by Lynne Gentry
“You’re forgetting my most important qualification.”
“What’s that?”
“I never give up...especially on love.”
His pointed gaze was an arrow straight through her heart. “How are you going to do this?”
“Raise a child without a wife?”
“Yes.”
“Lots of people are single parents. The Lord has called me to father this little girl. I’m counting on Him to give me the strength and wisdom.”
“I know you Parker Kemp. You’ve had your heart set on a wife, two kids, and a white picket fence since you were ten.”
“Nine,” he said with a stubborn lift to his chin.
That Parker would selflessly reverse his course for the good of this child was so...like him. Some women might have found this quality attractive. Endearing. Possibly even sexy. But she was aggravated. Mad to the core. Mad that he’d never volunteered to give up everything for her.
But then she’d never pushed him into a corner and asked him. Friends didn’t make selfish demands on friends.
Why not? Because she knew this friend would do everything within his power to make her happy. Parker would walk away from everything he held dear to follow her to the ends of the earth. Everything but his faith. And now his daughter. And without either of them, he wouldn’t be the Parker Kemp she loved. She could never ask him to be less than he was. And she knew he cared enough to never ask the same of her.
She conceded with a small nod and an even smaller smile. “You’re not made of special dust, you know. This is going to be hard.”
“I’m not the one afraid of hard.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Two days later, Maddie had all her credentials transferred, her shot record verified, and had secured a pair of Mt. Hope Memorial scrubs. She twisted her hair into a tight knot and slid her arms into the new white coat Dr. Boyer had expedited on her behalf. He’d had it monogrammed with Madison Harper, MD, Internal Medicine above the right pocket. The left pocket sported the hospital logo that Momma’s generous contributions had bought her the right to design. Maddie dragged her finger over the embroidered red heart impaled by a gold cross. The image reminded her of how the stress of church work had broken her father’s heart. Did Momma feel the same? Finding out exactly how Momma felt about anything would require them to have a real conversation.
Maddie pushed away the futile longing to really know her mother, draped her stethoscope around her neck and stepped into the shiny hall of the new Harper Memorial wing. According to the overhead signage, the family clinic and the chapel were down the hall to her right.
Chapel?
With no desire to set foot inside a chapel, Maddie hurried along the corridor. She ground to an abrupt halt at the two stone pillars flanking a large wooden door. The colonial style entry looked out of place against the sleek tiled walls and glistening marble floors. Had someone stolen the old front door to Mt. Hope Community Church?
She took a cautious step toward the bronze plaque bolted to the wall.
James David Harper Memorial Chapel.
Maddie swallowed hard. Surely Momma hadn’t replicated the scene of Daddy’s death in the middle of a place that was supposed to offer life? What if Momma had recreated the church’s interior? Complete with Daddy’s larger-than-life pulpit?
Heart pounding frantically, Maddie wrapped her fingers around the brass door handle. Just as she was about to pull, someone cleared their throat behind her. Startled, she turned her head.
A bruised woman sat in a wheelchair, her casted leg sticking out in front of her. “Have you come for prayer, doctor?”
Maddie released the handle. “No.” She wheeled and marched toward the nurses’ station under at the far end of the hall.
Freda Stringer, a salt and pepper, no-nonsense fence post who’d taught Maddie’s junior high Sunday school class, stood with her hands on her hips. “Dr. Boyer told me to expect you.” Disapproval of the temporary arrangement simmered in the nurse’s voice.
Could her luck get any worse? Freda the Stringer-upper, as she and David used to call her behind her back, had never been a champion of the pastor’s kids. From her scowl, Maddie’s success at becoming a doctor had not improved her opinion.
“Mrs. Stringer.” Maddie held out her hand. “What a surprise. It’s good to see you.”
“Nurse Stringer.” Freda nodded toward the hand sanitizer on the counter. “We open at eight.”
“Sorry,” Maddie stuttered as she pumped clear liquid into her palm. “Had to sign a bunch of forms for HR and then get my white coat from—”
“As you can see—” Freda waved a wrinkled hand at the full waiting room. “—you’ll have to hoof it to catch up.”
