Out of the Shadows (21 page)

He nodded, grinning. Anna had stuffed him full as a tick, but he said, “Sure. Why not?”

Watching her bustle around the kitchen, doing things for him, getting things for him—for
him
—touched him as few things ever had. He waited until she sat across from him, then said, “I can’t tell you how good it is to see you.”

Her tender smile made him want to reach out and touch her, and so he grabbed her hand.

“Tell me about your day,” she said, stroking his fingers.

“First, do me a favor?”

“Sure, if I can….”

Scooting his chair back, he patted his thigh. “Come sit over here, will you?”

She blinked, clearly wondering about his request. Wade hoped she wouldn’t ask
why
he wanted her in his lap. Thankfully, Patrice barely hesitated before doing what he’d asked.

“So here I am,” she said, wrapping both arms around his neck. “Start talkin’, mister.”

He gathered her close, closer than he had a right to, considering he’d never bothered to admit he loved her
like crazy, and for a moment, just held her. “Ah,” he whispered, “you feel good in my arms.”

Her fingers playing in the hair at his temples, she said in a soft, soothing voice, “So you had a bad day, huh?”

Wade nodded. Actually, it had been one of the worst.

“I know about Emily, Wade. Adam told me earlier.”

Wade sighed heavily.

“Oh, Wade, I’m so sorry. I know how fond you were of that little girl.”

Now, wasn’t that just like her, he thought, laying his hands atop hers, to put his feelings ahead of hers when she’d clearly cared as much about the kid as he did. As he looked into her tear-filled brown eyes and shook his head, it took all his willpower not to blurt out the truth about what he felt for her, here and now.

Tilting her head, she massaged his cheekbones with the pads of her thumbs. “How did Mrs. Kirkpatrick take it?”

“Pretty much as you’d expect,” he said dully.

Her eyes welled with tears. “That poor woman.” Laying a hand over her heart, she bit her lower lip. “If it hurts me this much, knowing Emily is…is gone, imagine how Mrs. Kirkpatrick feels, having lost her only child!”

He tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “Did you know her husband died a year or so ago?”

“She told me, early one morning, while Emily was sleeping. It was her husband’s favorite time of day, she said. He loved to watch Emmi sleep….” She grabbed a napkin and blotted her eyes. “In her shoes, I’d be a basket case,” Patrice admitted, tossing the napkin back onto the table.

“No. You’re wrong. You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever known.” A good thing, too, he thought, considering the news he’d have to dump on her tomorrow.

Brow furrowed, she said, “What?”

He blinked. “What ‘what’?”

“You looked…you looked, I don’t know,
funny
just now. Like you were about to deliver bad news, and changed your mind.”

Swallowing, Wade gathered her close again, more to keep her from reading what was written on his face than anything else. “It was nothing,” he said. “So how’s Gus?”

“Still has a bit of a fever. And he didn’t have any appetite at all tonight. Not even for cherry pie, and that’s his favorite.”

“Well, we’ll know more tomorrow.”

“I certainly hope so. This waiting is enough to drive a person nuts.”

He studied her face. Looked to him like she needed one more good night’s sleep a whole lot more than she needed the details about Gus’s condition.

Patrice planted both hands on his shoulders. “Your tea is getting cold.”

He felt as though he could look into her pretty face forever. “I don’t care.”

One side of her mouth lifted in an impish grin. “And so is your pie.”

“It was cold when you gave it to me.”

“Well, then, it’s colder now.”

“So?”

“So don’t you want—”

Wade pulled her close for a third time, and she rested her head on his shoulder. “I’ll tell you what I want,” he breathed into her ear, “I want to kiss you like there’s no tomorrow so I can forget completely about today.”

I want to marry you, keep you safe from bad weather and bad news and people with bad attitudes, forever. I
want us to have kids together, and plant tomatoes together, and grow old together….

The only sound in the room was the steady
tick, tick, tick
of the schoolhouse clock on the wall above the sink…and the thudding of his heart echoing in his ears.

It was Patrice who spoke first. “Well?”

He grinned. “Well, what?”

No answer.

He looked up to find her sitting there, her eyes closed and her mouth puckered, awaiting his kiss.

Only too happy to oblige, pretty lady,
he thought. As his lips touched hers, his mother’s words echoed in his head yet again:
When things look darkest, God’s word brings me light, and I feel like I’m stepping out of the shadows.

