by Susan Gable
“Her wrist is sprained. They don’t think there’s a concussion. Three stitches in the forehead, a few bumps and bruises, but she’ll be fine. Probably a little sore for a few days.” James brushed past her and continued through the foyer toward the stairs. “I’m going to put her to bed, then I’ll be back down. We have to talk.”
Did that sound as ominous to her as it did to him? After getting Molly settled and spending too long in a search for the monitor he used when she was sick, he returned to the first floor. Rachel was in the living room, standing near the piano, gazing at the pictures of Molly on the wall. She turned as he entered.
“James, I am so sorry. I tried to stop her…. I feel so horrible about this.”
He lifted one shoulder. “It was an accident, Rachel. These things happen. I try hard to see that they don’t, but sometimes, they do. It wasn’t your fault.”
“You are too good to be true, James McClain.” Her lower lip trembled slightly, and her blue eyes misted over.
A strong urge to take her into his arms swept through him, but he didn’t dare. It would only make things harder. “Rachel—”
“James—” she said at the same time.
After an awkward silence, they exchanged rueful smiles. “You go first,” she said.
Oh, thanks. He fumbled for the right words. “You know that Molly’s my life, Rachel. Ever since she was born, she’s been the center of my universe. My life has been defined by being a dad. For a little while, you’ve managed to remind me of what it means to be a man. For that, I’m tremendously grateful.”
“But?” Her eyebrows drew downward and her shoulders slumped in a silent and unconscious admission that she knew where he was headed.
His own stomach knotted. He didn’t want to hurt her, but there was no way around it. “But…tonight I remembered that she has to come first. Rachel, she cried tonight in the hospital, not because she’d been injured, but because she hurt you.”
The tears came closer to spilling over, but somehow she managed to contain them. He could almost see the walls going back up around her as he spoke.
The walls he’d worked so hard to help her tear down. He hated himself for causing her more grief. “A few days ago you claimed to love me. But you said it yourself, Rachel. Love is being there for the hard stuff. And tonight, you weren’t. And that hurt Molly.” And me.
And so did this. But he had no choice. His little girl was worth every sacrifice he made for her.
Her lips compressed into a thin, flat line, and she nodded. “I know. Guess we were thinking the same thing. This—” she waved her hands between the two of them “—it isn’t fair to her. She wants a new mom. And you both deserve someone who can be there for you. For the hard stuff.”
“Yeah.”
“I really wish—” her voice broke, and she glanced away “—I wish that could be me.”
“God, so do I,” he whispered around the huge lump in his throat.
“But wishes and magic aren’t enough in the light of real life, are they? Guess it only works in moonlit fantasies and summer romances.” She looked back at him. “We probably should have quit while we were ahead, huh?”
“Maybe.” Maybe it wouldn’t have hurt as much if he’d had the sense to let her go at the end of camp. To keep just those memories. It sure as hell would have been easier for Molly, who now had her heart set on Rachel becoming a permanent part of their family. Which was why he had to end it now. His little girl deserved a mother who could deal with sitting at a hospital bedside.
But he felt like Scrooge and the Grinch all rolled up into one. Suddenly it was as if the magic had been sucked out of the universe.
“My suitcase is already in the Goat.”
He nodded, grateful she’d come to the same conclusion. And incredibly saddened. Because it proved even more what a special woman she was. A woman who put the needs of his daughter ahead of her own wants and desires. Or his.
Dammit, life wasn’t fair.
“I’ll—I’ll walk you to the door.”
The stillness in the house was broken only by the sound of their shoes on the wooden floor in the foyer. She hesitated in the open doorway, then turned to him. She cupped his face with her hands. Her lips moved but no sound came from them. Finally, she pulled his head down and pressed her mouth to his. The kiss tasted salty…from tears. And to his horror, he realized at least one of them had come from him. He backed away.
“Thank you, James.”
“For what?”
