03_The Doctor's Perfect Match (8 page)

His eyes brightened. “I like the idea. Let’s see what Christopher says about it. I’ll talk to him when he comes by later.”

Patting his hand, Marci rose. “And now I’m off. That patch of weeds in the right corner is on my hit list today. You won’t believe all the beautiful flowers that are emerging.”

“I can’t wait to see them.”

“Do you need anything before I leave?”

“No. You gave me what I needed most. Hope.”

With a smile, Marci stepped through the door…and found Patricia glaring at her. The woman jerked her head down the hall, indicating Marci should follow, and stalked away.

For a second, Marci considered ignoring the command. But she supposed she’d have to deal with Henry’s daughter at some point. And she’d rather do it here, with other people around, than risk another encounter in the privacy of Henry’s backyard.

Marci followed Patricia into the deserted waiting room, where the woman turned to her in fury.

“I heard what you said about caring for my father at the cottage. Why are you butting into his life?”

“I want what’s best for him. He’s my friend.”

“A very
new
friend, according to my father. He told me last night you only met a couple of weeks ago. And that you’re a visitor to the island who will be leaving next month. I also learned you’re a waitress. Not the best-paying profession.”

Folding her arms, she gave Marci’s jeans and T-shirt a snooty scan. “I can see where you might be looking for a way to make an easy buck, Ms. Clay. But don’t waste your time. My father might own valuable property, but he isn’t wealthy. He is, however, a gullible man who tends to think the best of people and is therefore vulnerable to exploitation.”

Once more her gaze raked Marci. “You never did give me a straight answer to my question yesterday. I’ll ask it again. Why are you being so kind to my father?”

Reeling from the woman’s implication, Marci struggled to find her tongue. “I like him.”

“If you liked him, you wouldn’t have let him do physical work. He’s eighty-five years old. That fall could have killed him. And it wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t pushed him to clean up the garden.”

Blindsided by the inference, and suddenly awash with
guilt, Marci didn’t even notice Christopher until he appeared in the doorway of the glass-enclosed room.

“Hello, ladies.”

Patricia twisted around, acknowledging his presence with a stiff dip of her head. “Doctor.”

“I couldn’t help overhearing some of your conversation.” He stepped into the room, his demeanor grim. For the first time since they’d met, Marci saw anger in his eyes as he moved beside her in a protective stance and addressed Henry’s daughter. “I can assure you, Mrs. Lawrence, that Henry was eager to restore some order to his garden. He didn’t have to be pushed. But as you know, he tends to overextend himself.”

“That’s exactly why I want him in a place with professional oversight. I’m sure Ms. Clay’s offer of assistance is very generous—” she smirked at Marci “—but I don’t believe she has the appropriate medical credentials to care for my father. Do you, Doctor?”

Christopher shot Marci a look she interpreted as apologetic. “I do agree that Henry’s physical well-being would be better served by a short-term stay at an extended-care facility. But if he improves as I expect him to, there’s no reason he can’t return to his cottage. And that will be far better for his psychological well-being long-term.”

He’d nixed her plan before she could even present it, Marci realized in shock. Worse, he’d betrayed Henry.

Suddenly feeling sick to her stomach, she tightened her grip on the strap of her purse. Ignoring Patricia, she brushed past Christopher. “If you’ll excuse me, I have another commitment.”

Without waiting for a response, she strode down the hall.

Fighting back tears.

How could Christopher do this? He knew Henry didn’t want to go into assisted living! Okay, so he
had
said it would be a short-term stay. But from what she’d seen of Patricia, she
wouldn’t put it past the woman to sell the cottage out from under Henry while he was away.

Spotting a ladies’ room, she pushed through the door, swiping at the tears pooling in the corners of her eyes. She needed a few minutes to get herself together, muster her chutzpah.

And then she intended to give Christopher a piece of her mind.

As Christopher turned the corner in the hall where Marci had disappeared, he caught a quick glimpse of her entering the ladies’ room. Slowing his pace, he stopped opposite the door, leaned back against the wall and shoved his hands into his pockets. Although he’d promised to join Patricia in her father’s room to discuss the next steps, Marci was his top priority. The look of betrayal in her eyes before she’d practically run down the hall had been like a punch in the gut.