And for the first time in his life, Wade felt the radiant glow of real, abiding love.

A
fter leaving Patrice’s house the night before, Wade had gone home and plugged in to the Internet. He’d searched every online site for more information about Chagas’ disease. Though a bit tired from his first all-nighter in years, he felt he’d traced Gus’s problem—and a viable solution.

Now, at last, it was time to break the news to Patrice’s father. The moment Gus wheeled into his office, Wade closed the door. He dispensed with the usual pleasantries.

“Were you ever in the military, Gus?”

“You betcha.” Chest puffed up with pride, he added, “Spent fifteen years in this man’s army.”

“I’m proud to know a man who spent that much time putting his life on the line for his country.”

“Aw, it was peacetime, mostly. I never saw any action.”

Maybe not,
Wade thought,
but you came home with major damage, all the same.
Sitting behind his desk, he
riffled through the man’s file. “Where were you stationed?”

“Oh, they moved us around a lot. Different base every few years.” Gus ticked them off, one by one, ending with Panama.

“Panama,” Wade echoed. “How long ago?”

He shrugged. “Hmm, during the seventies. Why?”

Leaning back, Wade shook his head. “The explanation for your condition is rather convoluted. See, it started out as one thing, ended up something else.”

Grinning, Gus made himself comfortable. “Figures. I never was one to do things the easy way….”

“First, let me assure you that we ran your tests four, five times, to rule out any chance of error.”

“Okay….”

“The blood work tells us you have Chagas’ disease. It’s—”

Gus groaned. “I was afraid of that.”

Wade was mildly surprised. “You’ve heard of it?”

“Wish I hadn’t.” Gus sighed. “Good ol’ American trypanosoma cruzi,” he spouted, as if to prove what he knew. “Just my luck, comin’ down with something incurable.”

Wade frowned. “I wouldn’t say it’s incurable, exactly.”

“Aw, don’t give me that. You and I both know the best I can hope for is some kind of prescription medication that’ll control whatever damage has already been done.” He looked Wade in the eye. “Am I right?”

More or less,
Wade thought. But in place of a direct answer, he said, “I would’ve expected the government to educate you guys on prevention.”

“In a perfect world, that’d be true enough, but you know as well as I do, the army isn’t a perfect world.
What I know about Chagas’, I learned on my own after I overheard some natives talking about creepy-crawlies that get their start in cracks and holes of substandard housing.” He hesitated. “Want me to go on?”

Gus probably knew as much as or more than Wade did about the disease. So he said, “Sure.”

“Those nasty li’l bloodsuckers pass their infection through feces deposited on a person’s skin. ’Course, animals are affected, too, but I digress.” He chuckled a bit. “Anyway, the Panamanians also call these parasites ‘kissing bugs,’ because they’ll crawl right into a person’s mouth, usually while they’re sleeping, to do their business.” He paused. “So how’m I doin’ so far?”

“Disgusting,” Wade admitted, grinning, “but right on target. I’m impressed.”

“Well, the trouble with Chagas’ is, the first symptoms aren’t severe enough to cause any real alarm. Folks usually mistake it for a routine case of the flu—fatigue, fever, chills, minor swelling at the bite site…. The real problems don’t show up for ten, twenty years or more. That’s when the ol’ Rhodnius bug takes its victims. Enlarged liver or spleen, swelling of the lymph nodes, digestive disturbances, difficulty swallowing….”

Wade took over from there. “And cardiac problems, like enlarged heart, cardiac arrest, heart failure, and in your case, bradycardia.”

“Bradycardia,” Gus repeated. “What is
that?
”

“Low heart rate, to put it plainly. My heart beats at a rate of between seventy and one hundred times a minute, depending on what I’m doing. And you, my friend, are lucky to register fifty beats. That’s why you’ve been feeling dizzy and sluggish lately, why your appetite has fallen off.”

“Aha. So it caused my fever, too?”

Wade nodded. “I expect so. But we won’t know for sure until we try treating it.”

Gus brightened. Seeing that look on the man’s face alone had made every sleepless minute worthwhile.

“Treating it? You mean you really
can?
”

“We’re gonna do our best, starting with a pacemaker and following up with medication.”

Gus shook his head. “Pacemaker, eh?”

“Don’t worry, I’ve assisted in a couple hundred of these operations. For your surgery, I’ll partner up with an electrophysiologist. Chances are, you won’t even need to spend the night in the hospital.”

