Love Is More Than Skin Deep (A Hidden Hearts Novel Book 4)

by Mary Crawford

“You are a world-class butt kisser,” Garrett hisses under his breath toward Anita.

  I have to take a moment to collect myself, because I’m busy considering options that I want to say (but probably shouldn’t). The kid has no place being in the business of helping people as far as I’m concerned. If I had a magic wand, the snively-earwig would be sanitizing porta-potties for a living. Fortunately for him, I don’t run the world. I just have to operate in it. I simply don’t understand how phenomenally brave, smart young men like my brother die and entitled rich losers like this guy live footloose and fancy free — it just doesn’t make any sense. Before I can even rearrange my chaotic thoughts into some semblance of a coherent response, Susan, the other senior partner present today, walks up behind Garrett.

  “Mr. Treadwell, do you have something you would like to share with the rest of us?” she challenges.

  He ducks his head as he responds, “No ma’am.”

  Susan just narrows her eyes at him as she instructs, “If it was good enough to say to your colleague, you should feel comfortable sharing it with the group. Otherwise, you shouldn’t have said it to your colleague. It was incredibly rude. This is a professional office. However, something tells me that perhaps you’ve forgotten that we comport ourselves with some decorum in this workplace. This is not the same as watching the playoffs with your buddies in your den.”

  Garrett blushes as red as I’ve ever seen him and he responds, “Yes, ma’am.”

  Susan turns to me and asks, “Mr. Littleson, do you have anything to add?”

  “I am not blind to the fact that we need to make some changes, but I suggest we do a trial run and try to take a couple of new clients in the new areas and see how it changes the complexion of our office. I don’t want us to make wholesale changes without understanding what it might do to our structure. I want to dig a little deeper.”

  “That sounds like a reasonable, balanced approach to me,” Susan agrees. “Do you want to focus on Med Mal or product liability?”

  “I don’t know,” I admit. “Let me do some soul-searching.”

  “MARK, I CAN’T BELIEVE THAT you’re here this morning. Doesn’t your trial start this morning?” I ask, looking out the front door. I’m barely able to make out the neighborhood in the early morning dawn.

  He glances down at himself in his casual outfit and asks, “I suppose you wouldn’t believe I was just out for a run?”

  “If it wasn’t five in the morning and I didn’t live 17 miles from you — oh wait, Ketki told me that it’s actually 17.93 miles from you — I might actually be more inclined to buy your story. However, it is actually five in the morning on a really big day for you. Shouldn’t you be sleeping or inhaling copious amounts of coffee or something?”

  “Can’t do that,” he states simply.

  “Can’t do what?” I ask, far too sleepy for this conversation.

  “It would be rude, because you can’t,” he answers.

  “It’s not that big of a deal. You know my eating habits are weird. You didn’t have to deprive yourself just for me. None of that explains why you’re here,” I reply, as I go over to the round hanging chair and sit down, tucking my feet under me.

  “When we talked last on the phone, you seemed pretty nervous. I thought that you might want some company until Jade and Diamond can get here,” he explains.

  I start to weave the fringe on the blanket that I pulled over my legs as I admit, “I am nervous. I’ve hardly ever gone to the doctor before this, let alone had surgery. The whole experience is strange to me. It’s a little overwhelming.”

  “I’m so sorry I can’t be there for you,” Mark says running his hand through his short cropped hair and pacing around my small living room. “I put Ketki in summer camp because I thought the trial might hit this week, but there was no way to plan for this too.”

  Something about Mark’s meltdown over my cancer strikes me as funny — perhaps it’s because it’s five o’clock in the morning — and I let out an audible snicker as I respond, “Of course you couldn’t plan for this! When exactly were you supposed to plan for it…before you met me?” I ask, challenging him on his logic.

  “Still, you don’t have anybody. I should be there for you. It’s the right thing to do,” Mark argues.

  “Not that I’m judging anybody — because, you know I’m not in any real position to do that — you and your friends are the weirdest people I’ve ever met…and that’s saying something because I was raised in a cult.”