Three minutes later, when the door opened and she emerged, he straightened up.

She saw him at once, and the mutinous tilt of her chin told him this was going to be a hard sell.

“I expected you to be busy with Patricia arranging Henry’s move to assisted living.”

He took her arm. “We need to talk.” Without giving her a chance to respond, he tugged her toward a door marked private.

He knew his surprise move was the only reason he was able to propel her into the supply room. Once inside, he closed the door and stood in front of it.

Bright spots of color appeared on her cheeks as she faced off against him, her antagonism almost palpable. And the redness around her eyes told him she’d been crying.

“I’m not selling Henry out, Marci.”

She glared at him. “You could have fooled me. You know he
doesn’t want to go to assisted living! You said yourself he’d wither and die in a place like that, just like your grandfather did.”

“That’s true. But I also saw the results of his latest tests this morning. His blood count isn’t rebounding as quickly as we’d like. And he’s having a lot more discomfort than he’s letting on to visitors. That should all improve. But it will take a while. And for the first week or so, I’ll feel more comfortable if he’s got round-the-clock care from medical professionals. After that, assuming we can arrange for some home help for him, there’s no reason he can’t return to the cottage.”

“If his daughter doesn’t sell it in the meantime.”

Christopher fixed her with a steady look. “She can’t do that. I have his power of attorney.”

He knew the instant she grasped the implication—that Henry trusted Christopher more than he did his own daughter—because the tension in both her features and her stance eased subtly.

“Okay.” She blew out a long breath. “I guess I overreacted. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for caring.” He gentled his tone as he reached over to brush away a streak of mascara from her cheek. “His daughter could take a few lessons from you.”

His fingers lingered on her skin, and for a long moment their gazes locked. He saw a quick flash of emotion—strong enough to stop him in his tracks—before she took a jerky step back and swiped at her eyes.

“I just…” She stopped. Swallowed. “I just don’t like to see people being used.”

The sudden hard edge to her words raised Christopher’s antennas, but she continued before he could follow-up.

“Besides, as Patricia pointed out, if I hadn’t convinced him to fix up the garden, this wouldn’t have happened.”

Her voice got husky, and she blinked away a new batch of tears.

A muscle clenched in his jaw, and his anger surged again, as it had when he’d discovered Patricia berating Marci. The caring woman standing inches away deserved gratitude, not insults. “Henry’s been wanting to clean it out for a long time. He was thrilled when you offered to help. Don’t let her make you feel guilty about that.”

Tempted to once again touch her face, he shoved his hand in his pocket instead. “I overheard some of the rest of what she said, too. Including her insinuation about your motives. That comment was more indicative of her character than yours, Marci. Don’t let it bother you.” He propped a shoulder against the closed door, wanting to extend this private moment as long as possible. “Are you headed to Henry’s?”

“That was my plan.” She fished a tissue out of her pocket and swiped at her nose. “But with this new turn of events, I think I’ll go back to The Devon Rose and see if I can get on Heather’s computer. As part of my last social-work practicum, I got some experience finding assistance for seniors. I’d like to search the net and see what I can come up with for Henry. I’d also like to take a look at your elder-assistance plan sometime, if you don’t mind. It might give me some ideas.”

“I’ll be happy to share it, although it’s rough. I keep it at my office.” He folded his arms across his chest. “You know, our office manager isn’t there on Saturdays. You could come by and not only get the plan, but do some research on her computer.”

“Are you sure I wouldn’t disrupt anything?”

Only his heart.

“No. This will work out fine. Let me finish up with Henry, and I’ll meet you there in about fifteen minutes. It’s easy to find.” He pulled out a prescription pad, jotted down the directions and tore off the sheet.

She took it from his outstretched hand and tucked it in the pocket of her jeans. “Okay.”

When he didn’t move away from the door at once, she gave him an expectant look. One that contained both trepidation and a whisper of yearning.

Henry had been telling him for months that he needed to move on. Maybe it was finally time. Even though he suspected Marci had secrets, perhaps they weren’t deal breakers, as Denise’s had been. Perhaps…

“Christopher?”

