He nodded. “I’m working on that.”
“I think we need to take it very slowly. She needs to feel confident I’m not going to steal you away. And I need to work out some things too…”
“Such as?”
“I felt shut out, Matthew, after the funeral. I wasn’t prepared for that. I didn’t think that was your way of handling things.”
“It isn’t,” he said. “Usually.”
“That’s what I mean. We both have things to work out.”
“Come over for dinner tonight,” he said. “Lucy and I have been taking cooking lessons. I want to wow you.”
WHEN THE PHONE RANG, soon after Matthew left, Sarah thought he was calling about his billfold. She’d found it on the floor under the bed and immediately called his cell phone but the call went through to voice mail. She’d been unable to resist flipping it open with one finger. A plastic insert contained about a dozen pictures.
Every one an image of Lucy. She’d closed it again.
The call was from Elizabeth, who wanted to know whether she’d seen Matthew. Lucy had been trying to call him for hours the night before and, Elizabeth said, was now completely stressed and refusing to go to school until she spoke to him.
“Sorry,” Elizabeth had finally said. “I didn’t mean to burden you with our problems.”
“You didn’t,” Sarah said. A future with Matthew meant Lucy was her problem, too. “If I hear from him, I’ll tell him to call Lucy.”
She showered and dried her hair, pulled on a pair of sweats, made coffee and drank it at the kitchen table. No house calls today, just a couple of hours of paperwork then, to reward herself, a run.
The phone rang again.
“Dr. Cameron, this is Debbi—”
“Debbi. Where are you? I’ve been worried about you.”
“I’m staying with a friend in Edwardsville. It’s kind of far away, but—” she lowered her voice “—I had to go somewhere Curt wouldn’t find me. Alli’s been throwing up all night and she’s running a fever. This isn’t like the other times. Her tummy is hard and—”
“I’ll be there in as long as it takes me to drive.” Sarah glanced at her watch. Edwardsville was a blip on the map, more than an hour from the nearest hospital. She could get to Alli in less time than it took Debbi to arrange transportation. “Just give me directions.”
She made it in thirty minutes, but standing in the tiny bedroom of the small frame house, looking at the flushed toddler with the distended abdomen, she realized she was dealing with something she couldn’t handle by herself.
“I think we may need to get her to the hospital for a specialist to look at her.”
Debbi, chewing her lip, was clearly on the verge of tears. “But I don’t have insurance.”
“It’ll be okay,” Sarah said with far more confidence than she felt. “Look—” her brain sorting through various options, she put her hand on Debbi’s arm “—why don’t you and Alli come back to Port Hamilton with me? I’d feel better if she was closer to the hospital. I’m going to see Dr. Cameron tonight,” she said, remembering Matthew’s dinner. “Between the two of us, we’ll be able to work something out. You can both stay with me—”
“Or you could drop me off at my mom’s,” Debbi said, her expression clearing. “If that’s all right with you.”
In the car, she used her cell phone to call Port Arthur General Hospital where she’d been notified she had admitting privileges. Port Arthur, she learned, was not taking new patients. Not enough nurses.
It was dark by the time she’d dropped off Debbi and a sleeping Alli at Debbi’s mother’s with instructions to call if Alli’s condition worsened. Back at her apartment, she felt a wave of exhaustion. Still wearing her parka and boots, she flopped down on the couch for a quick nap before she changed for dinner with Matthew. And fell asleep.
LUCY HAD DECIDED on the menu for the evening. Lasagna, salad and garlic bread. Matthew had been relieved when she told him. Anything more ambitious would lead to the possibility of failure and add to the tension he already felt. Had there been any way he could lock both Lucy and Sarah in a room together with the order that they were to stay there until they liked each other, he would have done it. Instead, he was trying not to talk too much about Sarah because he didn’t want the evening to start off with Lucy feeling jealous. When Sarah arrived, he decided he wouldn’t be overly solicitous with Lucy, the way he sometimes was, for fear of Sarah feeling left out. And now Lucy was making noises again about wanting to move in with him.
