My Sister's Prayer (7 page)

A good thirteen minutes later I finally made it, though I was breathless and sweaty and completely disheveled as I locked up my bike and helmet and strode toward the building. For once I didn't even bother with primping because I knew it would take a lot more to fix this mess than a quick peek at my reflection in a glass door. With only two minutes to spare I fought dueling inclinations: be on time but messy or be late but look good? I prided myself on both punctuality and polish, but because I was trying to scale back on the latter, I went with the former. Walking quickly past the women's restroom, I headed straight for the elevator and took it to the third floor. I then made my way down the hall to the door marked
River City Orthopedics, Austin Hill, MD.
Stepping inside, I reached the desk at four o'clock on the dot.

As I was checked in, a part of me hoped the doctor was running late so I could make a quick visit to a mirror first, but the nurse waved me around the desk and led me down the hall to a corner office. The room
was empty at the moment, but she told me to have a seat and that Dr. Hill would be right with me.

She wasn't exaggerating. Before I could even dig a pocket mirror from my bag, he came striding in the door.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said as he entered the room and crossed over to his desk. “I'm Austin Hill.” I had expected an older guy, but from the back at least he seemed young, not to mention tall and muscular.

Then he turned around. My face immediately grew hot, startled as I was by this guy's incredible good looks. He had to be one of the most handsome men I'd ever seen. It was almost laughable, the chiseled jaw straight from a cologne ad, the green eyes worthy of the silver screen. The thick blond mane, cut and styled as precisely as the hair in a salon poster.

“Ms. Talbot, is it?” he said, placing the file he was carrying onto his desk, flipping it open, and having a seat. “Let's see what we have here.”

He skimmed the pages in front of him for a moment and then glanced up at me, at my two good legs, a puzzled expression on his face. “You don't look like the Nicole Talbot I operated on six weeks ago.”

I blinked, trying to gather my wits about me. “Um…no.” I cleared my throat. “I'm Madeline Talbot, uh, Maddee. Nicole's older sister.”

He sat back, swiveling in his chair. “Oh, that's right. I knew you were coming in. Your grandmother set this up. She said you needed to speak with me ASAP and faxed over a release from Nicole so I could freely discuss your sister's condition with you.” He closed the file and crossed his arms over it, leaning slightly forward and fixing his gaze on me. “How can I help you exactly?”

Added to my general speechlessness was a surge of confusion. How could he help me? I thought he was supposed to be leading this show. After hemming and hawing for a minute, I explained I wasn't sure, but that I would be taking over my sister's care on Saturday, and my grandmother had said I needed to be brought up to speed on her condition first.

“Huh.” He, too, seemed perplexed. “Well, I'll tell you what I can, but I'm a little confused. You really ought to be having this conversation
with her internist, or even just her regular doctor. I'm the one who did the surgery on her leg, and I'm in charge of the follow-up for that, but otherwise I'm not involved with her case. Your grandmother knows that. I wonder why she wanted you to see me specifically.”

Before I could reply, we were interrupted by a light knock at the door and a nurse who needed him. Flashing me an apologetic smile, he excused himself, saying he would be right back. Then he walked out, leaving behind a faint scent of wood and citrus, probably one of those expensive colognes from the Nordstrom in Short Pump.

While he was gone, I seized the opportunity to do what I could with my appearance, smoothing my clothes, running a quick brush through my hair, wiping a tissue under my eyes for mascara smears. I dabbed on some lip gloss but didn't dare whip out the lint roller in case he returned midroll. I finished by checking my face in my pocket mirror and then tucked it away and folded my hands in my lap, trying to look relaxed.

When he still wasn't back, I let my eyes wander around the room, taking in all that I saw, starting with the multiple framed degrees hanging near the desk. University of Pennsylvania. Johns Hopkins. The guy was definitely credentialed.

He was also quite neat, the ceiling-to-floor bookshelves along the back wall tidy and organized, with clusters of medical books—in alphabetical order—perfectly aligned and separated by tasteful
ojets d'art
, including what looked like a prehistoric bone of some kind mounted on a brass base. There were also several framed photos featuring three adorable little blond children ranging in age from two to six. In one they were jumping into a pile of leaves and laughing. In another, he was holding a boy under each of his arms while the girl sat grinning atop his shoulders. Nowhere did I see a family photo that included a wife, but that didn't mean there wasn't one.

My eyes went to the far shelves, which were lined with a wide row of neatly labeled binders. Above that rested several plaques.
Patients' Choice Award 2012. On Time Doctor Award 2016.
The latter made me smile, pleased to know there even was such a thing.

Then I gasped, thinking of one possible reason why Nana may have wanted me to see this man specifically. Was this a fix up? Obviously,
with all this punctuality and organization, he and I had a lot in common. And he was out-of-this-world gorgeous. But would she really take advantage of a grave medical situation just to play matchmaker? Before I could decide, Dr. Hill came back into the room, apologizing for the delay.

“Better watch out,” I teased, “or they might rescind your big award.”

