The Wish List

by Myrna Mackenzie

  He could still taste her on his lips—her innocence, the warm, wild scent of her. And he wondered how in the world he could continue on. How was he going to make it through the next day or two with her son? How would he make it through the next weeks with Faith?

  Because if anything was clear to him, it was that he deserved nothing from Faith Reynolds. Not her gratitude. Not her trust. He didn’t merit it, nor did he want it. Because when a man had a woman’s trust, he could abuse it, lose it. He could lose her...

  Maybe he could take care of her child for the next day or two and still stay sane. But there were limits to what a man could survive.

  Having experienced Faith’s kiss, Nathan figured that he’d just about reached his limit.

  It was time he started putting in double duty on his therapy, to begin ending things between him and Faith. But first he had to get through tomorrow.

  Chapter Six

  With a full day ahead of her, Faith knew she shouldn’t be up, wandering the dark house in the middle of the night. Yet she was.

  Ever since Nathan had come rapping on her window—no ever since she’d looked into his eyes and seen his warmth and concern, ever since she’d laid her lips against his—her heart had been beating out of control. There was no way she could go back to sleep now.

  She’d already had a cup of warm milk and honey, watched a whole hour of guaranteed-to-make-anyone-snooze reruns on TV, and still her bed offered no relief.

  “Faith...what were you thinking?” she whispered, groaning.

  She’d kissed him, knowing that it was the last thing in the world she should be doing. Hadn’t she learned her lesson, watching her mother get her heart trampled? Hadn’t she herself married expecting what could never be? But at least she’d had an excuse then. Jim had claimed to love her; he’d vowed to stay with her.

  That wasn’t the case with Nathan. He made no secret of the scars on his soul, the ones that wouldn’t let him give too much of himself or let him take anything from others, either. His past would always haunt his future. A woman would be ten kinds of a fool to let herself feel anything for such a man...and Faith had already been a fool. She wasn’t going to be one again.

  Her husband Jim had only needed her for the moment, and Nathan only needed her until his hands were healed.

  “Remember that,” she whispered. “No more touching other than therapy.” Even if Nathan’s touch made her body throb and her heart beat faster. His kisses were forbidden from now on.

  Accepting his offer to watch Cory was probably crazy, too...but that was where all her intelligent plans fell apart. She couldn’t refuse his offer and take Cory to a strange place when there were good people willing to care for him in his own home. She couldn’t risk her son’s tears—not even to protect her own heart.

  Rising from the couch, Faith moved to her son’s room where she had carried him after Nathan had gone. His bear had fallen again, and she placed it beside him in case he needed it in the night. As he stirred in his sleep, she gently eased away.

  “Don’t worry, angel, there are no monsters, just Mom,” she whispered. The sound of her voice was like a drug. The frown eased from Cory’s forehead and he slept.

  Picking up the empty glass from his bedside, Faith noticed a scrap of paper on the table. It was Cory’s list. She’d promised to add some details to it.

  Taking the paper out of the dark room into the light, she looked at the items written down so far. Black hair and brown eyes. Not a doctor. Smiling to herself, she grabbed a pencil and added Cory’s latest request. Not afraid of kids or monsters.

  This unknown, still-to-be-met man in her future and Cory’s, the man who was going to be a father to her son. This was the man she would spend her nights with someday. The thought sent a shiver through Faith. A vision of Nathan rose up before her, and she remembered the trembling that had shook her when he’d held her, touched her. He was so tall, so strong in spite of his injuries that when he’d wrapped her in his arms, she’d felt surrounded, overwhelmed by the need to burrow deeper within his embrace. Worse, she’d wanted him to keep on kissing her.

  Stop! she ordered herself. Those kinds of thoughts were dangerous. Besides, the man on this list wasn’t Nathan. She tapped her pencil against the paper, nervously. She didn’t want Nathan to be that man, and neither did Cory—her son had made that clear already. Surely he’d forgive her if she added a few words of her own...because tonight she needed to feel safe from all the confusing, heated emotions and desires that Nathan called forth in her.

