The Healing Place (11 page)

“Whoa, you’re moving a bit fast for me, babe.”

“When we know we’ve found the right mom, why should we wait?”

She saw things so simplistically. “What do you want for dinner?”

Staring out the passenger window, Angie shrugged. “I don’t care.”

Mark frowned. She used to love ice cream, pizza, burgers and every other type of fast food. Now, she didn’t care if she ate anything.

“I think we’ve got some cheese and eggs at home. I need to go shopping tomorrow. Do you want to get a pizza tonight?”

“Okay.” Her tone sounded dismal.

“I’ll give you some Marinol as soon as we park the car. That should spark your appetite.”

“Hey, this is Emma’s neighborhood.” Angie pointed down the street.

“Yeah, we’re close to her house.”

He’d driven clear across town to find a pizza shop.

Pulling into the lot at Big Ed’s Pizza Shack, he parked the car and helped Angie out. Inside, he ordered an extra-large pizza with double cheese, then gave Angie her pills.

Angie stared over the counter as one of the workers pulled a pepperoni pizza from the oven. She sniffed the air and licked her lips. “That pepperoni sure looks good.”

“Oh, I see how it is. If it’s forbidden,
then
you’re interested in eating. You know you can’t eat pepperoni.”

“I know, I know.” Angie pouted. “But there’s no harm if I smell it, is there?”

He laughed. “Of course not. I’d be willing to get you an ice-cream cone after dinner, if you want. Ice cream has lots of calcium in it.”

Angie rolled her eyes. “Great! But just once, I’d like to eat something just because
I want to
and not because it’s good for me, Dad.”

He ignored her bad mood.

“You want to eat the pizza here?” he asked as he paid the bill.

The blue flowers bounced on her hat as she shook her head. “Nope, I want to eat it at Emma’s house.”

“We haven’t been invited.”

“So?” Angie said. “Why don’t we invite Emma?”

Mark hesitated. “You think we should?”

“She’s lonely, Dad. We should be friends with her.”

If they showed up on Emma’s doorstep, the worst she would say was, “No, go away.”

“Come on.” He picked up the pizza and took Angie’s hand, then led her out to the car.

It was almost six in the evening and the summer sun still burned high and hot. Inside the car, Mark cranked up the air conditioner, then wiped his brow. He sure hoped Emma’s house was cool.

They drove to Poole Avenue and parked in front of Emma’s duplex. After he turned off the ignition, Mark clutched the steering wheel, hoping he wouldn’t regret coming here.

He carried the pizza as they walked up to Emma’s steps. Angie rang the doorbell and sweat broke out on his forehead.

“Please don’t let this be a bad mistake,” he mumbled beneath his breath.

E
mma blew her nose and wiped her eyes, grateful to be dressed in a pair of cool capris and loose shirt. She had already removed her shoes and stood barefoot in the kitchen. It’d been a long day.

The doorbell rang and she made a hasty swipe of her face before she went to answer it.

“Mark!”

“Hi!” He smiled and hefted a pizza box. The tangy aroma of sauce and cheese wafted over her.

“What are you doing here?”

Angie stood beside him, showing a gape-toothed grin where she’d lost another baby tooth. “Hi, Emma!”

She couldn’t help smiling at the child. “Hi! I see you’ve lost another tooth. It isn’t a permanent tooth, is it?”

Emma glanced at Mark.

“No, it’s a baby tooth. I remembered you said the chemo is hard on teeth, so I give her the calcium supplements you suggested and make sure she brushes.”

“Good,” Emma responded. “So what can I do for you?” She wondered why they were here.

Mark inclined his head, his eyes sparkling as he smiled. “We were in the neighborhood and just picked up an extra-large cheese pizza. Care to share it with us?”

She hesitated for several moments.

“I, uh, well—okay, come in.” Stepping back, she let them enter, watching Mark’s gaze sweep over her open floor plan that allowed her to see from the small living room to the kitchen and backyard.

She was suddenly conscious of her plain decor, the beige couch and love seat and drab brown carpet that ended where the linoleum of the kitchen started. The furniture had come with the duplex and she’d seen no reason to change anything. She had bought the place, intending to keep it as a rental once she got a house. That had been two years ago and she hadn’t moved yet.

Pictures of Brian hung from the walls and sat atop the piano, which she hadn’t played since her son died. A single vase of dried field flowers rested beside the front door. Otherwise, the room looked as austere and cold as her heart.

“Nice apartment.” Mark glanced at the pictures of Brian at various ages.

She saw that he was curious about the boy, but he didn’t ask, thank goodness. Instead, he sniffed the air.

“You’re baking cookies!” Angie cried.

Mark’s eyes widened with amazement. “You’re baking, too?”

“Too?” Emma asked.

“Uh, Mrs. Perkins was baking cookies today.”

“Oh.” Emma wiped her nose with a tissue. Brian had loved her chocolate-chip cookies. Since it was his birthday today, she was feeling wistful and needed something to keep her mind busy.

Mark’s gaze swept her from head to toe and his eyes twinkled with approval. A smile as wide as Kansas spread across his face.

