A Mother for Matilda/The Boss and Nurse Albright

by Amy Andrews

  “Honestly, Jason, you don’t have to do that.”

  Their eyes came together. He held her gaze long and sternly. “Don’t be a martyr.” Wasn’t that a bit like the pot calling the kettle black? But he’d made his stand and he wasn’t backing down now. “I want to help you, and I make a mean omelet.”

  She laughed. It sounded more like surrender than joy. “Then I’ll have Cheddar cheese with fresh avocado slices on top.”

  Ha! He might have to get up early to drive to the farmers’ market to find a ripe avocado, but he wasn’t about to let her know that. “As you wish, my lady.” Only because she’d called him a prince did the “my lady” tag occur to him. It sounded completely unnatural, something he’d never say, and he wanted to cringe the moment he’d said it. It felt too intimate and foreign when it slipped out of his mouth, but he’d said it and couldn’t take it back. He glanced at Claire, reclining on the sofa looking pale and angelic. Really? Had it felt that foreign to call her “my lady”?

  “And sourdough toast,” she added, bringing him out of his convoluted, awkward and uneasy thoughts.

  “Strawberry preserves?” he said.

  “Marmalade, please.”

  “Hmm. I hadn’t pegged you as a marmalade kind of girl.”

  She forced a smile through her compromised state, and he recognized a trace of the vital woman he’d come to know at the clinic. He stood, crossed the room and straightened the blanket over her feet.

  “I’ll be here at nine. I’ll bring the food. You bring your appetite.”

  She gazed gratefully into his eyes. “I’ll do my best, boss.”

  “See to it.” He stopped himself from patting her shoulder. “I’ll let myself out. You get a good night’s sleep. That’s an order.”

  As he reached the door he heard a faint, “Thank you.”

  And, just before he closed the door, he turned. He could go sailing any weekend with the mild local climate, and he would gladly cancel the weekend plans in favor of helping out a sick employee. A new friend? “You’re entirely welcome,” he said.

  A slender arm with graceful hand and fingers waved above the back of the sofa, and a strange feeling came over him.

  Was getting more involved with Claire Albright a good idea or a recipe for disaster?

  Chapter Four

  CLAIRE didn’t want to be a medical burden to anyone but herself. Being sick had ended her marriage, but she also knew if she’d married the right guy he would have stuck it out with her. When Charles had proposed, she’d been positive he was the one for her. He might have been if she hadn’t gotten sick. When her illness had developed the real Charles had emerged and, because her heart had been nearsighted, nothing had prepared her for his rejection.

  Since then, she’d made a vow to deal with her illness alone.

  So why had she allowed Jason to bring breakfast today? Because he seemed to be on her side, and she could use a friend. At least that was how it had felt last night when he’d shown up at her door with her pay check and chicken soup. He’d made an extra effort to stop by and, since she’d been feeling very alone lately, it had touched her.

  After taking a shower and forcing herself to get dressed for the first time all week, she felt a lot better. Almost human again. And she wasn’t sure if she’d washed and combed her hair for herself or partially for Jason. The notion disturbed her but was a revelation she’d have to deal with when she wasn’t sick. She simply didn’t have enough energy left now.

  She’d decided to wait to take her morning cocktail of medicine until she’d eaten breakfast. And she’d take Jason up on his offer to deposit her check in the bank for her. The thought of running errands seemed overwhelming. Last night, he’d brought the paperwork for her to sign up for automatic deposit, and that thoughtful gesture almost made her cry. How long had it been since someone had looked out for her?

  She shook her head. The Lupus flare-up had weakened her resolve. She’d never depend on anyone but herself again.

  Now that she was clean and dressed, she felt as though she needed to take a nap, and it was only a quarter to nine. She plopped onto the couch and stared at the ceiling.