  He looks like he’s not sure whether he wants to laugh or cross-examine me as he comments, “I think I’ll ask more questions before I decide whether I’m offended.”

  “No, seriously… look at it from my perspective: I’ve been alone for a really long time — pretty much all by myself wandering through life. One day, I stop to get a tattoo because I got some spectacularly good news and instead got pitched onto a path that completely changed my life. Okay, it’s not like that’s never happened to me before. I’m used to the rug being pulled out from under me.”

  “I’m so sorry for whatever role I’ve played in making this worse for you,” Mark murmurs as he walks toward me to give me a hug.

  I hold my hand to stop him as I continue, “It was a little strange, but not the strangest thing that happened that day. I walked away feeling scared and lonely, thinking to myself that normal people can call their mom and get chicken soup and have a good cry. The oncologist that I went to see was kind of a jerk about the fact that I didn’t have any support system around me. I couldn’t explain to her without completely baring my soul. You’ve met the woman, you can understand why I didn’t want to disclose anything to her. She didn’t listen to me then, just like she didn’t listen when she started randomly cutting parts of me away.”

  The muscle in Mark’s jaw visibly tightens as he responds, “Well, you don’t have to deal with that jerk anymore. You like Doctor Charleston, right? I met Hugh once when he was testifying on a colleague’s case. Even though he was on the other side, his testimony was still very fair and open.”

  I hug one of the pillows from the chair close to me as I answer candidly “Yes, he’s wonderful. He took the time to carefully answer all my questions. It was great. In fact, that’s exactly what I’m saying; everything with your friends has been great. Almost too great, why are they this nice to me? I’m just a random customer in their shop.”

  Mark comes over and squats down beside the chair as he says, “I don’t know about that. I don’t think there’s anything random about you. Call it the teachings of my people, my personal quest in life, the things that being Ketki’s dad taught me—or all of the above, but I don’t believe in random coincidence.”

  “That’s easy for you to say. Your coincidences haven’t worked out quite like mine,” I mutter under my breath

  Mark shrugs as he retorts, “I don’t know, a fair number of them haven’t been a real picnic. Anyway, as I was saying, I believe that you are in my life for a reason and I am in yours for a purpose. I don’t know what that purpose is. Maybe it’s as simple as somebody to keep Ketki on her toes while she plays video games, or perhaps something much more profound, but we don’t really know. I can’t speak for Rogue and the Ailíns’, but I for one am glad you chose to come into Ink’d Deep.”

  “Mark,” I argue, “I told that quack that I didn’t have a family, but you all have made a big fat liar out of me. I just think it’s weird. My own family doesn’t give a rat’s ass about me — why do you guys care so much?”

  “Something tells me that’s part of the reason that everyone cares so much. I’m almost as new around here as you are, but from what I understand family means a lot to this group. They love deeply and have lost a great deal. If they can help protect you from the evils of the world, what’s the harm in letting them try?”

  “Mark, what if it’s worse than everyone thinks? I don’t want to let everyone into my life only to hurt them later,” I confess as tears gather on my lashes. I’ve been trying
to hold back my panic and fear for days. Some days I do better than others, but the reality of it, always starts to creep back in.

  Mark notices the expression on my face and he places his warm hand over my knee and squeezes it lightly as he remarks, “I really believe that you are in excellent hands. Today is going to be the real start of your journey to kick cancer’s butt. I wish I could be there, but since I can’t, I brought you a little something. Hopefully, this will bring happy thoughts.”

  I shake my head as I chide, “Didn’t we talk about this? I’m just a sometime-houseguest who your daughter absolutely annihilates at video games. You don’t have to keep buying me presents.”

  Mark shoves his hand in his pocket in the front of his sweatshirt and removes a box. “Don’t you want to see what it is first?” he teases with a boyish grin as he waves the present in front of my nose.

  “Don’t even try that. That’s how you got me to try on those ridiculously expensive house slippers,” I protest.