Something went soft and mellow inside her chest. Her thoughts scattered and she wondered vaguely how she could fight his charm.

Looking down at herself, she noticed her apron was covered with flour and she dusted it off. She wriggled her toes, wishing he hadn’t caught her looking less than her best.

“Angie, how are you feeling today?” she asked.

Angie stepped to the edge of the carpet and peaked into the kitchen, then craned her head toward the stove. Lifting her nose, she sniffed, testing the air.

“I’m fine, thank you,” Angie replied in an exuberant tone. “Are the cookies ready yet?”

Emma laughed. The child’s eagerness touched a soft chord within her. Brian would have wolfed half of them down by now.

“Yes, help yourself. There’s plenty cooling on the counter and I’ve got the last batch in the oven.”

“Yay!” Angie attacked the cooling rack.

“Only one for now,” Mark called. “You don’t want to ruin your dinner.”

“Ah!” came Angie’s muffled reply. She had already stuffed an entire cookie into her mouth.

Shaking his head and chuckling, Mark walked to the kitchen table and set the pizza down. “I’m sorry, Emma. I didn’t know she would react this way. She seems so happy whenever we see you. Denise never—uh, there aren’t too many people that make us cookies.”

Us.

It had been too long since she had been an “us.” Did he assume she had made the cookies for them? She rather liked the idea of trying out new recipes on Mark and Angie.

“It’s okay. I didn’t know what to do with so many cookies anyway.”

Emma’s gaze locked with Mark’s and she shifted nervously, conscious of the sounds of Angie munching on her chocolate-chip cookie. Somehow, it was just what Emma wanted. To share her cookies with a sweet little girl and her handsome father.

Sitting on the cream-colored sofa, Mark leaned back and draped his arms along the back. The movement was completely male and stretched his shirt taut across his broad shoulders and chest. The rich color of his burgundy shirt added vibrant contrast to the room.

He adds color to my life.

“She has an appetite today. I guess the Marinol is working, huh?” she asked.

“Yeah, I guess it is.” Mark shifted and crossed his legs.

He’s as edgy as I am.

“Mmm, great cookies, Emma.” Dusting off her hands, Angie came into the living room and sat beside her father. She kicked off her sandals and scooted her bottom back against the couch, then curled her legs beneath her. She seemed very much at home.

“May I watch the news?” Angie asked politely.

News?
Emma blinked as she went to switch the television on. “Sure.”

“Thanks for the reminder, Angie,” Mark exclaimed. “We’re going to be on the six o’clock news tonight.”

“They interviewed Dad and me for Make-A-Wish.”

Emma glanced at the anniversary clock sitting on the mantel. “Well, ten more minutes and we’ll get to see it.”

She went to the cabinet where her VCR was kept and pulled out a blank cassette. “How about if I record it for you?”

“Thanks, Emma. I didn’t think about that, but it might be fun,” Mark agreed.

She pressed the on button to the VCR and programmed the machine to record the news program. As she passed Angie on her way back to the kitchen, she reached out and caressed the girl’s arm.

Looking up, Emma caught Mark studying her. She pulled her hand away from Angie and stumbled backward.

“Whoa! Are you okay?” Mark sat forward on the sofa.

“Yeah, I’m just a bit clumsy.”

“Have you been crying?” Angie asked.

Emma wiped her nose and headed toward the kitchen. “Uhm, no, why do you ask?”

“Your eyes are red and your nose is drippy.”

“Angie!” Mark spoke up. “Don’t be rude.”

Observant little imp. Emma was
not
about to confess she’d spent an hour visiting Brian’s grave this afternoon. Then, to make her feel even better, her ex-husband’s sister had just called to inform her David had remarried last week and was now honeymooning in the Caribbean. Though Emma no longer loved him, it still hurt.

“I have a bad cold,” she said.

Angie hopped off the couch. Mark followed as Angie walked to the kitchen table where a small square cake sat. Seven candles protruded from the white frosting with the words “Happy Birthday, Brian” written across the top in dark blue icing.

“Oh, I need to clean up this mess—” Emma whisked the cake off the table and popped it into the refrigerator, out of sight.

“Who’s Brian?” Angie asked.

Heat crept over Emma’s face as Mark’s gaze followed her. “He…he was my son.”

Mark’s eyes widened. “Your son?”

“I didn’t know you had a son,” Angie said. “Where is he?”

Emma bit her bottom lip. She wasn’t ready for this. Thankfully the timer rang, warning that the cookies were done.

“Emma, we didn’t mean to intrude if this is a bad time for you,” Mark said. “Maybe we should go.”

“No, please stay.” She took the last batch out of the oven, then flipped the temperature onto warm and popped the pizza in until they were ready to eat.

She didn’t want to be alone. Not tonight.

“Hey, the news is on.” Angie raced back to the couch.

Grateful for the distraction, Emma breathed with relief. She joined Mark and Angie on the couch and listened to reports on a sales tax increase, a new home development coming into the city, a nuclear explosion in Kiev and other top stories.

Finally the piece on donating frequent flyer miles to Make-A-Wish was announced and Mark appeared on the screen dressed in a navy suit and yellow tie.