“Good thing I ate my Wheaties this morning.”
Freda was not amused. She handed Maddie a thin file and pointed to a door labeled Exam Room One. “Possible acute otitis media.”
Only a month. I can do anything for a month. Even middle ear infections. Even Freda.
“On it.” Maddie took a deep breath and strode to the closed exam door. Trying to recall proper treatment options if the eardrum had been perforated, she flipped to the first page of the chart. Her stomach dropped.
A child.
Her first diagnostic exam to administer in over a year and she’d drawn a child. Either she was suffering from the worst luck in the world or God had a spiteful sense of humor. Maddie could feel Freda’s eyes burning a hole in her back. She wasn’t about to give this woman the satisfaction of chalking up another black mark on her attendance chart.
Maddie lightly rapped the door. “Good morning,” she chirped as she bustled into the room.
A worried mother held her nine-month old boy in her lap. The moment Maddie extended her hand, the kid burst into an ear-piercing wail. If his eardrum wasn’t ruptured, it would be now. Three minutes later, Maddie emerged from the exam room with curdled formula splattered across her monogrammed name, perspiration soaking the pits of her white coat, and a pounding headache.
She glanced at the nurses’ station where Freda held out another chart. “Projectile vomiting. First grader. Room two.”
It was nearly three in the afternoon when Maddie’s growling stomach reminded her that she’d not had time for lunch because of all the runny noses and low electrolytes. She peeked into the waiting room. No more little people. “I’m going to pop over to the cafeteria,” she told Freda with a weary sigh. That she wasn’t planning on coming back, she kept to herself.
Freda shook her head. “The patients in room three have been here thirty minutes. They insist they’re staying until they see you.”
Maddie held back the tart responses lined up on her tongue. She wasn’t about to let anyone torpedo her ability to care for Parker. She’d work around the clock and see a hundred children if that was what it was going to take to keep her hand in his care.
“Bring ’em on.” Maddie snatched the chart from Freda’s hand. Blood pressure boiling, she burst into the exam room and ground to a surprised stop. “Etta May? Nola Gay?” Maddie dug out the smile this day had long since buried and gave them each a hug. “Finally someone over two foot tall.” She dropped onto the rolling exam stool. “What brings y’all in today?”
Nola Gay clutched the handles of a shiny black pocketbook, her face more serious than usual. “Sister’s not feeling well.”
“Tell her the truth, Sister,” Etta May scolded, her swollen ankles dangling from her perch atop the exam table. She rested one arm on what looked like a picnic basket trimmed in checkered cloth.
“We came to help,” Nola Gay pointed at the suitcase sitting in the corner. Not the modern kind with wheels, but a giant, faded, red vinyl one that had been in the attic so long its handles had cracked from the heat and the color had become a splotchy pink.
“Help?” Maddie was confused. “Who? Me?”
“Not you.” Etta May shifted on the crunchy white paper covering the examination couch. “You’re very compet
ent.”
“I wish someone would tell Freda.”
“It’s probably just a little professional jealousy because your mother goes on and on about how brilliant you are all the time,” Nola Gay said.
“She does?” Maddie regretted the way her surprise quickly raised the old girls’ gossip antennas.
“Oh yes, sweet thang.” Etta May nodded. “She’s very proud of you, as are we. Right, Sister?”
Nola Gay peered over her glasses, studying Maddie for the slightest twitch. “Right.”
Maddie kept her face a blank slate. “Good to know.”
“Tell Maddie your brilliant idea, Sister,” Etta May encouraged. “Nola’s always been the smart one.”
“Wait, are either of you sick?”
“Oh, well that’s what we’ve come to talk about,” Etta May continued. “Go on Nola Gay, tell her.”
Nola Gay drew her purse a little closer to her abundant chest. “We heard the hospital is suffering a cash flow problem.”
“Maybe you need to talk to Momma. She’s on the board.”
Nola Gay shook her head. “We need you to help us help the hospital stay in the black.”