The whole thing made his head spin. Half an hour before Sarah arrived, he considered breaking into the Chianti he’d bought for dinner. Instead, he showered and shaved and changed into the pants and shirt Lucy had bought him for his birthday. Banana Republic, she’d said as he’d opened the box. “Mom let me use her charge card.” He surveyed himself in the mirror. The black pants were…twill, he thought. And the shirt was cotton suede—Lucy had told him—and the color of milky coffee. It wasn’t a combination he would have picked out, but even Elizabeth had complimented him when he’d worn it to parents’ night at the school.
“Check you out, Matt,” she’d said. “Styling.”
Smells wafted up from the kitchen. Onion and garlic and tomato. Lucy’s music also reached him. She was always talking about this band or trying to get him to listen to that band. They all sounded alike and way too loud. As he ran downstairs, he considered how to tactfully suggest switching to something more suitable for a couple of doddering ancients.
“Taste this.” Lucy, her face flushed from the kitchen’s warmth, held a spoon to his mouth. “Does it need more garlic?”
He tasted. “Wow. No worries about vampires around here.”
She frowned. “You’re saying there’s too much garlic?”
“No. No. It’s great. Perfect.” He glanced at the clock. Sarah would be here any minute. “So, what else has to be done?”
“Nothing.” She smiled. “I set the table and…” She led him by the hand into the dining area. “Flowers. Cut from mom’s yard, but that’s okay. And I even got dessert. Tiramisu, from the bakery. That was Mom’s idea, but I grated extra chocolate on top.”
“You are incredible, Lulu.” Overcome by a surge of paternal pride and love, he caught her face in his hands. “You are so capable and grown-up and I love you a whole—”
“Don’t get mushy,” she said as she pulled away. But then, her back to him, she said, “You’re a pretty good dad, okay?”
Smiling, he glanced again at the clock. Sarah was late.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THE TELEPHONE WOKE Sarah up from a deep dream in which she was piloting a helicopter with Debbi’s daughter on board to a hospital in Seattle, but something had gone wrong with the blades and she thought they might have to make a crash landing. Groggy and disoriented, she bolted upright on the couch where she’d collapsed and grabbed the phone.
“Hello?”
“Sarah. It’s Matthew. What’s going on? You were supposed to be over here forty-five minutes ago. Lucy’s made dinner and we’re sitting around waiting for you.”
“Oh, God.” She rubbed her eyes. “I completely forgot. I had to drive out to the west end to see Debbi’s little girl. I finally heard from her and…well, I need to talk to you, Matthew—”
“Can we talk about it later?” There was an edge of impatience in his voice. “Lucy’s been working all day on this dinner.”
“Of course.” She stood. “I’m sorry, I just meant to shut my eyes for a few minutes. I’ll be right there. Hey, Matthew,” she started to say, but he’d already hung up.
Thirty minutes later, her hair still damp and pulled back into a ponytail, dressed in faded jeans and an equally faded University of Washington sweatshirt, she realized she’d blown it. The table was set with flowers and twinkling candles. Lucy, in an off-white dress, looked like a model from Teen Magazine and Matthew…Matthew was sophisticated and just plain handsome.
“Jeez, I would
n’t have dressed up if I’d known we were going casual,” she quipped, covering her embarrassment with a joke that produced the faintest of smiles from Matthew and a stony look from Lucy. She accepted the glass of wine Matthew handed her. “I’m really sorry for being late,” she told Lucy. “It’s been a long day and I just closed my eyes—”
“I know,” Lucy said as she carried the lasagna to the table. “Dad told me.”
“Wow.” Sarah leaned over the table to get a closer look at the lasagna. “That looks amazing. Smells amazing, too.” She hadn’t eaten all day, but instead of feeling ravenous, she felt slightly queasy. “What can I do?”
Matthew grinned at her. “Very clever, Sarah. Wait till everything’s done, then ask.” He glanced at Lucy, who had taken her place at one end of the table and was using wooden tongs to toss a salad. “Does it matter where we sit, Lulu?”