“Dad, that’s you!” Angie squealed at the TV, where he was being interviewed by Nikki Colfax of Channel 6 News.

“I know. Shh, let’s listen,” he said to quiet her.

Mark spoke briefly about the Make-A-Wish program and charitable donations. Then the camera showed him walking hand-in-hand with Angie down a sidewalk in front of her school.

Nikki Colfax’s voice accompanied the presentation. “At some point, doctors believe his daughter will succumb to the brain tumor she was diagnosed with nine months ago. That means the seven days Mark Williams will spend with his daughter at Disney World will be a dream come true.”

Mark stared at the screen, his eyes wide with shock. So did Emma.

Nikki’s voice continued. “The program is called Miles for Kids in Need and you can donate all the miles you’ve saved up to give a critically ill child a dream vacation. Even your miles that are about to expire can be used by the charity. If you’d like to donate miles, call the number on your screen and make a difference in a child’s life.”

Angie looked between Emma and Mark. “Dad, what does
succumb
mean?”

All the blood seemed to drain from Mark’s face. In that moment Emma realized he was as stunned as she was that Nikki Colfax had said Angie would succumb to her illness.

“It means to defeat,” Emma answered before he could respond. “It means you’re going to beat this brain tumor, Angie, and don’t you ever let anyone tell you anything different.”

Emma had half a mind to call the news station and give that reporter a piece of her mind.

Angie grinned. “That’s right. I’m gonna beat it.” The girl lifted her arms in the air and pranced around the living room chanting, “I’m gonna beat it. I’m gonna beat it.”

Mark interrupted the child by swinging her up in his arms and blowing raspberries on her neck. She squealed and squirmed until he put her down. Then, she wiped the wetness off her skin and threw him a look of disgust. “Yuck, Dad, you slobbered all over me.”

His deep laughter rang throughout the house and Emma couldn’t help smiling.

“Hey, are you gonna help me with dinner?” Emma asked.

She stood and took Angie by the hand, leaving Mark to stare after them.

Before long, he joined them at the sink and the three worked side by side as Mark set the table while Angie helped Emma toss a green salad and slice fresh fruit. Emma got a stool for Angie, and the girl kept up a nonstop stream of chatter as she rinsed lettuce leaves and tomatoes.

“Mom never let me help cook,” Angie said. “She was afraid I’d make a mess. Of course, Mom only knows how to make hot dogs and mac and cheese.”

Emma didn’t respond, but she sensed sadness in the child’s words.

Mark dipped his fingers into the water and flicked drops at Angie and Emma. “Well,
we
don’t mind a little mess, do we?”

“Definitely not.” Emma flipped droplets of water back at him.

“Hey, you got me wet!” Angie yelled, and splashed her father.

Emma grabbed her squirt bottle from the linen closet and let Mark have a spritz right in the face. As he blinked and wiped his chin, a devilish light filled his eyes and he came after her. Her shrill scream mingled with his chuckles as he chased her around the table with Angie close on his heels.

He caught Emma on the other side, tickling her ribs as Angie wrapped her arms around him for a tight squeeze. Their hilarity and shouts filled the kitchen.

Finally they settled down, all of them dripping. The smile slid off Emma’s face as she got them each a dish towel to dry off with.

As she returned to the sink to finish washing the cucumbers, Emma realized this was what she longed for: a kind man and children laughing in her kitchen while she fixed them dinner.

At Emma’s urging, Angie placed a bowl of roses from Emma’s garden in the center of the table and Emma took the opportunity to speak quietly with Mark.

“Mark, I’m sorry if I said something I shouldn’t have about the news program. As Angie’s doctor, I just didn’t think it was good for her health or morale to hear someone say she was going to succumb to her illness.”

He shook his head and whispered back, “No, thank you for being so quick. I was dumbfounded. At no time during the interview did I
ever
tell Nikki Colfax that Angie might die. Even if it were true, I would never, ever, tell a stranger that, especially knowing Angie might hear it.”

Emma shrugged. “You know reporters. Most are only interested in padding the drama of their news for higher ratings. They don’t stop to consider who they might hurt in the process.”

“Yeah, well, I won’t do another interview like that with Angie again. But I may have a problem later when she tries to convince one of her schoolteachers that succumb means to defeat.”

Emma chuckled and observed the smiling child as she folded paper napkins by each of their plates. “She feels good today.”

Mark nodded. “She always feels good when we spend time with you. She eats better, too.”

His words sent a flock of butterflies to Emma’s stomach. As she set a bottle of salad dressing on the table, she bumped against Mark and he reached to steady her. Their gazes locked and she found herself drowning in the green depths of his eyes.

“Are you hungry?” His smile dazzled her.

“Definitely.” She stepped back. “Come on, Angie. Let’s eat.”

They gathered around the table. When Mark bowed his head Emma and Angie followed suit. Mark asked a quick blessing on the food, thanking God for their lives and for Emma’s help to kill the tumor. Then he and Angie dug in.

Looking down at her cheese pizza and salad, Emma felt ashamed. All she had ever done was ask God for things or complain because He hadn’t done enough. When was the last time she had given Him thanks for all the blessings in her life?