  Picking up the pencil again, Faith bunched her brow, deep in thought. Finally, with the lead wavering over the frayed bit of paper, she scribbled one word down.

  Short. It seemed ludicrous, laughable even...but it was something. It solidified her vision of the man. Short with dark hair and dark eyes. A man who wasn’t afraid of anything, a man who wasn’t a doctor, who couldn’t ever be Nathan Murphy in a million years.

  An immediate sense of peace washed over Faith. She slid the paper onto the end table, switched off the light, and lay down on the couch.

  But when the first bright shaft of morning sunlight hit her, Faith moaned, raking her fingers through her tangled hair.

  She’d spent the night trying to envision a short man with dark hair and dark eyes; one who would come to her, love her child, and stay with her and Cory for always. She wanted to find that man, to latch on to him in her dreams.

  But in the morning, neither dreams nor sleep had come, and the only man she’d been able to think of had intense green eyes that made her ache...and he was tall.

  ~ ~ ~

  Nathan watched as Hannah packed up her bag. The moment that he’d been dreading had come. Soon he would be alone with the boy.

  Hannah had helped him past the awkward first moments this morning. She’d been here for Faith’s instructions, she’d fed the boy his breakfast and helped him when he’d needed it and made lunch. Now, however, she was leaving.

  “Well, I’m off, Dr. Murphy. Call if you need me. He’s been fed and has slept most of the morning. All you have to do is keep him happy until his mother comes back in a few hours.”

  And that was what Nathan was dreading the most. Keeping Cory happy meant talking to him, listening to him, being with him for hours. This time he couldn’t avoid the child. He had offered to help Faith, promising her that she could trust him with her son, so that was what he had to do. But his breath was coming fast and hard. His hands were trembling as though he’d spent all morning working when in fact he’d done nothing.

  Nathan waved Hannah out the door, then moved to the living room where Cory was stretched out on the couch again.

  The boy looked up when he entered. Warily, it seemed to Nathan.

  “Do you—do you need anything?” Nathan asked, hating the harsh sound of his voice.

  Cory bit his lip and shook his head.

  “You’re sure?”

  The child’s nod was slow, but very distinct. He didn’t want anything...except for this man to leave him alone. Nathan could tell.

  Well, the kid was well set up. Surrounded by books, toys and that ugly little bear, he looked as if he could hold out for a while, but the room—it was so damn dark in here.

  Nathan moved to the curtains and started to draw them back when Cory called out.

  “Don’t open them.’’ The boy’s words ended on a squeak.

  “You could use some light,” Nathan said. “It’s not good to stay in the dark all the time.” Like I did until Faith came along, he reminded himself. “It’s a sunny day. Sunshine’s good for what ails you.”

  “Is zat more doctor’s orders?” Cory asked, an anxious tone to his voice.

  “Definitely. Why don’t you want the curtains open?”

  For a full five seconds Nathan thought that he wasn’t going to receive an answer. Then, with his chin pushed out defiantly, the little boy opened his mouth. “Sometimes, maybe...a monster could sneak in—you know, if he knows we’re here. But if th
e curtains are closed—”

  Nathan saw the slight tremble in the child’s lip and heard the quaver in his voice. He knew that denying the boy’s words would be wrong. “I see,” he said, letting his hand drop from the cream-colored drape.

  With only a slight pause, he moved closer to sit on the end of the couch. “Have the monsters been bothering you this morning?”

  “No.” Cory nervously fiddled with the wheel on a yellow dump truck. “Cause Hannah stayed in here with me, but you—I told you, Mom said—”

  “I know.” Smiling slightly, Nathan stopped the boy’s words. “I remember. Your mother told you that I’m afraid of boys.”

  “Are you? Are you afraid of kids? Mom’s ‘most always right.” Cory nodded emphatically and leaned forward.

  Nathan found he couldn’t keep his own gaze steady. He turned his attention to the pattern of the carpeting instead. Cory’s overflowing love for his mother was too great a reminder of just how innocent and trusting a child could be. Too trusting, sometimes, he remembered. Some parents weren’t right, or good...or even there when they were needed most. Still, he wasn’t the one Cory was talking about.