“Nope.” She nibbled at a lettuce leaf she’d pulled from the bowl, considered momentarily, then ground pepper into the salad. “Sit, you guys,” she commanded. “Let’s eat.”
“So your dad said you’ve been taking cooking classes together,” Sarah said after she and Matthew had, excessively she felt, admired the brilliant flavors of the sauce, the masterfully blended salad dressing and the perfect crispness of the garlic bread.
“Introduction to cooking,” Lucy said with a look at Matthew. “But next month we’re starting the intermediate course. And—” another glance in her father’s direction “—after that, Foundation of French Cuisine.”
“Well, let’s finish introduction first,” Matthew said.
Lucy’s expression darkened. “You said, Dad. Plus, if I move in, I’ll be able to cook for you.”
Sarah met Matthew’s eyes across the table. He looked away.
“So, Lucy.” Sarah felt a need to change the subject. “What else do you like to do—besides cooking, which you do very well, by the way.”
Lucy shrugged. “I don’t know. Hang out with my friends…”
Sarah rushed to fill the conversational void. “I’m trying to think back to when I was fourteen, which was a long time ago—”
“Very long,” Matthew said.
“Even longer for you,” Sarah said.
Matthew winked at her.
“Anyway…” The wink had shot a charge through her body, which she was trying hard to ignore. “Let’s see. I used to ride my bike everywhere, that much I do remember.”
“And she got more flat tires than you could believe,” Matthew said.
“Which I was able to fix myself,” Sarah added.
“After I showed you how,” Matthew said. “‘Oh, Matthew,’” he imitated a girl’s voice, “‘could you please fix my tire?’”
Laughing, Sarah wondered if he was picking up on the telepathic message she was trying to send. I love you. “How about you, Lucy?” she asked. “Do you fix your own flats?”
“I don’t ride bikes that much.”
“Lucy’s more the creative type,” Matthew said. “Theatuh and that sort of thing. Right, Lulu?”
Lucy, picking at her salad, shrugged again. “Whatever.”
“I heard all about your play,” Sarah said. “Do you have any other productions coming up?”
“Huh?” Lucy’s look suggested Sarah had just lapsed into Greek.
“Are you going to be in another play?” Matthew clarified.
“No.”
Matthew reached for a piece of garlic bread. “I thought you were trying out for—”
“I changed my mind.”
“How come?”
“Dad.” Lucy shot him a warning look. “Pass me the bread please.”
Regarding her empty plate, Sarah realized she’d eaten the entire meal and, despite the lavish compliments, hadn’t tasted a thing. Her head was throbbing and the tension at the table was palpable. The rest of the evening plodded on for what seemed like hours. Sarah watched Matthew asking Lucy questions to which she either professed not to know the answer or didn’t want to discuss. Sarah also tried to keep the conversational ball rolling but eventually grew impatient with Lucy’s sullenness. By the time they’d all finished dessert, she was feeling so bad for Matthew that it was all she could do not to banish Lucy from the room and take Matthew in her arms and tell him it wasn’t his fault.
“SARAH AND I CAN DO the dishes, Lucy,” Matthew said after they’d cleared the table and stacked everything on the counter next to the dishwasher. “You knocked yourself out making dinner, now it’s our turn.”
“I don’t mind doing them,” Lucy said.
Sarah affected astonishment. “You’re getting a chance to skip out on the dishes and you’re not taking it?” She shook her head at Matthew. “These kids today. Go figure.”
Lucy ignored her. “I said I don’t mind,” she muttered, rinsing off a plate.
“I know you don’t mind.” Matthew took the plate from her. “Don’t you have homework?”
“No.”
He gave her a warning look. “Lucy—”
“Fine.” Glaring at him, she kicked the dishwasher shut with her foot. “Do the stupid dishes yourself.”
Sarah was at the sink, rinsing off the rest of the dishes. From the set of her shoulders, he would have bet money he knew exactly what was going through her mind. He imagined himself as Sarah had probably seen him at dinner. Apprehensive, conciliatory—exactly the way he’d promised himself he wouldn’t be.
“It’s going to take time,” he said.