  Jason had been a prince to stop by last night. She had barely believed her eyes when she’d opened the door. And he’d appeared genuinely concerned for her. Though she’d been caught looking her worst, she’d been too sick to feel embarrassed about it. Now he knew about her condition. After he fulfilled his obligation to feed her breakfast, she could expect him to back off. No one wanted to be strapped to a chronically sick person. Wasn’t that what Charles had finally admitted when she’d had her third relapse in one year?

  “Look at you,” he’d said. “You’re nothing like the woman I married.”

  Claire remembered examining herself in the mirror thinking she looked the same, but she knew he referred to her fluctuating pain and energy level. He’d made her feel ugly and unwanted, and it had broken her heart.

  She shook her head. The steroids always messed with her mind. She definitely hadn’t been thinking straight by allowing new feelings to sneak into her life since meeting Jason Rogers. Today, she’d put an end to that.

  The knock on her door startled her. She stood and felt light-headed, leaned on the back of the couch and, when he knocked a second time, she straightened and headed on unsteady legs toward the door.

  Jason’s broad smile surprised her, since he shared it so infrequently. “Welcome back to the living,” he said, giving her a once-over. “You look…nice.”

  “Nice” was a bland description, but it was better than like a zombie, and he seemed to need time to think what he wanted to say. He was definitely being polite.

  The Saturday morning sunlight made her squint. A rich blue sky with cotton ball clouds had her wishing she could go out to play. He entered the house looking downright debonair in a nautical shirt, khaki Dockers and deck shoes without socks. And the way his hair always fell across his forehead…Well, what could she say, but she liked it. She liked the whole package.

  He’d probably deliver the food and run. Saturday was his day off and, from the looks of him, he had a date with his sailboat. She’d seen the picture of the sleek white craft named Hanna’s Haven on his office wall. And his constant light tan indicated he spent a lot of time outdoors.

  Jason barreled through the entryway and headed straight for the kitchen with grocery bags in hand. She followed him. He removed a Thermos, and his eyes brightened.

  “I’ve brought my special breakfast coffee blend. Sit down and relax.” He pulled out a chair, and when she sat he scooted a second chair toward her. “Put your feet up.” He scanned the cupboards and she pointed to the one that held the mugs. He seemed excited and happy to be here, which took Claire by surprise. Wasn’t she merely an obligation he’d inadvertently tied himself to?

  Fifteen minutes later, as Claire sipped the richest coffee she’d ever tasted, breakfast was ready. Her eyes widened when he placed a perfect omelet in front of her.

  “Are you a chef in your spare time?”

  “I’ve been known to tinker around in the galley, though I haven’t done much of that for a while.” His bright eyes dimmed and his demeanor changed. He became quiet and joined her at the table.

  They ate in silence, Claire forcing herself to clean the plate. How could she not when he’d found a perfectly ripened avocado to top off the light and fluffy egg and cheese dish? With the added calories, Claire felt more energetic. “I’m a pretty good cook, too,” she said. “I’ll have to pay you back when I get better.”

  He looked tenderly at her. “I’ll hold you to that,” he said, as they shared a smile.

  Maybe he was just humoring her, but the glint in his eyes told her otherwise. Claire did feel as if she’d rounded the bend on this flare up, and, if things continued in this forward movement, she could hope to be at work on Monday.

  “Some of the surveys have already been returned,” he said, mid-bite.

  “Great, I can’t wait
to put the data together.”

  “I took the liberty to start a spreadsheet of the findings,” he said.

  “That’s wonderful. That will help me a lot.”

  “I’ll give you all the help you need.”

  She saw sincerity in his blue-flecked eyes. Ever since she’d noticed the distinction, his gray eyes would never be the same to her. That was the steroids thinking. They made her emotional. Logically, she knew theirs was purely a business relationship, but having him here in her kitchen, casually eating and talking around the table, she became aware of a longing she’d pushed away—a longing to connect with another human being.

  She had her daughter and her job, she thought as she took the last bite of omelet, and that would have to be enough.

