raised a son to judge a book by the young cover—not with the revolving door of foster kids with whom he’d grown up. He smiled inwardly, then swung open the door, and much to his surprise found Helen Mirren’s double, not retired but standing right in front of him beside a row of unblinking eyeballs in all colors in a display case. She wore something that looked like a sun visor but with magnifying glasses attached and a headlight, examining one specific eye as if it were a huge diamond.

  Sitting with an expectant gaze on her face was the girl, who, on second encounter, and with all that eye makeup, looked more like the iconic 1960s model from Great Britain. Twiggy, was it? But not nearly as skinny. This girl had curves. She obviously waited for Judith’s approval on something, a project she’d made? Maybe, but, no matter what the scene was about, Sam was ticked off. Again.

  The young woman finally noticed someone had entered and glanced at him, a quick look of surprise in her double take. Yeah, he’d caught her in a childish lie, so he glared back. He could act as juvenile as the next person, thanks to his four older foster brothers and two younger foster sisters, countless other foster siblings constantly coming through the family revolving door and foster parents who hadn’t been afraid to make threats in order to tame the often out-of-control tribe.

  “Reconsidering retirement, Ms. Rimmer?” His vision drifted to a perplexed Judith.

  Judith’s gaze flitted back and forth between the woman and Sam, obviously trying to figure out what their history had been.

  “Technically I wasn’t lying, because my grandmother plans to retire as soon as I’m ready and willing to take over.” She stood, which hardly made a difference. What was she, five feet, tops? And jumped right in with an explanation. “And, for all I knew, she could’ve been swept away by the beauty of Europe and decided not to come home. To retire on the spot. It could’ve happened.”

  Her outlandish cover nearly made him smile. Nearly. But he held firm because he found himself enjoying her flushed cheeks and her mildly flaring nostrils as she explained, her raccoon-painted eyes taking on more of a fawn-ready-to-bolt appearance.

  “Which makes it okay that you lied to me?” He wasn’t ready to let her off the hook, though.

  She stepped around the counter, taking two steps toward him, never breaking the visual connection, which was surprisingly stimulating. “You came in with a nasty attitude that day and proceeded to make me feel like a novice who couldn’t possibly be of help to you. So I decided not to be any help at all.”

  So that’s how she’d read him. For a second he felt like a chump, but she deserved the full story. An explanation for why he’d been that jerk. “I’d just come from watching my son’s enucleation. I needed reassurance he could look normal again.”

  Her challenging expression instantly melted into an apologetic peacemaking plea. “Oh.” Those huge eyes immediately watered. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

  “Dr.—” Judith read his name badge “—Marcus, I’m sorry the two of you got off to a rocky start, I’m also very sorry about your son, but I assure you Andrea is as skilled as they come. And because I’m completely booked up with projects, having just returned from vacation, she’d be happy to help you with your son’s eye prosthesis. I assure you, with her artistic background, she’ll make a perfect match and fit.”

  Andrea sent a quick questioning glance toward her grandmother but immediately recovered, as if she’d gotten the clear message to play along. Was she a novice? Sam still wasn’t convinced. She looked so young.

  “So, what I’ll need to do—” Andrea used an index finger to lightly scratch the corner of her mouth “—is make an appointment for you to bring in your son. Is he completely healed yet? We shouldn’t take measurements until he is.”

  “It’s only been a week, but he’s doing really well.”

  “Let’s make it next week, then, to be safe. I’ll need to take photos of his other eye and make a silicone cast of his healed eye socket. After that I’ll make a wax version, which I’ll be able to mold as needed to fit. What’s your son’s name?”

  “Danilo, but he goes by Dani.”

  She nodded, sincerity oozing out of those huge brown eyes. “What day is good for you?” She brought up a calendar on the computer—back to business—and he fished out his pocket phone, tapping through to his work calendar.

  Back and forth they went, politely trying to work out an appointment day and time. His schedule was overbooked, since he’d taken off a week to be with his son after the surgery, which was why he was aggravated that one of his patients was a no-show today and would need to be rescheduled, further keeping him backed up. Yet that was the only reason he’d been able to sneak down here at this moment, which had turned out to be a good thing. Which would all be beside the point if he couldn’t make an appointment.

  At least for now, since his return to work, his former foster sister Cat could be Dani’s caregiver during the day. She lived within five miles of him an
d was a stay-at-home mom who needed the extra cash. Their arrangement worked out for everyone, since she also had two children under the age of five, and Dani loved to play with the other kids. He scratched his head, at a loss.

  Why hadn’t he considered his work issue when he’d known Dani would need the prosthetic eye right off? The bigger question was why hadn’t he considered how difficult it would be to become a single father in the first place?

  Of course, that hadn’t been his original plan...

  Yeah, he was in over his head, but it made no difference, because he was proud and happy to be Dani’s father, no matter how hard and complicated life had become because of it. Add another point to foster Mom’s tally, the kid needed a home. “Do you do house calls, by any chance?”

  Andrea dipped her head, thinking for a second. “No. But since I gave you a hard time last week, I’ll make an exception for you, Dr. Marcus.”

  All was forgiven. Sweet brown-eyed angel from heaven. “Call me Sam, please,” he said, on a rush of relief. “I really appreciate that.”

  Their earlier glowering contest faded to a distant memory when she smiled at him. It was more of a Mona Lisa smile, but it drew his attention to her mouth and he noticed a pair of classic lips with the delicate twin peaks of a Cupid’s bow.

  “So how about this day next week, at your house, say, sevenish?”

  “Sounds like a plan, Ms....?”

  “Rimmer, but please call me Andrea.”

  “Are you related to Dr. Rimmer?” The tyrant of Cardiac Surgery?

  “Yes. Andrea’s my granddaughter,” Judith spoke up, reminding Sam that Dr. Rimmer was her son. Why he hadn’t made the connection earlier was beyond him.

  “I hope you won’t hold that against me,” Andrea said drily, as though reading his thoughts and bearing the weight of her father’s perilous reputation. She glanced sheepishly at her grandmother, a good sign that Andrea cared about her and didn’t want to insult her son, though it seemed clear she knew what Sam’s surprised reaction had been about.