“I think you may have said that once before.” Sarah kept rinsing dishes. “The truth is, I want to go up and have a long heart-to-heart talk with Lucy,” she said. “But I also think she needs to learn that the world doesn’t revolve around her.”
“She wants you to like her.” Matthew thought of all the effort Lucy had put into making dinner. “I think she might be a little shy around you,” he said, not believing the words even as he spoke them.
Sarah turned from the sink, raised her hand, still damp from the dishes, and placed it against his face. “Poor baby.”
He smiled. “That helps.”
“Any more of that Chianti?” she said.
“Yep.” He filled their glasses and they carried them out to the balcony. The moon was hardly more than a sliver, with just the lights from the ferry landing and an oil tanker at anchor to punctuate the darkness. He put his arm around Sarah. “So what’s this with Debbi’s daughter?”
Sarah leaned into him. “We don’t have to talk about that right now.”
“Talk. Whatever it is has got to be easier than talking about my daughter.”
“Matthew.” Sarah raised his hand to her lips. “I feel so bad for you. Do you want me to go up and talk to Lucy? I will.” She turned to look at him. “I’ll tell her I know what it’s like to be fourteen and feeling alone…” She laughed. “I won’t mention I also know what it’s like to be forty and alone.”
“You’re not alone now,” Matthew said. “Unless you choose to be.”
Sarah said nothing. Maybe, right at this minute, he meant that. Would he always? She wanted to believe it.
“So about Debbi’s daughter?” he prompted.
“Debbi called me this morning to say Alli had been vomiting all night. I drove out to see her. I think her kidneys are failing, Matthew.”
“I’ve suspected that all along.”
“She needs to be hospitalized for tests. Port Arthur isn’t accepting new admissions because of a staffing shortage.” She drew a breath. “I need your help.”
He feigned shock. “Let me call the public-relations department. They’ll want to alert the press.”
“I’m serious, okay? This could be where my grand solo practice scheme falls apart. I’m pretty sure she’ll need dialysis. Debbi has been trying various remedies, but nothing is working. I want you to have a look at her. I know Debbi doesn’t belong to Compassionate Medical Systems, but I wondered if you could pull some strings.”
“Have Debbi bring her in,” Matthew said.
“They owe me. Actually, a new kidney specialist just signed on. I’ll give him a call tomorrow.”
Sarah kissed him. “They owe you?”
SITTING ACROSS an expanse of mahogany the following day trying to gauge the expression on the face of the woman who had replaced Heidenreich, he felt less confident. Carolyn Calhoun, the fiftyish, power-suited chief executive officer and director of business administration, Compassionate Medical Systems, Port Hamilton branch, listened to his appeal with her arms folded and her lips pursed. Matthew was not encouraged.
“This is a dangerous precedent, Dr. Cameron,” she said when Matthew had finished. “Compassionate Medical Systems is a closed operation. Potential members are screened beforehand. To arbitrarily admit a patient, particularly one suffering from a chronic condition—”
“We don’t know that yet,” Matthew interrupted.
“Regardless. The point is, we had a lengthy open enrollment period in which anyone who chose to, could enroll in Compassionate Medical Systems—”
“Anyone who could pay the premiums.”
“If this child’s mother is unable to afford the premiums,” she said, “there are other options.”
“Unsatisfactory options,” Matthew said, recalling his own response to Sarah. “And I think you know that, Ms. Calhoun. There is a free clinic, staffed by paraprofessionals, but that’s about the extent of it. This was one of my objections to CMS coming to the peninsula in the first place. There’s CMS for people who can afford it, inferior care for everyone else.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Then perhaps you should have stayed in private practice, Dr. Cameron.”
Matthew held her glance. “Perhaps I should have.”
“Which, in cases such as this—” she glanced at the file on her desk “—this Kennedy child, wouldn’t address the issue of hospitalization.”
“When I agreed to join CMS,” Matthew said, “I brought in most of the medical staff with me. I could do the same if I left…” He saw her eyes flicker and pressed on. “One consideration had been a physician purchase of the Port Arthur hospital. That remains a possibility.”
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