“I wouldn’t know anything about the hospital’s finances.”
“Of course, you wouldn’t. You’ve been busy gettin’ the medical education that is going to save our dear Parker,” Etta May said. “And we are all ever so grateful. Right, Sister?”
“We’ve heard our handsome little extension agent is coming along nicely?” Nola Gay’s statement was more of a question that pried for added information.
For the sake of abiding by HIPPA rules, Maddie knew to keep her answer as prayer-chain-gossip-free as possible. “He is.”
Etta May’s brows rose hopefully. “Coming along?”
Nola Gay pressed forward in her seat. “Or handsome?”
The twins may be showing signs of their age, but they hadn’t lost their ability to tag-team manipulate two totally unrelated words...words as unrelated as Maddie and Parker would ever be...into a romantic relationship.
Normally, Maddie wouldn’t have egged on their curiosity, but the commotion in the hall sounded like Freda was directing an entire kindergarten class to the adjoining exam room. The more time Maddie gave these dear old women, the less time she’d have for facing anymore kids today. “I think he’s both,” Maddie enticed.
The twins brightened with the exact same smile at the exact same moment.
“Will Parker be going back to Guatemala?” Nola Gay pushed up her glasses, her cloudy eyes huge in the thick lens. “Or is he staying around so his family can help him raise that precious little girl?”
Etta May rubbed her rough palms together. “Or maybe he’ll stay around so you two can pick up where you left off?”
Maddie’s conscience kicked her in the gut. The fun had gone far enough. Neither she nor Parker needed the whole town getting behind a futile campaign to push the two of them back together. “What Parker does is his business. Not mine.”
Etta May and Nola Gay studied her carefully. Etta May sadly turned her attention to her feet, but Nola Gay’s keen nose of news had caught a whiff of vulnerability. Her gaze remained as sharp as a nail looking for a stud into which to hammer her suspicions. “That little Isabella is precious, isn’t she?”
Maddie glanced down at the curdled milk stain covering her name and remembered how easily Isabella had warmed up to her, especially compared to the response she received from other children. “She is.”
“No one’s really told us exactly why Parker became this little one’s legal guardian. All we know is that the poor thing’s an orphan and that he did the right thing and took her in.” Etta May wiped her eyes.
“Parker’s going to make a wonderful father,” Nola Gay said.
“He will.” To that she could safely agree.
“When can we visit him?” Etta May abandoned her attempt to tug up the knee-hi pantyhose that had fallen around her ankles. “We’ve got a fresh batch of pickles with his name on it in this very basket.” She lifted the lid of the basket. Smells reminiscent of the delicious fried chicken and potato salad these ladies always brought to the church potlucks flooded the room. “Hospital food ain’t too good. So we brought our own.”
“A nickel will only go so far, and we don’t believe upgrading the cafeteria is the best use of our money,” Nola Gay said. “Care for a chicken leg, Dr. Harper?”
“I’m on duty.” Mouth watering, Maddie had to step back from the basket. “It’s going to be a few weeks before Parker’s digestive system can handle pickles and chicken, or before it’s safe for you to see him.” Maddie noted the crimp forming in Etta May’s ankle where the knee-hi seemed to be cutting into her flesh. Forgetting she was starving, she moved closer. Etta May’s leg was purple and the skin was stretched tight. Alarm bells sounded Maddie’s head. “Etta May, is your ankle always so puffy?”
“Puffy?” Etta May lifted her feet straight out in front of her and peered over glasses frames that matched her sister’s. “Well, I declare. That right one does look like rotten tree stump, doesn’t it?”
Maddie moved closer. “Mind if I take a look?”
“Will you send us a big bill?” Nola Gay asked expectantly.
“We want to pay a big bill, Maddie,” Etta May added. “It’s why we came.”
“I’m not in charge of billing either.” Maddie slid the stool over to the exam table. “I’m going to poke around a little before I remove your shoe, okay?”
“Whatever you think, sweet thang. You’re the doctor.” Etta May seemed thrilled by the prospect of having something wrong.