“That simple, huh?”

“Well, not simple, but certainly not as difficult as I’d anticipated when I first saw your test results.”

Gus pointed at the folder on Wade’s desk. “That big fat thing mine?”

“It sure is.”

He whistled, then clucked his tongue. “You keep adding to it, you’re gonna need a chair like mine just to cart it around!”

Getting to his feet, Wade laughed. “Hopefully, we’ll only need to add a few more pages.”

“So have you told Patrice?”

“No.”

“Ah, doctor–patient confidentiality?”

“Exactly.” Then Wade said, “Do you want me to tell her?”

He thought for a moment. “Might be better, coming from you.”

“Just between you and me, if I have a daughter someday, I hope she’ll care about me even half as much as Patrice cares about you. She thinks you hung the moon, single-handedly.”

Laughing, Gus said, “Well, don’t blow my cover, Doc. It’s kinda nice havin’ her look up to me—” he slapped the armrests of his wheelchair “—especially considering I spend most of my time in this contraption.” Gus sighed. “That girl fusses over me as if I were made of spun glass.”

“She blames herself for putting you
in
that contraption. So it’s not at all surprising that she acts as if you’re breakable.”

“What?”

Surely Gus knew—it was written all over Patrice’s face, in her actions….

“If I’ve told that girl once, I’ve told her a thousand times. She isn’t to blame for what happened. It was an accident, plain and simple.” Gus narrowed his dark eyes. “What did she tell you, if you don’t mind my asking.”

“Something about a party on a rainy night,” he said offhandedly. “She didn’t have her license yet and you didn’t think it was safe to drive her, but she raised a ruckus and—”

“Ruckus? All she said was, ‘Dad, will you drive me?’ and I said no. She’d been through so much, losing her mother and brother…never gave me a whit of trouble…took right over running the house like a full-grown woman. And without a word of complaint, I might add.”

Gus shook his head. “I hated denying her anything, so when I saw that disappointed look on her face, I caved.” Sighing, he added, “Like I told her over and over again, it wasn’t her fault. She was the kid, I was the parent. If I had stuck to my guns, the accident never would have happened. I wouldn’t be in this chair, and she wouldn’t have that miserable reminder of it on her beautiful face.”

“Has she considered plastic surgery?”

“I brought it up once or twice, but the suggestion gave her some crazy idea that I thought she was ugly, so I quit talking about it. She’s the prettiest thing on feet, if you ask me, scar and all.”

“And I agree.”

Gus nodded sagely. “I kinda figured you’d say that.” Chuckling, he tacked on, “Would you think I’m an old-fashioned fool if I asked again what your intentions are toward my daughter?”

“Not at all.” Perching on the corner of his desk, he looked Gus straight in the eye. “She doesn’t know it yet—at least, I haven’t told her so—but I love her more than life itself. And if she’ll have me, I want her to be my wife. Someday. If I ever get around to telling her how I feel.”

“Well, then, when the time comes, you’ll have my blessing.” Gus wiggled his eyebrows. “Provided the operation is a success, that is. You botch the job, and I’ll retract that blessing so fast it’ll make your head spin.”

“Glad to have the incentive to do a good job,” Wade said, laughing. Standing, he opened the office door. “I’ll try to get together with Patrice sometime today, bring her up to speed on your condition. You want me to call you once she’s been told?”

“Nah. I’m sure she’ll be more than happy to fill me in.” He wheeled into the hallway. “Thanks, Doc,” Gus said, extending his hand.

Wade clasped it, gave a hearty shake. “Don’t thank me just yet. We have a wedding riding on the outcome, don’t forget….”

Patrice pushed the play button on her answering machine and smiled when she recognized Wade’s voice.
Wasn’t it weird, she asked herself, that the mere sound of his voice could increase her heart rate more than a half-hour aerobics workout!
“Hey, kiddo,”
he said,
“Give me a call when you get a minute. There’s something I want to tell you about Gus’s case.”

Eleven-thirty, said the clock on the wall. Would he be in the cafeteria, having an early lunch? Grabbing the phone, Patrice decided to give it a shot. Seconds later, she was more than a little surprised when he answered the phone.

“Where’s your secretary?” she asked him.

“We have an arrangement,” he told Patrice. “She takes the early lunch shift while I cover the phones.” He paused. “Between you and me, it doesn’t ring much this time of day, which is why I chose this one. But don’t let on, because she thinks hers is the cakewalk.”