“For reminding me that life is for living.” She turned and strode across the porch.
“Rachel,” he called after her.
She stopped on the top step, but didn’t look back. “Promise me you’ll find a counselor.” He couldn’t bear to think of her going through life with continued panic attacks.
Her head bobbed. “I promise.” She squared her shoulders and marched down the stairs, off his porch, and out of his life. He shut the front door ever-so-gently and turned back into the house. She’d been there little more than twenty-four hours.
But she left behind an empty space he could feel.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
RACHEL FLIPPED THE PAGES of the teacher’s guide, then typed in the numbers for next week’s classes. Finished, she printed out the pages and tucked them into her plan book. She stretched and rolled her head to get the kinks out of her neck.
The chairs were upended on their desktops, loaded backpacks on top, ready for dismissal when her students came back from art class.
From a neighboring classroom she could hear a chorus of young voices reading in unison. The silence in her own room was a relief to her aching head.
Although the quiet left her with too much time for reflection, for counting the time since she’d seen James and Molly—four and a half weeks.
But there was no use dwelling on things she couldn’t change. With a sigh, she grabbed a stack of papers from the “to be graded” box and picked up her red pen. If nothing else, James had helped her get her act together. She’d even started working on her hospital phobia with a counselor. Although she liked her new therapist—a woman—she missed James’s unorthodox methods. Her thoughts were interrupted by the shrill chirp of her cell phone.
“Hello?”
“Rachel?”
She fumbled with the tiny black phone. “James? Is that you?”
“Yeah. It’s me.”
“It’s good to hear from you.” And totally unexpected. “How are you?”
A heavy sigh filtered through the phone. “Actually, not very good.”
“Oh?” A faint flicker of hope surfaced. Maybe he missed her as much as she did him?
“I’m calling…because Molly insisted.” He cleared his throat. “She wanted you to know. She’s in the hospital.”
Rachel’s free hand flew to her mouth. She forced it back down to her lap. “Oh, no! James, what’s wrong?”
“She’s…” His voice faded out like a fallen leaf blown away. “She’s rejecting.”
“No! Oh, God, James, I’m so sorry.” A long silence stretched between them. “What happened? How did you know she was sick?”
“I didn’t. It was supposed to be a routine biopsy. I had no idea anything was wrong.”
“What exactly does this mean for her? How do they treat this?”
“With bigger doses of the drugs she normally takes.”
“And if that doesn’t help?”
The sigh was longer, deeper this time, more like a tightly controlled exhalation. “Then I sit by her bedside and pray for another miracle.”
A miracle that means the death of someone else’s child, Rachel thought.
“I need…”
“What?”
He hesitated, then said, “Will you call her later? Send her a card, something? She misses you.”
Rachel shuffled the papers around on her desk, grabbed her purse and headed for the door. Her “teacher” shoes clattered against the highly polished floor as she strod
e down the hallway. “Of course, James. You tell her I’ll talk to her later, okay?”
“Thanks, Rachel.” He breathed loudly again. “I’m outside on my cell. I have to get back to her. You…you take care of yourself, huh?”
“You take care of that little girl.”
“I’m doing my best.”
A click indicated he’d hung up. Rachel raced into the office, stuffing the phone back into her pocketbook. “Is Jerry in his office?” she asked Camille, the school secretary.
“Yes. Go on in, Rachel.”
When she charged in, Jerry glanced up from some paperwork spread across his desk. A tight look of anxiety filled his face. “Rachel? What’s wrong?”
“I need you to cover for my kids when they come back from art. All you have to do is dismiss them. And call a sub for me for tomorrow. Probably Friday, too, but I’ll let you know that tomorrow.”
“Why? What’s going on?” He rose from his chair and strode around the desk.
“I’ve got to go to Pittsburgh. To Children’s Hospital. Molly McClain is rejecting her heart.”
Jerry cursed softly. “I’m sorry, Rachel. Are you sure you’re up to it? It’s a long ride by yourself when you’re stressed.”