At Marci’s question, he moved away from the door. Now wasn’t the time or place to explore that possibility. “Sorry. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

She edged past him without meeting his eyes and took off down the hall.

As he watched her walk away, he found himself again comparing her to the woman who had soured him on romance. And the differences were obvious. Denise had used tears to get what she wanted; Marci did her best to hide hers. Denise had been needy; Marci reached out to those in need. She was also smart, intelligent, spunky, kind, attractive.

So why hadn’t some guy claimed her by now?

Was it because the secret she harbored had given her an aversion to romance?

Christopher didn’t know the answer to that question. But he knew he needed to find it before she boarded the plane back to Chicago in three weeks.

T
his was really good stuff.

As Marci finished reviewing Christopher’s notes on his elder-assistance program, she leaned back in the office manager’s chair, impressed. Although he’d claimed to have done little, that wasn’t quite true. He’d made a number of contacts in the community, and his idea had been met with a positive response. He’d compiled a list of contacts yet to be tapped. And he’d researched some of the services already available to seniors on Nantucket. It was an excellent start.

Setting aside the file containing his notes, Marci began browsing the Net. In short order, she located several additional resources for seniors that sounded worthy of investigation, and she found some interesting articles about new programs sprouting up around the country designed around the philosophy of keeping older citizens in their homes.

She’d filled several pages with scribbled ideas and Web sites that merited further exploration when the receptionist appeared in the doorway of the small office.

“Sorry to interrupt. I wanted to let you know we’ll be closing at one. I thought you might need a few minutes to wrap up.”

Marci checked her watch. Where had the past three hours gone? “Thanks. I’m about done, anyway. Would you like me to shut down the computer?”

“I’ll take care of it. And don’t feel you have to rush. Dr. Morgan still has a patient in the waiting room. You’ve got a few more minutes.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

Left alone again, Marci jotted some notes about an innovative time-bank idea, then tapped the sheets into a pile, slung her purse over her shoulder and picked up Christopher’s file.

The receptionist was back at her desk when Marci emerged. The woman looked up as she approached, smiling as she gestured to the file. “It’s a great idea, isn’t it?”

Uncertain how much Christopher had shared with his office staff, Marci erred on the side of caution in her response. “Yes. It could help a lot of people.”

“My own grandmother, for one. She’s seventy-nine and has lived in the same house since she got married fifty-eight years ago. But it’s getting to be too much for her to manage. I know she’d—”

A baby’s wail pierced the air from the direction of the waiting room just as one of the examining-room doors opened. A smock-clad nurse with salt-and-pepper hair stepped into the hall, closing the door behind her.

“I take it Mrs. Anderson is here.” She grinned at the receptionist as she approached.

“With brood in tow.” The woman rolled her eyes.

Walking to the door, the nurse ushered in a young mother who was bouncing the screaming baby. The toddler clinging to her skirt gave the adults in the office a wary inspection.

“Let’s get your weight.” The nurse doubled her volume to be heard above the howling baby and indicated the scale in the hall near the reception desk.

The diaper bag began to slip off the mother’s shoulder, and she tried to shrug it back into place as the baby gave another piercing wail. Spotting Marci, she homed in on her.

“Would you mind holding my baby while I get weighed?” She flashed her a flustered grin. “I don’t need the extra fourteen pounds.”

Before Marci could protest, she placed the flailing infant in her arms.

As the squirming little body settled against her chest, Marci stared down at the scrunched-up face.

And tried to breathe.

“Here, let me take that stuff.” The receptionist stood and leaned over the desk, tugging Christopher’s file and Marci’s notes from her hand. “Isn’t she a cutie?” She reached over and touched the baby’s nose, but the infant slapped her hand away.

“I see she has a temper to go with those red curls.” The woman chuckled.

“Danny, let go of Mommy’s skirt. She has to get on the scale.” The mother was still trying to disengage from her toddler, Marci noted in desperation.

Though her arms felt stiff, she instinctively began to bounce the screaming infant.

“This baby is one of Dr. Morgan’s special children,” the receptionist commented as she rested her arms on the counter and regarded the little bundle.

Marci’s throat tightened at the pleasurable feeling of the tiny warm body against her chest. “What do you mean?”

