03_The Doctor's Perfect Match (10 page)

Neither tactic had elicited any additional information, however. As her peeved brother had remarked, she’d closed up as tight as a Nantucket quahog.

And she wasn’t about to open up anytime soon, she resolved, stowing the rake and hoe in the corner of the shed. What was the point? There was no future in a relationship between her and Christopher.

Besides the fact that she was only a visitor to the island, their backgrounds were too different. He was a doctor. She was an unemployed social worker. He came from wealth. His family had vacationed on pricey Nantucket every year—for
three
weeks. Her idea of vacation was an El ride to the lake with a sack lunch on a rare free Sunday afternoon. Plus, given his love for children and his support of the pro-life movement, he’d be totally turned off if he knew about the tragic mistakes she’d made.

Steering clear of him was the sensible thing to do, she assured herself as she secured the shed door.

That’s why she was timing her garden work and visits to Henry during hours when she knew Christopher was seeing patients. The remainder of the day, she worked on his plan. It was coming along very well and had elicited an enthusiastic response from all the contacts she’d made. If it continued to progress as she hoped, she was confident it would be ready to implement by the time she left.

Plus, as she finessed the plan, she was also rounding up all the resources Henry would need after he came home to his cottage.

Her sojourn on Nantucket had been productive in a lot of ways, she thought, fingering the soiled leather garden gloves
that had protected her hands from unexpected thorns as she’d toiled in Henry’s garden.

Too bad she hadn’t had some way to protect her heart as well.

Because thanks to a certain Nantucket doctor, a piece of it would remain behind when she returned to Chicago, leaving an empty place that she suspected would never be filled again.

O
n Thursday afternoon, Marci rounded the corner in the hall at the rehab center—and came face-to-face with Christopher.

As she stumbled back in surprise, his hand shot out to steady her. “Sorry.”

In the second it took her to regain her balance, the timing of his visit registered. His presence in the middle of office hours didn’t bode well.

Her breath caught in her throat as her pulse accelerated. “Is Henry okay?”

He frowned. “He’s running a slight temperature. There’s a little inflammation around the incision, which could be the cause. But with his compromised immune system, we’re being aggressive with antibiotics.”

“It must be serious or you wouldn’t have interrupted office hours.”

“I had a no-show. That gave me a window to run over. I think he’ll be fine, but we’ll be keeping a close eye on him.”

“Is he up to a visitor?”

The furrows on his brow eased, and one side of his mouth hitched up into a smile—which did nothing to calm her pulse.
“If her name is Patricia, no. If her name is Marci, yes. I had to promise not to tell his daughter about this glitch, by the way.”

“I can understand that.”

“Me, too.” He checked his watch. “I need to run. Go on in. Your visit will cheer him up. His spirits could use a little boost today.”

“Okay.” She handed him the file that was tucked under her arm. “I was going to leave this with Henry and ask him to pass it on to you, but you might as well as take it with you. It’s a semifinal draft of your plan. Before I go any further, I wanted to get your reaction. See you later.”

Continuing down the hall, she restrained the urge to look back and see if Christopher was watching her. And hoped the visit with Henry would distract her from thoughts of the blue-eyed doctor.

It did. But not in a good way.

Since she’d stopped by yesterday, he seemed to have aged ten years. He was lying down rather than sitting up as he had been when they’d chatted less than twenty-four hours ago, and his cheeks were sunken and flushed.

Yet when his eyelids flickered open and he saw her, he managed a weary smile. “Hello, Marci. Come to visit an old man, I see.”

Adopting a bright tone, she walked into the room. “No. I came to visit one of the most youthful men I know.”

“In spirit, maybe. Too bad the body can’t keep up.”

She didn’t like his attitude. It held a hint of surrender she’d never heard from him before.

“I saw Christopher in the hallway.” She drew up a chair beside the bed. “He told me you have slight temperature, but he didn’t seem overly concerned. As far as I know, you’re still on track to ditch this place sometime next week.”

He brushed his gnarled fingers over the sheet that covered him. “Maybe.”

“Henry Calhoun!” Marci gave him a look of mock indignation and took his hand in a firm grip. “After all the work I’ve done to put a whole army of resources at your disposal, you better plan on marching out this door next week. Meals-on-wheels, a personal shopper, rides to medical appointments, pharmacy deliveries…you name it. Besides, I’m missing your banana-nut bread.”

Her attempt at humor brought a fleeting smile to his lips. “I’m kind of missing that myself.” He patted her hand. “We’ll see, Marci. Let’s take it a day at a time.”