“I’m hoping not to go alone. You’ll take care of my class for me, right?”
“Absolutely. Keep me posted.”
Rachel nodded. On her way out of the building, she dug her cell phone out again. “Dad? It’s me, Rae. Listen, I need some help. Can you meet me at my place?” She’d change her clothes and hit the road.
HER HEART STARTED TRIPPING over itself as they walked through the automatic doors. She wiped her hands across her jeans. Her father pressed his fingers to her back, steered her onto the rug in the waiting area. “You can do this,” he murmured, going to his knees in front of her.
“What are you doing?” She looked around the lobby to see if anyone was noticing her father’s odd behavior. She’d asked him to come with her because she figured she had a better chance of staying strong in front of him. He would accept nothing less from her.
“Tightening your boot laces.” He yanked on the strings, deftly retying the black combat boots she kept for field trips to muddy wilderness areas. With a fluid grace, he rose and gripped her forearms, causing the brown paper bag in her hand to rattle. “Feel that in your ankles?”
She nodded.
“Focus on that feeling and nothing else. On your objective. There’s a little girl and a man upstairs who need you.”
“Yessir.”
Awkwardly he pulled her into an embrace. “Courage isn’t the absence of fear, Rae,” he muttered into her ear. “It’s doing what needs to be done even though you’re scared shitless. You are a courageous woman who’s faced a lot in her life. I’m damn proud of you, girl.”
He broke off the hug, laid his hands on her shoulders and spun her around, so she was facing in the direction of the information desk. “Now march, soldier. Head up, shoulders back.” He gave her a gentle push forward, then spoke softly, “You can do it. I’ll be here, waiting.”
Buoyed by her father’s unexpected empathy, she moved forward, collecting the visitor’s pass from the white-haired woman at the desk. After stopping to wash her hands, she headed for the bank of elevators. Sweat popped out on the back of her neck and across her forehead. She clutched the little bag tighter. It served two purposes: one, it held a gift for Molly, and two, if she needed it, she could treat herself for hyperventilation. With any luck, it wouldn’t need to serve as a barf bag.
She strode into the elevator, focusing on the tight boots on her feet and the man and child upstairs who waited for her.
JAMES LEANED OVER and kissed his mother on the cheek as one set of elevator doors opened. “Bye, Mom. Thanks for being here.”
“You know I wouldn’t be anywhere else. Dad will take the morning shift again tomorrow because I’ve got a dentist appointment, but I’ll be here after lunch. Don’t you worry.” She boarded the elevator and kept the doors open with one hand, then wagged a well-manicured finger at him. “Be sure to call Michelle. She sounded worried when Cherish called Molly’s room earlier while you were out. And make sure you eat some dinner. You don’t do her any good when you run yourself ragged.”
“Yes, Mom.”
“And don’t forget, my quilting group is having that auction this weekend for Molly’s medical fund.”
“I had forgotten. I’ve kinda got other things on my mind right now. You give the ladies my love and gratitude, okay?”
She nodded and let the doors close, leaving him alone in the hospital hallway. He crossed to a blue bench against the wall and sank down onto it. Propping his elbows on his knees, he rested his face in his palms. Molly was watching reruns of old television shows in her room, and he needed a few minutes to get himself back together before he returned to her.
He’d screwed up on the phone with Rachel earlier today. For someone preaching honest emotions, he hadn’t been very honest with her.
He rubbed his fingertips around his temples. More than anything, he could do with a big dose of her strength, her put-on-a-brave-face-and-march-on attitude.
A clump of people brushed by him, stirring up a breeze. James kept his head down. Another elevator pinged as they got on it.
You can do this. Put on a smile and get in there and face your daughter. Positive thinking, positive speaking, positive outcome.
Lost in his thoughts, he took a moment to realize someone was standing beside him.
Lemons. Damn it all if now he wasn’t hallucinating her smell.