  Monday morning Jason was glad to see Claire at his office door. The second floor had seemed dull and quiet without her, and he’d even admitted to missing the aromatherapy, but not enough to learn how to turn on the diffuser.

  Her being here meant she was back on the mend—the most important reason he was glad to see her.

  “Good morning,” she said, looking a bit pale, but far better than she had the last time he’d seen her.

  “How are you feeling?” He jumped up from his chair and joined her at the door.

  “Almost a hundred percent. I wanted to thank you again for helping me out.”

  Jason cupped her arm. “I was glad to do it.”

  He studied her warm hazel eyes and wondered what thoughts might be tumbling through her mind. Aware of the point of connection and how natural it felt to touch her, he removed his hand. Fortunately she’d worn a blouse with sleeves, though he did wonder how her skin might feel. A flash memory of his wife caused him to retreat to his desk.

  If Claire thought his action abrupt or odd, she gave no hint of it. A smile spread across her face, and she held up a paper. “I got your consult request.”

  “Maybe you can straighten Ms. Garcia out. I give up.”

  She laughed, and the sound made him think of a babbling brook. It became impossible to stay aloof.

  “It’s all about keeping a positive attitude, Jason,” she said as she wandered back to her office in a flowing gypsy skirt. She’d worn her hair up today and he liked the view of her slender neck above the white lab coat.

  His attitude toward Claire had changed over the last few weeks from annoying employee, to useful addition to the practice, to potential friend, and possible…The next thought made the hair on his arms stand on end.

  Then he remembered what tomorrow was. He didn’t need to look at the calendar to know that it was his daughter’s birthday.

  His nurse appeared in the doorway with a patient chart and, with the threat of purgatory bearing down on him tomorrow, he was grateful for the distraction of his job.

  Tuesday morning Claire arrived at work to find Jason’s office door closed. She knew he was there because she’d seen his Mercedes in the parking lot. Something told her not to bother him, and an hour later when they both exited exam rooms at the same time, one look at him and she knew she’d made the right decision.

  Jason looked as if he hadn’t slept all night. A shadow of his usual self, he hadn’t even bothered to shave and his appearance stopped just short of disheveled.

  His gaze fused with hers and she saw pain cutting through his stare. On reflex she wanted to reach out to him, to comfort him in some small way from the torment so apparent in his eyes, but the invisible barrier he wore was solid and impenetrable, and she instinctively knew to leave him alone.

  She nodded a respectful greeting, wishing she could do much more for him.

  He acknowledged her and retreated to his office.

  The next day, Claire was elbow-deep in patient surveys—each day brought in another fifty to a hundred of them—and she had high hopes of completing her first report in time for next week’s staff meeting. Every flat surface in her office was piled high with the envelopes.

  One of the surveys concerned her, and she needed to speak to Jason about his patient. When he walked right by her door and straight to his office without saying hello that morning, she hesitated. Looking over Mrs. Ching’s herbal supplements, she couldn’t let Jason’s somber and standoffish mood hold her back.

  She gathered the list and took a deep breath, then headed down the hall.

  Claire peeked around the door and tapped on the frame. “May I talk to you?”

  Jason had managed to shave today, but the dark circles remained under his eyes. He glanced up and gave a solemn nod.

  She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. How did he manage to make her this nervous without so much as a spoken word?

  “I was looking at Mrs. Ching’s survey and discovered she takes several herbs used in Chinese traditional medicine.”

  He gave her a blank, uninterested stare as if to say more holistobabble?

  “The thing is,” she said, “I remember her face being puffy that day when you asked me to look at her back. Especially around the eyes. And I noticed in her chart that her last labs were several months ago.”

  “The results were normal.”

  “Yes, which makes sense why you haven’t repeated them,” she said, plowing on. “But I’m concerned about some of the supplements she’s taking. I’d like to call her daughter and find out all of the ingredients.”

  “You have my permission.” Could he be more aloof?

  “And I’d like to order more labs.”