“He’s very active in the pro-life movement. Mrs. Anderson couldn’t have any more children after Danny, but she wanted another baby. Dr. Morgan has connections with Birthright in Boston, and he helped arrange an adoption.”

Marci’s stomach clenched, and she felt a film of sweat break out on her upper lip.

“Now that’s amazing. You must have the touch.”

At the receptionist’s comment, Marci gave her a blank look.

The woman gestured to the child in her arms. “Peace reigns once again.”

The room had gone silent, Marci realized as she looked down. The infant was staring up at her with big blue eyes, one fist jammed in her mouth. With the other hand, she grabbed a handful of Marci’s T-shirt and hiccupped.

As Marci focused on the diminutive fist, tears formed in her eyes. Each finger was so tiny, yet so perfect.

Just like—

A door opened down the hall, and a white-coated Christopher joined the small group gathered by the receptionist’s desk.

Struggling to breathe in the suddenly airless room, Marci moved toward him. “I have to go.” She pushed the baby against his chest.

He frowned, but to her relief he automatically lifted his arms. Once she knew the baby was secure, she turned away and rushed to the door, fumbling with the knob.

“Marci, wait a second. What’s the—”

She didn’t wait to hear the rest of Christopher’s question. Pushing through the door, she dashed across the empty waiting room and practically ran to her car.

As she fitted the key into the ignition, she could only imagine the reaction of the adults she’d left behind. They probably thought her behavior was bizarre.

But it wasn’t. Not if you knew the reason behind it.

Only two people were privy to that secret, however.

And Marci had no intention of revealing it to anyone else.

As Christopher approached ’Sconset, he eased back on the accelerator. He’d intended to visit Henry again after finish
ing at the office. But Marci’s hasty departure—and distraught expression—had changed his plans.

Although he’d probed, his receptionist had been unable to offer any clues about what had upset her. In fact, she’d said they’d had a pleasant exchange only a few minutes before.

Yet something had unnerved her.

He didn’t know if she’d followed through on her plan to go to Henry’s once she finished at his office. But he had a feeling she might have. His neighbor’s garden would give her a nice, quiet place to think through whatever had upset her.

As he pulled onto Henry’s street, he spotted her car parked near the arbor in the older man’s backyard. Good. His hunch had been right.

Easing the car to a stop in front of his cottage, he entered through the front door and strode toward his tiny kitchenette. From the window, he could see Marci attacking the weeds next door with a vengeance. As if she was still distressed—or angry.

Although she sidestepped most personal questions with practiced ease, he intended to do his best to find out what was bothering her. Because he wanted to help, if he could. That’s what you did for friends. Especially friends who were beginning to become much more.

Five minutes later, after exchanging his work clothes for jeans and a T-shirt, he picked up the elder-assistance file and the notes she’d left in his office. Exiting through the back door, he approached the white picket fence that separated the two yards and sent a silent prayer heavenward.

Lord, give me the words that will reach her heart.

Pausing at the fence, he drew in a steadying breath. “Could you use some help?”

At his question, Marci swung toward him, hoe frozen mid-strike.

“I thought you said you were going to do rounds after office hours?”

“I changed my mind. I’m filling in for half a shift in the E.R. tonight, so I’ll visit patients before that.” He waved the file and papers at her. “You left these behind.”

A soft blush crept over her cheeks as she set the hoe aside and approached him.

“Sorry.” She reached across the fence to take them.

He tightened his grip as she tugged. “Before I hand these over, do you want to tell me what happened back at the office?”

She retracted her hand and tucked it in her pocket. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

Moistening her lips, she lifted one shoulder and adopted a nonchalance too deliberate to be authentic. “I was still thinking about the encounter with Henry’s daughter.”

He didn’t buy that. She was hiding something. But maybe if he could put her at ease, she’d drop a few clues.

Passing over the material, he vaulted the fence. Marci’s eyes widened, and she immediately took several steps back.

“Patricia can do that to a person. I had to bite my tongue more than once while she and I and Henry discussed his recuperation plans.”

“How did he take the news about going to the assisted-living place?”

“Not well. I hope when we talk one-on-one he’ll realize it’s for the best in the short-term.”

“Good luck.”