  “Your mom is usually right, isn’t she?” Nathan agreed, knowing Faith’s penchant for honesty. “But maybe what she meant was something a little different. The truth is that—well, I haven’t been around children for a long, long time. I wasn’t sure I’d be comfortable talking to a little boy.”

  “You’re talking to me.” Cory stopped twisting the wheel of the truck and stared up at Nathan, wide-eyed and waiting.

  “You’re right, I am. Guess that means I don’t have to be afraid of you, doesn’t it? Just like you don’t have to be afraid of the monsters. I’m here with you, and you don’t have to worry. I’ll keep you safe, Cory.”

  It was a promise to himself as much as it was to the child, and the sudden adoration that bloomed in the little boy’s face at those words nearly made Nathan gasp and move away. He forced himself to stay seated.

  “So, you’re not afraid of monsters, then, are you?” the child declared, sitting up straighter.

  Nathan thought of all the things he was afraid of—children, a woman like Faith. She could make him want things he’d never allow himself again, like love and home and family. Yes he definitely had his own monsters. He knew the meaning of fear.

  “No, I’m not afraid of monsters,” he lied, knowing how badly the boy needed the security of his words. “But I once knew a little girl who was very frightened of them.”

  “What did she do? Did a monster get her? Is that why you don’t know her anymore?” Cory’s eyes were two round disks. He sucked in his lower lip, waiting.

  Did a monster get her? Yes, oh yes. “No, a monster didn’t get her,” Nathan promised. “Because her daddy got rid of all the monsters in her house.”

  “He did? Did he fight them with a sword? Did he shoot them with a gun or zap them with a phaser?” Cory was leaning forward now, the truck forgotten. His fingers clutched the sheets.

  Nathan shook his head, slowly. “No, nothing that violent. Her daddy went to the store and bought some antimonster paint. He painted the inside of the little girl’s room, and the smell of that paint was so bad that the monsters couldn’t stay, not even in the other rooms in the house. The smell of that paint just drove them away completely. Monsters hate it, you know. They hate that antimonster paint, because once it’s on the walls, monsters can’t live there for, oh, at least another fifty years. It’s pretty good stuff. If you’re into getting rid of monsters, that is.” Nathan leaned back, watching the child’s face.

  A small light entered the little boy’s eyes. He swallowed once, hard, then started to speak. But as he opened his mouth, a strangled cough came out. He brought his hand up to his lips to catch the next one and the next, great choking coughs that racked his small frame.

  Rising quickly, Nathan went into the kitchen, catching his fingers into the loop of a cabinet handle, then grasping a plastic cup and filling it with water. He could hear Cory’s frantic coughs in the background.

  Rushing back to the boy, Nathan wrapped an arm about the child’s shaking shoulders, lifted him and held the cup to his lips. Water spilled onto the sheets, but a small amount made it into Cory’s mouth.

  Cory drank a little, then coughed some more, his tiny body stiff with the strain. Nathan could feel the heaving of the child’s muscles beneath his own hand, which was trembling now that the warmth of the child’s body had seeped through to his fingers—now that he realized what he was doing.

  It was enough to set off a string of memories, back to a time when Amy had been sick, and he and her mother had taken turns rocking her in the night. It had been one of the few times he had been there to tend his daughter when she’d been ill. One of the last times, Nathan realized.

  The memories were so vivid, so real. He wanted to run from the room, to take his hand from the boy’s back, and leave.

  But at the next lingering cough, the child’s body jerked with the effort as he tried to speak. And Nathan did the only thing he could do, the only thing anyone who’d ever loved a child could do. He relaxed his hand, and began making slow, soothing strokes over the boy’s back, stopping only long enough to give Cory a small sip of water now and then. Nathan uttered low, meaningless words, words meant to comfort. To reassure the child...and himself.

  “It’s okay, Cory. You’re going to be fine. Everything’s going to be fine.”

  As the hacking slowly ebbed away, Cory turned dark, watery eyes to Nathan. Sweat beaded his brow and Nathan pushed the child’s damp hair off of his forehead.