  He nodded, concentrating on whatever lay on his desk, as if she were nothing more than a small distraction.

  Claire thought they’d taken three steps forward over the weekend, but it was only Wednesday and they’d fallen ten steps back, like when she’d first arrived at the medical clinic. It was clear Jason was unreachable today, so she’d remain professional, do her job, and leave the man alone.

  Jason had made it through his daughter’s birthday for another year. She’d have been eight. Would the pain ever go away? He’d spent last night drinking, combing through her belongings he couldn’t bear to part with, and biting back the tears. He’d cursed the world and ranted about the injustice of it all, as he did every year. She should be losing teeth and studying multiplication tables. She should be arguing with her best friend one day and making up the next. She should be his date at the father-daughter school dance. She should be sitting on his lap, letting him spoil her.

  She should be alive.

  He swiped his jaw. He was at work, and the dreaded day was over. He needed to get a handle on his emotions, but the room went blurry again.

  Damn it!

  He stepped outside his office to see his next patient and caught the rustle of Claire’s turquoise-blue dress as she entered her exam room. He glanced toward her office, which seemed to glow, then back to his dreary room. Hell, he hadn’t even bothered to turn on the lights today.

  In the waiting room, the gentle scent of lavender and whatever the hell the other essential oil Claire had told him it was, smelled good. He took a long inhalation, and squared his shoulders. He’d survived the hell of Hanna’s birthday again, which always led to reliving her last day. He had three months to go before his wife’s birthday, where he’d descend back into hell for another day, and then the fourth anniversary of the accident a month after that. God, would it ever get any easier?

  He glanced toward Claire’s office again. She had her share of obstacles to overcome, yet she always seemed optimistic. There was a quiet strength in her that he respected. Her life hadn’t turned out the way she’d expected, the way she’d deserved, yet she kept moving forward and didn’t gripe about it.

  Existing in limbo was hell. And exhausting. And tedious. Maybe he’d try to join the living and look on the brighter side of life for a change.

  Jason packed up his briefcase Friday night. He’d played catch up on labs, special tests and consult reports after the clinic closed rather than go home to an empty house. He planned to pick up some take-out food on the way, then he’d leav
e before dawn Saturday for an all-day sail.

  He missed the soothing sea, the one place where life seemed to make sense to him. The silence and magnitude of the ocean brought him peace of mind: The luffing of the sails before they filled, the creaking and stretching of the rigging, and the water lapping against the topsides. He’d made it through another week at the clinic, and through his daughter’s birthday, and he’d reward himself with a day on the water.

  Claire appeared in his doorway. “Jason? Mrs. Ching may have Chinese herb nephropathy.”

  “What?”

  She rushed into his office and leaned over his desk. “Her labs show evidence of renal ischemia. She may be toxic. I spoke to her daughter, who said she was taking these herbs for joint aches and pain relief for the last month. One of the ingredients may contain aristolochic acid.”

  “And I should know this?”

  “No,” she said, cheeks pink and eyes shining. “I should because I’ve studied it, but it isn’t commonly known. There could have been an inadvertent mix-up in one of the ingredients with this herbal mixture. What should be A. Fangji, a harmless herb, could actually be A. Fangchi a herb that contains aristolochic acid, which can cause renal failure. Something like this happened a few years back. I remember reading the article.”

  “What do we do now?”

  “I called Mrs. Ching’s daughter and told her to stop the herbs immediately—that they could be life-threatening—and I’ve left a message for her herbalist to call me.”

  Claire took her job seriously, and had managed to identify a potentially fatal herb interaction for one of his patients.

  “Good idea.” He smiled at the vibrant woman in front of him.

  She blushed and he definitely liked it whenever she did. “So, assuming the worst and you’re right and Mrs. Ching can potentially go into renal failure, what do we do next? Are renoprotective agents enough to turn her around?”

  “I think we should admit her,” she said.

  “Treat her like any other nephropathy patient?”