  “You love them don’t you?” he counters. “Come on, I promise that this isn’t as expensive as those, and Ketki helped me choose it.”

  It’s like trying to fight the tide in the ocean. He’s unstoppable when he sets his mind to something. Finally, I just stick my hand out to accept the present.

  “Well, geez if you’re going to pull out the big guns, a girl hardly has any choice but to say yes,” I concede.

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying —” he agrees with a grin. “I’m glad we’re on the same page now.”

  I carefully remove the bow and set it aside and can’t even hide my squeal of approval when I peek inside the box. “It’s a Teddy Bear!”

  Mark looks amused as he replies, “I’m aware of that.”

  “This is going to sound really stupid, but I’m twenty-eight years old and this is the first Teddy Bear I’ve ever had,” I admit sheepishly as I carefully remove the little bear from the box. I gasp when I see the rest of the little soft sculpture. He has little-bitty patched overalls on and he’s propped up against a pile of books made from felt.

  “Ketki decided you would appreciate him because you are a teacher. Her favorite teacher loves to read.”

  “This is adorable. Thank you so much. Let me find somewhere to put this, so that he doesn’t break.”

  Mark puts his hand on my shoulder as I start to get up. “I know it looks fragile, but it’s really not. I discovered this guy when I was doing some social training with Ketki when she was younger. He makes dollhouse furniture and the characters to go in them. They are incredibly durable, so feel free to take your Teddy Bear with you, if you’d like. He’s the perfect pocket-sized companion.”

  I hand it to him as I instruct, “Please put it by my purse, I don’t want to forget my good luck charm.” I stand up from the chair and give him a brief hug. “It means the world to me. Speaking of good luck, I hope you find the best jurors in the world and the judge sees things your way.”

  So cold. I’m so damn cold. It’s never this way on television. After I was placed in foster care, I went on a television binging streak and watched as much TV as I possibly could. I watched everything from Tom and Jerry cartoons to unauthorized biographies and everything in between. I was particularly interested in medical horror stories because of my brother’s death. As a result, I’ve seen a lot of footage of operations — both real and pretend—and no one ever warns you about how cold you will be.

  I’m shaking so violently that the scrub nurse is having a difficult time getting all of the leads and monitors attached to me. She brings me another warm blanket and tucks it around my body. Her serious eyes constantly assess my condition. After a few moments, she checks in with me, “Feeling any warmer?”

  “You can probably tell if I sugarcoat things to make this a little less awkward?” I stammer through chattering teeth.

  Her eyes crinkle with mirth over her surgical mask as she confirms my hunch, “I should hope so, or I have no business in the nursing business. Tell me a little bit about what’s going on.”

  “I don’t know. The blankets are helpful, but I feel like my bones are made of icicles.”

  “We sure don’t make it easy on you, it’s not a sauna in here, that’s for sure. Some patients may be extra chilly because of a little bit of anxiety.”

  “That’s putting it mildly. I’m a big girl and I thought that I would be able to handle this, but I’m actually pretty scared. For the first time in a long time I really wish my mom was here. And that's really pretty foolish, because too much water has passed under the bridge and choices have been made that can’t be undone — but for today at least I wish I could turn back time.”

  She reaches out and squeezes my hand as she says, “I rarely run across a single soul who doesn’t wish the same at some point or another, myself included. I wish I could do more, but we’ll do our best to make you feel comfortable.”

  As much as I hate myself for it, a tear leaks from the corner of my eye. I take a deep breath and try to compose myself before I respond, “Thank you. I don’t know what I would do without people like you and Dr. Charleston. Despite what it looks like, I really am okay with this. I’ve just never done the whole big surgery thing before. I appreciate your patience.”

  The nurse smiles behind her mask as she pats my arm.

  “The doctor is going to give you some medication in your I.V. now and it’s going to make you incredibly drowsy. I want you to think about all the happy things in your life.”