James lowered his hands and opened his eyes. A pair of spit-shined black combat boots greeted him. He followed black jeans upward while asking, “Can I help you?”
“I thought maybe I could help you,” Rachel said, voice raspy. Her skin gleamed, ghastly pale under the fluorescent lights. A bead of sweat trickled down the edge of her face, and she swiped at it with the back of her trembling hand.
James jumped from the bench. “Rachel!” He clasped his fingers together behind himself, hoping to contain the urge to touch her. “How are you?”
“I’ve missed you like crazy, I’m worried as hell about Molly, and I feel like I’m gonna puke or pass out. But, other than that, I’m fine.” She offered him a quivering smile. “How are you?”
“I’m fine,” he said, stunned by both her appearance and honest answer instead of her old standby response. The one he’d just used himself.
“Liar. And you don’t lie well, counselor.”
He took her by the elbow. “Why don’t we sit down?”
“Is that like, sit down before you fall down?” She chuckled warily.
“Something like that.” The warmth of her beside him was the most welcome thing he’d felt in weeks. “What’s with the combat boots?” He pointed to her footwear.
“Those are for courage. Lace up my boots tighter, you know? Carry on like a good soldier. If my dad could lace his boots tighter on broken ankles and carry an injured platoon mate through the jungle, then I can do this.”
“And so here you are,” he murmured, once again in awe of her, knowing how much she’d accomplished by walking in the front door of the hospital. “You amaze me.”
She reached for his hand. “When we talked about love, we said it meant being there in the tough times. I couldn’t think of a better way to prove to you that I meant it when I said I loved you.”
He gave in to the urge and wrapped his arms around her, drawing her against his chest. The laminated visitor’s ID badge clipped to her shirt jabbed him. He nuzzled her hair. “I need you, Rachel. God, how I need you. I can’t lose her. Not after all this.”
A tear rolled along the bridge of his nose and plopped into her hair. Followed by another. And another. He let himself release the pent-up emotions he’d held in check since Molly’s diagnosis just a few days ago.
“You’re not going to lose her. She’s unsinkable, remember?” Rachel stroked circles on his back. “
And if we need another miracle, I will sit at her bedside and pray for one with you. And believe we’ll get it.”
How long they stood there, arms around each other, James didn’t know. But eventually he lifted his head, reluctantly releasing her. “You want to go see her?”
“Of course I do.” She fished in her purse, handed him a tissue. “You might want to…uh… wash your face first. Positive attitudes, right? You don’t want her to know you’ve been crying, do you?”
He turned away to wipe his nose, moved by the mixture of love and compassion he’d seen in her eyes. “No, I don’t.” He pointed toward the hallway. “She’s just down there, on the left. I think I’ll go to the men’s room first, then I’ll meet you. Okay?”
Rachel nodded. As he walked away, she took a few deep breaths. Then she turned and strode along the corridor.
She hesitated in the door. How did Molly look? What kind of machines was she hooked up to? Blast, she should have asked James all those questions so that she could be prepared.
The bed near the door was empty. Molly lay in the one by the window. The brilliant orange rays of the setting sun overpowered the gloomy fluorescent lights. Rachel squared her shoulders, pasted on a smile and marched across the room, doing her best to ignore the IV pump and beeping heart monitor connected to the child.
“Hi, there,” she said, waving her hand.
Molly turned from the TV, hazel eyes going wide. “Miss Rachel? You came!”
“I did. I made it.” Rachel carefully perched on the edge of the bed.
“I told Dad you would. I knew you could do it.” That makes one of us. “I appreciate your faith in me. I didn’t do such a good job the night you fell off the stairs.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
“This is…more important.” Molly turned away from her, staring at the television.
“What do you mean by that?”
“What’s in the bag?”
Rachel glanced at the brown paper bag she’d set by her knee. “Oh, that. Well, I brought that as a present for this special kid I know.”