“Yeah. So…” He scanned the yard. “Tell me where you could use an extra pair of hands.”

Depositing her notes and the file on the rocking chair in the corner of the porch, she sent him a wary look. “You seriously want to help in the garden?”

“Sure. It’s too nice a day to waste indoors.”

Skepticism narrowed her eyes. “Do you know how to tell weeds and flowers apart?”

“I think so. With a little coaching.”

“Okay. I’m working on that section this afternoon.” She gestured to the long expanse by the fence on the far side of the yard.

“Lead the way.”

He followed, enjoying the way her springy blond curls bounced when she walked. The view of her trim figure wasn’t too shabby, either. And he liked the way long hours in the sun had brought out a few freckles on her porcelain complexion. Just a mere sprinkling across the bridge of her nose.

“Well?”

Christopher came out of his reverie and realized she’d asked him a question.

“Sorry. I was, uh, thinking about how sunny it is. With your fair skin, you should be wearing a hat.”

“I use a lot of sunscreen.” She pointed to a section of the garden. “Do you want to start here?”

“Yeah. That’s fine.”

“If you have any questions, just ask. I don’t want you pulling up half of Henry’s flowers.”

She moved a few feet down, dropped to her knees, and dove into the soil again.

Following her example, Christopher got up close and personal with the garden. Not until then did he realize just how overgrown it was.

“Wow. This is a mess.”

“Tell me about it.”

He started yanking out weeds. “Are you sorry you took on the challenge?”

“No. I’ve never liked neglected gardens. They make me
sad, for some reason. It feels good to give the flowers an environment where they can thrive and bloom.”

“You’re making great progress.” A quick glance around the garden showed she was three-fourths of the way through.

“It’s coming along. I want it to be done when Henry comes home.” She shoved her hair back from her face, leaving an endearing streak of dirt on her cheek. “I was impressed with your elder-assistance plan, by the way.”

“It needs a lot of work.”

“You’ve laid a good foundation, though. And you’ve identified a lot of potential supporters and resources. I like the idea of a talent-exchange registry. It would offer services not available through existing programs like meals-on-wheels and the island shuttle service.”

He gently extricated a daisy from a tangle of greenery and began pulling up the weeds that were choking it. “It seems to have potential. But it’s not a new concept. Bartering has been around for ages. This just formalizes it a little. For example, Henry taught English for years. He could easily help someone polish their résumé, or review a college-application essay, or help draft a grant for a local nonprofit organization. They, in turn, could paint his house. Or weed his garden. Or run errands.”

“Building on that idea, I read about some groups that are also doing time banks, where seniors help each other,” Marci said. “For every hour they help someone else—whether it’s caring for a pet, grocery shopping, changing light bulbs, raking leaves, you name it—they bank hours they can redeem for help when they need it.”

He looked over at her. She’d stopped pulling weeds, and her eyes were sparkling with enthusiasm.

She was the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen.

“What I like best about those kinds of approaches is that no one feels like they’re relying on charity or taking advan
tage of someone else, you know?” She sat back on her heels, her expression earnest. “We could even pull in young people. Maybe for each half hour they volunteer, they could earn points redeemable for merchandise or movies or food donated by area businesses. Plus, I think interaction between seniors and young people would be a good thing. Older folks have a lot to offer.”

“That all sounds great, Marci. But coordinating it is a huge time commitment. That’s why it’s never gotten off the ground.”

She surveyed the garden. “I’ll have this done in another few days. I could at least get the ball rolling while I’m lining up resources for Henry. That is, if you’d like me to. It’s your program.”

“The idea may have started with me, but it needs someone to take it forward. The way things are going, I’m never going to have the time to make it a reality.”

“Okay.” She went back to work. “I’ll start by getting in touch with some of the contacts you listed. Any suggestions on who to talk to first?”

“Reverend Kaizer at my church would be good. I mentioned the idea to him months ago, and he was very supportive. Plus, he’s well-connected on the island. He could put you in touch with a lot of people who might be willing to help get this thing launched. I could introduce you to him if you’d like to join me for services tomorrow.”

In his peripheral vision, he saw her freeze for an instant before she resumed tugging at a stubborn weed. “I’m not a churchgoer. God and I have never communicated much.”