  Her suggestion is so similar to the one that Rogue asked me just a few weeks ago that it gives me pause. I’m a little stunned to realize how much my answers have changed in such a short period of time. There’s just something about cancer that fundamentally changes your definition of what makes you happy. It’s funny, my focus seems to have changed from random things to not-so-random somebodies.

  STRESS. I’M AN ATTORNEY FOR Pete’s sake—you would think that I would be used to the concept by now. Apparently, that’s not the case — my nine-year-old daughter who is usually lost in her own world just told me to take a chill pill. The irony of that is not lost on me. I am used to worrying about everything about Ketki. I monitor everything from how much she eats, how much she sleeps, how much she exercises, to how well she does in school. It’s all second nature to me. I’ve had to micromanage my daughter’s life since Tanyanita took off. It’s stress, but manageable.

  The situation with Shelby is a whole different ballgame. I’ve never met somebody like her. I’ve been a lawyer for nearly eight years now and I’ve never wanted to bow out of a case as much as I do now. It’s not even that the case is progressing poorly. We’re doing fairly well—this one might even be winnable. The problem is I can’t be in two places at once. The most ridiculous thing about my dilemma is that even if I could be, I don’t know that Shelby would allow it. I have never seen someone be so sweetly contrary in my life. Shelby used the trial as justification to stay with Rogue and Tristan after her surgery, insisting that she didn’t want to interrupt my workflow and be a bother. She completely blew off any of my counterarguments. I am not exactly sure what to make of that development — usually I’m a little better at this. I rarely get beaten at my own game. It’s an interesting position to be in. Usually as a single attorney in a pretty visible job, I am the pursued. Shelby has put me into the role of a pursuer.

  At first I wasn’t really sure if Ketki would be okay with that. I haven’t really done much visible dating around her. I didn’t want to be one of those parents who has a new love interest each week. I figured that Ketki might be curious about Shelby, but I didn’t anticipate getting overt pressure from her to pursue a relationship. Then again, I didn’t know Shelby would bond instantly with Ketki. Sadly, a lot of people are uncomfortable around my daughter. When Ketki is upset her movements can become erratic and loud. Although her communication style has improved since she was a small child, it is still atypical and takes a little bit of getting used to.

  My daughter’
s unusual style is on full display as she paces anxiously in front of me, her hands fluttering slightly before she stuffs them in her pockets.

  “Dad, we need to get over there. Are you ever gonna get done with that stupid paperwork?”

  I hit the save button on my laptop and close it before I respond. “What’s your hurry, Ki?” I tease as she hops from one foot to the other.

  “I made her peanut butter balls, because the doctor said she had to take her pain medicine with food. She usually takes her pain medicine every six hours if she got up at her usual time, that means she took her pain medicine about 7 o’clock this morning. So, she probably had pain medicine with her lunch too. That means that she needs these peanut butter cookies for her after dinner snack so she doesn’t get sick.”

  Once again, I’m completely blown away by the things that my daughter pays attention to — because sometimes it seems like she doesn’t pay attention to much of anything other than her complete obsession with video games — well, those and feathers and pebbles.

  “Ketki, I am so impressed that you made Shelby cookies. You know she’s going to love them, peanut butter is her favorite,” I compliment, hoping to reinforce the social behavior.

  Ketki stares at me blankly as if I’ve grown another head as she remarks, “Duh, don’t you remember the last time we made them together, she almost ate a whole pan full of cookies all by herself? Obviously, she likes them. Otherwise I wouldn’t have made them for her. Come on, let’s go. I want to have enough time to play games. I heard that her friend Tristan has a killer system.”

  “Ketki,” I warn. “You know we’re going over there to visit with Shelby. I’d rather you not just get lost in your games. Remember that she’s still really tender and she’s not supposed to move much. I don’t know if it’s safe for you guys to get involved in one of your epic video game battles. You two are like ninja warriors crossed with gymnasts when you play. Besides, you’re going to be a guest in Rogue’s home, you can’t be scoping out their video equipment. That’s just rude.”