He glanced where I gestured and then laughed. “Yeah, that's a kick, isn't it? An On Time Doctor Award?” He returned to the leather chair behind the desk. “Though it's a shame something like that even has to exist, you know? Why should doctors be celebrated for not making people wait? My time is no more valuable than anyone else's.” A tinge of pink flushing his perfect cheeks, he added, “So says the man who just made you sit here twiddling your thumbs for five minutes. I'm sorry about that.”

“It's fine. I was having fun looking around. Your children are precious.”

Again he looked where I gestured, this time to the shelves behind him. “Oh, those aren't my kids. Niece and nephews. They're a handful, but I love 'em. You?”

“Me?”

“Kids. Do you have kids?”

“Oh. No. I'm not married.” I held my tongue, resisting the urge to add that I wasn't even dating anyone. I didn't want to sound aggressive. Or pathetic.

Feeling my own face flushing now, I tried to get us back on track, asking if there was anything he could tell me about my sister's condition that would help me take better care of her. He responded in full-on doctor mode, talking about the healing process and bone repair and immobility, and it was all I could do to pay attention when his perfect lips were moving so beautifully over perfect teeth in that perfect face. What a man.

Before I knew it, he was wrapping things up and asking if I had any questions even as he pushed back from his desk. “No, I think I'm good,” I said, scrambling for the handle of my bag, which had fallen sideways on the floor at my feet.

By the time I stood up, he had come all the way around the desk and was standing directly in front of me. Rising to my full height plus today's three-inch closed-toe wedges, I still had to look upward to see into his eyes.

“Oh, my,” he said, locking his gaze on mine. “I do like a tall woman.”

“Really? What's her name?”

He laughed. “Ah, and a funny one too.”

Were we actually flirting with each other?

Almost as if remembering himself, he took a step back and replaced the sexy grin with a more professional demeanor. “Bottom line, Maddee, you sister's prognosis is good as long as she's diligent with the physical therapy.”

“Thank you. That's great to hear.” I reached to shake his hand goodbye, but he held on to it for a few seconds too long before letting go.

“She's blessed to have someone like you in her life,” he said.

My cheeks grew warm again. “I'm blessed she's in mine.”

Another long pause, our eyes still locked together. “Listen, before you go, stop at the front desk and make sure we have your contact information on file. If we need to reach you, it would help to be able to call directly.”

My pulse surged.
If we need to reach you
. Was there an extra layer to that request?

“Will do. Thanks, Dr. Hill.”

“Austin. Please,” he said, swinging open the door. “Considering you're not the patient here, I think first names are in order.”

“Austin,” I replied with a smile and a nod, message received.

Then I turned and walked away, unsure how I managed to get anywhere while floating three feet off the ground.

Somehow I focused on my work and got through the rest of the day. Tonight was reserved for shopping, but I had to run home first to switch out the bike for my car.

The sun had already set by the time I got there, which meant I was
already behind schedule. I ran inside to drop off my things and grab the car keys, but when I flipped on the light, I gasped, startled at the sight in front of me.

The bed. Of course. How had I forgotten? There in the middle of my living room, rolled up against the couch, were Nicole's hospital bed and tray table. A small thrill ran through me. My baby sister would be here tomorrow.

As I walked around the bed, observing its knobs and buttons, trying to figure out how it worked, the thrill began to subside. This wouldn't be a weekend sleepover with games and candy and bonding. Nicole was a recovering addict. She could have died in that car accident. We'd barely interacted with each other in years, at least not beyond a superficial level. This experience was going to be unpredictable and unnerving. How we would learn to trust each other again, I didn't know. The old family letters Nana had told me about came to mind, and I wondered if those two Talbot sisters had ever faced anything like this.

Growing suddenly somber, I sat on the vinyl mattress and reminded myself that nothing here was under my control. Only God could take this crazy situation and turn it into something good for both Nicole and me. I closed my eyes and prayed for help and guidance and strength, surprised when tears filled my eyes at the end. Blinking them away, I rose and busied myself gathering purse, keys, phone, and lists. I headed for the door and then turned to give the room one last look. The bed was here. Tomorrow, Nicole would be here.

For better or worse, this was actually going to happen.

C
HAPTER
F
IVE

Celeste

1704

D
eep in steerage on the
Royal Mary
, Celeste Talbot pressed her palm against the ruby ring tucked inside her skirt, launching a new wave of guilt. For the hundredth time she wondered how Maman and Papa had reacted to her note about leaving for the New World. She wondered if they realized when they read it that their other daughter, Berta, was gone too. And the ring. How long before they discovered that it was also missing?

The bunk she shared with her sister creaked with the rocking of the ship, which was now more like the gentle rocking of a cradle than the fury they had endured for the last week. Berta groaned, and Celeste put her hand to the girl's forehead.

The fever had returned. Celeste dropped to the filthy floor, knowing her sister desperately needed to see the doctor.

But how would they ever pay for it? Besides Berta and the ring, all Celeste had left was a simple porcelain brooch from Jonathan that wasn't worth anything, a pittance of money, and one wool blanket. Everything else had been stolen several days into the voyage by some fellow passenger. Celeste had been trying to be a Good Samaritan, tending to those who were sick as best she could, when she realized one of the sickest—a
young woman tucked away in a bunk on the far side of steerage—was her own sister. In her shock and the rearranging that followed, Celeste had neglected her belongings and someone had snatched them.