Laughing, Patrice sat at her desk, tossing loose paper clips into an open drawer. “I thought for sure I’d be leaving a message because you’d be in the cafeteria, scarfing down a burger and fries.”

“Nah. Tryin’ to lay off the greasy kid stuff for a while.” Another pause. “So, did you get my message, or are you just calling because you missed me?”

Patrice held the receiver away from her ear. Maybe she’d dialed the wrong number, because this sure wasn’t like her serious, stoic Dr. Cameron.

Her
Dr. Cameron. She rather liked the sound of that….

“The results of your dad’s tests are back. You want me to come down there to talk about it, or would you rather meet me here?”

Her thoughts about Wade’s upbeat demeanor were quickly forgotten at the mention of Gus’s condition. “I’ll be there in ten minutes,” she said, and hung up.

He was sitting behind his desk, paging through a three-ring binder, when she bounded into his office. “Got here fast as I could,” she said, breathless from her jog.

Calmly, Wade pulled back his sleeve and looked at his watch. “I believe you just set a record.” And smiling at her, he added, “You made it in four minutes, thirty seconds.”

Patrice took a seat in one of the chairs facing his desk. “Helps to know a few shortcuts.” She couldn’t help but wonder why he was looking at her that way—as if she were the love of his life and he hadn’t seen her in years. Grinning, she shrugged.

“Maybe someday you’ll be kind enough to share a few with me?”

“Maybe.” But she couldn’t continue sitting there, giddy as a shy schoolgirl in the presence of the team’s star quarterback. There were far more important things going on in her world than her hopeless devotion to Wade. Squaring her shoulders, Patrice pointed at the thick folder on his blotter. “Is that Dad’s file?”

“Hefty, isn’t it.”

“
Scary
is a better word. Why is it so fat? The others aren’t half that bulky. What’s going on? He’s all right, isn’t he? What did the tests—?”

Wade chuckled. “Easy, easy,” he said, hands up in mock surrender. “Gus has a problem—pretty serious one at that—but I think we’ve found a solution for it.”

She took a deep breath. “A serious problem? Oh, I was afraid of that.”

“Sweetie, didn’t you hear a word I just said? Things could be problematic, but there’s a solution.”

Sighing in relief, she whispered, “Thank You, God.”

But wait. Had Wade just called her…
sweetie?

Patrice didn’t know why it had surprised her so, considering their little tête-à-tête in her kitchen the night before.

First things first, she told herself, in order of importance. “So what’s Dad’s ‘problem’?”

She watched Wade lean forward, balance his elbows on the edge of his desk. He looked so knowledgeable, explaining Gus’s illness. But as he went into more detail about the disease, its onset, its symptoms, the bradycardia, Patrice’s fears escalated. “Sounds like the Ebola virus, and that’s deadly.”

“Actually, it’s a related malady, very similar in many ways. Except Chagas’, if caught in time, can be controlled and even cured.”

“Thank You, God,” she repeated. Then, “You don’t really mean there are
bugs
living inside him?”

“Parasites,” he corrected gently.

Patrice shivered. Like it made a difference to Gus’s insides! Then it dawned on her. “Good grief, you’re
not
joking, are you.”

He shook his head somberly. “I’m afraid not. But I believe medication will eradicate the problem in a week or so, and when we’re sure it’s taken care of, we’ll implant a dual-chamber pacemaker to take care of the bradycardia.”

“Bradycardia,” she echoed. “Sounds so serious.”

“Can be, if left unchecked.” He leaned forward a little more. “But we’ve got it checked.”

Nodding, Patrice attempted a smile. “So, surgery, huh?”

“Uh-huh.”

Tears stung behind her eyelids, and she struggled to keep them at bay. “Are you sure…sure that he’s strong enough?”

“Wouldn’t be suggesting this course of action if I wasn’t. The meds should bring him back to his old self. That’s one of the reasons we’re waiting a couple weeks to do the implant surgery.”

“One of the reasons?”

“Caution, sweetie. I always like to err on the side of caution.”

She blew a stream of air through her teeth. “So he’s really going to be all right?”

“He’s really going to be all right.” He paused. “But something else is wrong. Very wrong.”

Her heartbeat doubled, and she nearly lost her precarious hold on her emotions. “Oh, what now?”