He was giving up. Marci could hear it his voice. See it in his resigned expression. Feel it in his consoling pat of her hand.

“Henry.” She leaned close, her posture intent. “You
are
going to get better. You can’t let Patricia win.”

He peered at her and pursed his lips. “That
would
be a shame, wouldn’t it?”

“You bet. You have a lot of good years left. At home, in your cottage. I finished the garden, by the way. I can’t wait for you to see it. In fact, why don’t we plan a picnic dinner out there your first night back?”

“I’d like that.”

She stood and leaned down to press a kiss to his too-warm forehead. “We have a date, then. And I don’t like being stood up. Can I count on you to be there?”

He smiled. “I’ll do my best.”

“Good. I’ll be back later tonight. How about I bring you some of those chocolate tarts you liked at tea?”

“They sure were tasty.”

“Done. I’ll raid Heather’s kitchen. Get some rest this afternoon, okay?”

“Not much else I can do. Take care, Marci.”

Exiting the room, she quickly retraced her steps down the hall. While the place was well-kept, and colorful Fourth of
July decorations brightened the common rooms in anticipation of the coming holiday, she always felt an oppressive sense of gloom as she passed the residents hunched in wheelchairs or shuffling along behind walkers.

She couldn’t think of a more depressing place to live.

Christopher was right. Henry would wither and die here. They had to get him out as soon as possible.

And in the meantime, she had to think of some way to give him an incentive to keep fighting.

But where could she turn for inspiration?

God.

The word echoed in her mind, resonating powerfully enough to make her step falter for an instant.

Where in the world had that come from?

It had been years since she’d prayed. Or even
thought
about praying. But she
had
attended a service last Sunday and observed a lot people who put great stock in prayer.

She picked up her pace again. Maybe this might be one of the situations where prayer could make a difference. It had done the trick with Nathan last year, when she and J.C. had visited him in his darkest hour.

What did she have to lose?

Stepping out into the sunlight, Marci stopped, drew a deep, cleansing breath of the fresh Nantucket air and closed her eyes.

Lord, I have no idea if You’re listening. I kind of doubt it, since we haven’t exactly been on speaking terms. But if You are, could You help my friend, Henry? He’s a good man, Lord. And I don’t think he’s ready to check out yet. But he needs some encouragement. Please lift up his spirits. And help me think of something that will make him realize how much he’s loved and how much we want him to get better.

And Lord, if I’ve got Your ear, thank You for bringing such two special men into my world. Henry’s like the grandfather
I never had, and Christopher…well, I don’t know where he fits in. But I do know he’s a remarkable man. And no matter what happens, meeting him has been one of the greatest gifts of my life.

Wow.

Christopher flipped over the last page of the plan Marci had put together and took a sip of his cooling coffee. She’d done a fabulous job weaving a bunch of random ideas into a coherent proposal. Her plan relied on contributions from area residents, businesses, churches and organizations, and she’d already lined up an impressive level of funding commitments and support. Plus, she’d compiled a comprehensive database of volunteers willing to assist with the effort or participate in the time bank. And the high-school administration had embraced the notion of youth involvement and promised to promote it.

The plan was also very professional—well-organized, well-thought-out and well-presented. The rationale was compelling, the payback to the community clearly outlined.

Rising from the kitchen table in his cottage, he rinsed his mug in the sink. There was only one thing he might change in Marci’s proposal. She’d suggested the organization be run by a volunteer committee. But based on the comprehensive nature and scale of the coordination required for it to function effectively, it needed a more formalized structure. And an office.

Months ago, when he’d mentioned the idea to a few people at the hospital, word had spread to top management. And a casual comment had been made by one of the executives about donating office space. He made a mental note to follow up on that first thing tomorrow.

As for structure—Marci’s program deserved a full-time, professional director. It needed to be run by someone with credentials in social service work and an affinity for the elderly.

In other words, someone like Marci.

Or better yet, Marci herself.

Would she be willing to stay? he wondered. More importantly, did he have the courage to
ask
her to stay?

As he mulled that over, he pushed through the back door into the deepening twilight. Ambling across the lawn, he surveyed Henry’s garden over the white picket fence. Order had been restored, and the plants and flowers were once more reaching for the sky, free to bloom now that they’d been liberated from the choking weeds.

Henry would be pleased.

And if he were standing here now, Christopher had a feeling his neighbor would be drawing an analogy. Reminding him that it was time he freed himself from the restraints of his past that kept love from taking root. That it was time to lift his face to the sun and let romance bloom again.