Maddie sat down and gently lifted Etta May’s foot to her lap. “Tell me if this hurts.” She pressed her thumb into the puffiness. Etta May shook her head. “How about here?” Etta May shook her head again. “Did you fall?”
“Not that I recall.”
“I’m going to remove your shoe.” Maddie untied Etta May’s laces. The moment she pried off the orthopedic shoe, the freed foot puffed up big as a balloon. Maddie gently peeled away the knee-hi hose. Etta May’s big toe and bunion were black. “Have you been on your feet a lot lately, Miss Etta May?”
“She’s mostly been sittin’ in the recliner.” Nola Gay crossed her arms. “Been camped out there so much she’s nearly worn off a coat of paint.”
“Paint?” Maddie asked.
“Oh, yes,” Etta May said. “We spray paint our recliners matching blue every spring.”
“That sounds...thrifty.” Maddie deposited the knee-hi into the empty shoe and wheeled the stool toward Nola Gay.
“We’re careful with our money, especially since we had to sell our van and give up our Uber business,” Nola Gay explained.
Maddie wheeled back to Etta May and removed the other shoe. “You sold the Uber van?”
Nola Gay set her sister’s shoe on top of the suitcase. “Sister just didn’t feel up to raking all that shag carpet anymore.”
“Your Momma and Wilma Wilkerson were the only ones who used our services anyway,” Etta May justified. “But don’t think us destitute. That little investment fund your daddy helped us set up is brimming with money. Do you know what happens to grandmas with money in this town?”
“No, what?”
“Whenever grandma dies, the funeral is at two, the family’s at the bank by three and out of town with the money by four,” Nola said bluntly.
“But your only family is your brother Ray, and he’s older than both of you.”
“Exactly,” Nola Gay snorted. “If Raymond would happen to outlive us, he doesn’t want or need a dime. So we’ve got to do something with all that money before we die. And since your brother beat us to building a new gym for the kids to use at the church,” she continued, “we’ve decided to do whatever it takes to help Leona keep good medical care in our community.” Nola Gay heaved herself up from the chair and studied her sister’s ankle. “Do you think Etta May has come down with something expensive, Maddie...uh
, Dr. Harper?”
Maddie shrugged and handed her Etta May’s other shoe and knee-hi. “Could be several things.”
A hint of concern narrowed Nola Gay’s eyes. “Like?”
“Something expensive would be best.” Etta May seemed almost pleased that she was the one who’d come up with an illness that could put the hospital ledgers in the black. Ruthie was right, these two generous women were treasures.
Etta May’s face suddenly sobered. “I can’t wiggle my toes.”
Maddie tried to hide her growing concern. “I’m going to admit you, Etta May and run a few tests, okay?”
Nola Gay and Etta May, unable to hide their enthusiasm, clapped their hands at the exact same time. “Sounds expensive,” they said in unison.
“Very.” Maddie assured them. She knew better than to try to slide Etta May’s orthopedics back on. Until she could figure out the cause of this dear woman’s edema, her foot was not going back into this old, black lace-up. “Wait here while I get the orders started.”
CHAPTER NINE
Leona raced around the toys scattered across her living room and lunged for the cell phone she’d left on the counter. “David?”
“Hey, Momma. Sorry I couldn’t answer when you called earlier. Amy and I were finishing up with Dr. Boyer.”
“How is Amy?”
“Robin says she’s doing great. Sugar levels are good. Her C-section incision has healed nicely.” The ding of David’s keys sliding into the ignition of his minivan sounded in the background. “How are the kids?”
“That’s why I called.” Leona waved her tearful grandson to her side. Jamie buried his face in her leg. She rubbed his head and could tell nothing she’d done had brought his fever down. “I know you wanted to run a few errands before you came out here for dinner, but I think the kids are sick.”
“We’ll head that way now.”
“I think that’s a good idea.” Leona hung up and lifted Jamie into her arms. “How about we turn on the TV and snuggle while baby sister sleeps. Sound good?”