  “Dr. Murphy?” Cory whispered.

  “Yes, son. What is it?”

  “Do you think Mom has any of that paint? The antimonster stuff?”

  Nathan smiled, a small smile, but a smile nevertheless. He had made it through. And while he still didn’t feel easy being with the child, he was at least getting by.

  “I don’t know if she has any, Cory. Not that many people know about it. But I promise you one thing. We’ll get some. And we’ll slap it on your walls. You won’t have to worry anymore. We’ll get rid of your monsters.”

  If he could only get rid of his own so easily, Nathan thought. But no, there wasn’t a paint in the world that could change the past. His own monsters, the ones that lived inside him, were here for always. He didn’t deserve to be free of them.

  ~ ~ ~

  When Faith opened the door of her house the first thing she noticed was the strong smell of latex paint. The next thing she noticed was Nathan’s long, lean frame sprawled out on the floor, next to the coffee table shoved up against Cory’s couch. Nathan appeared to be winning big time in a game of Cootie.

  She watched as he worked to position the plastic insect’s leg and poke it into the correct hole on the body, the last piece towards completing the puzzle and winning the game. Interesting. She’d bought the game for Cory on a whim and he’d lost a number of the pieces, so that she’d wondered if it had been such a hot idea. Now, watching Nathan try to manipulate the small, slippery bit of plastic, she gave herself a mental pat on the back. And she gave Cory credit, too. Maybe taking care of her son wasn’t such a bad idea. Maybe she should take Cory along on her therapy sessions, if he had come up with this unique way of getting Nathan to practice manipulative exercises.

  “You win, Nathan, you win,” Cory announced as Nathan finally managed to push the pieces together.

  Nathan looked up at that moment, straight into Faith’s eyes. He held up the small plastic insect which promptly wobbled and fell apart.

  “Well, I did manage to get it together,” he said, half laughing, half defiantly as he looked down at the pieces now lying on the floor.

  “And you won,” she pointed out with a grin.

  “Yup, he did, fair and square,” Cory agreed, wiggling around on the couch.

  Nathan’s face turned a deep shade of pink. “Fair and square? Not likely, squirt. You know you let me win so tha
t I could have at least one triumph.” Smiling at Faith, Nathan held out his hands helplessly. “Your son felt sorry for me. He beat me at this blasted game ten times running.”

  “Nathan is not very good at Cootie,” Cory pronounced solemnly, turning to his mother.

  “That doesn’t matter, Cory,” she said, sitting down next to her son. “Everybody has some things they’re good at and some things that are more difficult for them. You’re very good at this game and at making up songs. And Nathan is a doctor. He’s good at helping people get better when they’re sick or hurt. In fact he’s very good at it, one of the best.”

  “And he knows how to get rid of monsters,” Cory added. “He painted my room with antimonster paint. Now we don’t have no monsters.”

  “Any monsters,” Faith corrected. “So, that’s what that smell is.”

  Nathan was rising to his feet, looking slightly sheepish. “I hope you don’t mind that I painted Cory’s room. I had Hannah stop and pick up the paint. It’s just white, the same as before.”

  “I don’t mind at all. Not if you’ve gotten rid of the monsters,” she said, watching Nathan’s eyes. “Have you?”

  He stared down at her, his expression guarded. “We’ve gotten rid of Cory’s monsters, yes,” he declared.

  But not his own, she could tell. It was as plain as white paint. He had survived the day with her son, he had banished her child’s fears, and that had to be enough.

  She would accept that, because she had to. With a small nod, Faith stood and moved a step closer. She took the remaining plastic game piece he held in his hand and gave it to Cory.

  “Then, thank you,” she said quietly, trying to ignore the warm feeling that had thrummed through her entire body when her fingers had brushed Nathan’s palm. “Thank you very much.”

  She folded her fingers closed to mask the heat and turned away quickly, concentrating on her son and the scattered remnants of the game. “It’s time to clean up the table, Cory. I think you’re well enough by now to move around a bit more, and I’m going to make dinner. There must still be some steaks in the freezer.”