Although the older man had been on him about that for months, Christopher had always dismissed the suggestion. But lately he’d found himself more open to it. Thanks to Marci.

As if on cue, she appeared from around the far side of Henry’s cottage. Taken aback, Christopher watched as she headed for the coiled hose behind the house and turned on the water. Only when she swung around toward the garden, nozzle in hand, did she notice him on the other side of the fence and send him a guarded smile.

“Hi.”

“Hi, yourself.” His smile was warm and open. “I thought you were done here.”

“I was. But I inadvertently uprooted a few plants the other day when I was weeding the last patch, and I thought they might need a drink.”

“You drove all the way out here for that?”

She shrugged and moved toward the back of the garden,
pulling the hose behind her. “After all my hard work, I don’t want any casualties.” She adjusted the nozzle to a soft spray and sprinkled a patch of slightly wilted flowers. “Actually, I’m glad I ran into you. I just visited Henry again. You were right earlier today. He’s pretty down. Even the chocolate tarts I brought him didn’t help a whole lot.”

His smile faded. “Yeah, I know. I stopped in after office hours. I tried to convince him his fever is nothing more than a little detour, but I don’t think I got through. I’m not sure what to try next. A positive attitude would go a long way toward helping him recover.”

“I agree. And I had an idea I wanted to bounce off of you. It’s a little ambitious, though.”

“So was the elder-assistance plan, but you managed to pull that off. I just read it. You did a stellar job. And I love the name. Caring Connections.”

She lifted one shoulder, dismissing her efforts. “Thanks. But all it needed was some legwork to flesh it out.”

The slight flush on her cheeks told him the compliment pleased her, despite her offhanded response. Had praise always been in such short supply in her life?

“Nope. Don’t buy it. You took a bunch of stream-of-consciousness ideas and molded them into a cohesive, workable plan. And you went out and drummed up support for it. That required talent. And a massive amount of work. So I suspect whatever idea you’ve come up with to boost Henry’s spirits is manageable. Tell me about it.”

“Well, when we first met, Henry told me about the gazebo that used to be over there.” She gestured to the bare spot in the corner, rimmed by hydrangea bushes about to burst into bloom. “He said he’d built it for his wife years ago, but it had been destroyed in a storm. I got the impression it meant a lot to him.”

“It did. It was his wife’s favorite place. I was with him the
night the storm ripped it apart. He told me that was the only spot where he could still feel her presence.”

“I sensed it might be something like that. So my idea is to rebuild it. I saw a picture of it in Henry’s kitchen, and the design doesn’t look too complicated. Chester’s really handy, and I bet I could get him to draw up some plans. I’m sure he’d also help with the construction. And I know I could convince J.C. to pitch in, too.”

She moved back to the faucet and turned off the water, recoiling the hose as she continued to speak. “With Henry scheduled to come home next week, we don’t have a lot of time, but I think we could pull this off. After all, they used to build barns in one day years ago. And we could start dropping hints to get him excited about the surprise.” She straightened up and regarded him across the yard. “What do you think?”

As Christopher envisioned the gazebo that could fill the empty space in the lawn—and in the older man’s heart—a slow smile tugged his lips up. “I think it’s brilliant. Henry will love it.”

She edged closer, until only a few feet separated them. Close enough for him to see the excitement and pleasure sparking in her eyes. Tempered, however, by a bit of doubt. “It won’t be cheap, though.”

“Don’t worry about the expense. I owe Henry for all the things he’s done for me since I arrived. Put me down for the building crew, too. I’m not the world’s best carpenter, but if someone points me to a nail I can drive it in.”

“Can you imagine his face when we bring him home and he sees it?”

Her enthusiasm was contagious. “It will be quite a moment. I have a key to Henry’s house. Do you want to take the picture with you so Chester can look it over?”

“Yes, thanks. That would be great.”

“Give me a sec.” He strode toward his cottage, retrieved the key and joined her at Henry’s back door. After unlocking the door, he removed the photo from the wall while she waited on Henry’s porch.

As he handed it over and relocked the door, she examined the image. “I would have liked to meet Marjorie.”

At her soft comment, Christopher pocketed the key and looked at the picture over her shoulder. “Me, too. But I know a lot about her from Henry. They shared an amazing love.”

“Yeah.” She held the picture reverently, her head bowed as she studied it. “That kind doesn’t come along very often.”

“I’ve seen examples of it. Every now and then.” His words came out husky, and when she gazed up at him, the look in her eyes drove the breath from his lungs.