The Single Dad Finds a Wife

by Felicia Mason

  He padded his way over and decided to take the call there so Jeremy wouldn’t be disturbed. He grabbed the phone before it fell to the floor after buzzing its way to the edge of the sink counter.

  “Camden here.”

  “That’s no way to answer the telephone. I’ve told you that at least a hundred times, dear.”

  David breathed a sigh that was both relief and exasperation. Charlotte Camden, his missing-in-action mother, had decided to check in. He’d left a couple of messages for her earlier in the day and hadn’t heard a peep from her.

  “Mom, where are you?”

  “I’m at Becky’s. She sends her love.”

  David rolled his eyes. The only thing his aunt Becky would send would be an order form for cookies or magazines or overpriced gift wraps and bows from one of the thousand civic group fund-raisers she always seemed to be in charge of. There were only so many peanuts and church cookbooks and happy cat calendars that a person could buy or tolerate.

  “We had a lovely girls’ day out,” his mother said. “We went to a new spa here in Greensboro and had facials, and then we ate lunch at a cute little bistro...”

  David leaned against the sink, rubbed his temple and sighed.

  Here he was thinking she was having some sort of existential or menopausal crisis, and instead she was just hanging out with her sister.

  “...and he asked me out to dinner. Imagine that!”

  His eyes popped open, and he stood up. “What was that, Mom? Who? Dinner?”

  A schoolgirl-sounding trill came through the mobile phone.

  “He’s in charge of the school district’s transportation department. We’re going to dinner and a movie. Isn’t that nice?”

  David shuddered and tried not to sigh again.

  The thought of his mother dating gave him the heebie-jeebies. He knew it was unreasonable to expect that she would be alone the rest of her life. Charlotte Camden was not yet sixty years old and had already been a widow for almost a decade.

  She didn’t know that David thoroughly vetted the gentlemen friends she expressed interest in. And he’d confronted more than one who was after something other than the companionship of a lady of a certain age.

  He knew he was overprotective when it came to his mother. Charlotte wasn’t what might be called rich, but a trust left for her by his father in addition to a hefty insurance settlement after he’d died ensured that she would have no financial worries, and enough wealth to attract the sort looking for a gravy train.

  “Yeah, lovely,” he said of her dinner-date news.

  What sounded like a moan from the other room drew his attention. He pulled the bathroom door open a bit and listened.

  “Daddy.”

  “I’m right here, buddy,” he said, making his way to the beds.

  “Is that Jeremy?” Charlotte asked. “What in the world is he doing up at this hour? David, you spoil him.”

  “He’s sick, Mom. Can you hold on for a sec?”

  He put the phone on his bed and sat on Jeremy’s.

  The boy crawled into his lap and moaned. His forehead was burning up.

  David’s heart started racing.

  “Oh, boy.”

  “David! David!” The tinny voice floated from the phone.

  He leaned over and snatched it up, cradling the phone in the crook of his neck. “Mom, I’ve got to go. I need to find a doctor.”

  “Find a doctor? What do you mean find a doctor? Call Dr. Johnson.”

  “Dr. Johnson is in Charlotte, mom. We’re in Cedar Springs.”

  David eased Jeremy from his lap and back onto the bed, then dashed to the bathroom for a cool washcloth. He returned just a moment later with both the washcloth to press to his son’s head and a glass of water.

  “Cedar Springs? What in the...? Oh no! Oh, David, I’m so sorry. Was that this week? I thought you were going there next week.”

  Retching sounds were coming from Jeremy.

  “Mom, I need to go.”

  He disengaged the phone and dashed for the wastebasket near the desk. He got back to Jeremy a second too late.

  The boy started to cry. David didn’t know if the tears were because his stomach hurt or because he’d just soiled his favorite Winnie the Pooh pajamas.

  “It’s gonna be okay, buddy.”

  David prayed that it would be as he comforted his son.

  It was eleven thirty at night. He had two options. He could call 9-1-1 or he could call the doctor from the clinic. She’d written a number on the back of the business card she’d given Jeremy.

  He put the wastebasket on the floor at the edge of the bed and cradled his son in one arm. With the other, he dug into his pocket and pulled out Dr. Spring Darling’s business card.

  * * *

  Spring had just closed the book she’d been reading, turned off the bedside lamp, fluffed her pillows and settled in bed when her mobile phone chirped.

  “Gerald, I am not giving you a prescription for Valium,” she muttered as she rolled over and reached for the telephone on the bedside table.

  The burglars at Step Back in Time Antiques weren’t after whatever they could grab. They’d come with a shopping list. Small but extremely valuable pieces were the only things missing from the antiques shop. If it hadn’t been for a broken vase that Richard’s wife had come across, they may not have even discovered the break-in for a day or two. She’d gotten the story from Gerald, the high-strung co-owner of the shop, while Richard, the more level-headed business partner, talked to police, then called their insurance company.

  After checking on her friends, she’d driven to Cecelia’s, where she’d stayed entirely too long for someone who had early morning rounds at the hospital. Gerald had already phoned twice asking for something to calm his nerves.

  She didn’t even glance at the caller ID on the phone. “Gerald, for the last time, I am not giving you a script for Valium. Drink some chamomile tea and go to bed.”

  “Uh, hello?”

  Spring sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

  That rich baritone was definitely not Gerald Murphy on the line. It sounded like the man with the little boy who’d been at the clinic—the man she’d spent too much time talking about with Cecelia, the man whose voice did unreasonable things to her.

  She turned on the light, then put on her professional voice. “I’m so sorry,” she told her caller. “I thought it was a friend. This is Dr. Darling. To whom am I speaking?”

  “I’m sorry for calling so late, doctor. It’s David. David Camden. I brought my son in to see you earlier this evening.”

  Spring ran a hand through hair that tumbled in her face. She opened the bedside table drawer and pulled out a hair tie to tame it.

  Putting the phone on speaker, she gathered up her hair and tugged it into a ponytail. “Is Jeremy all right?” she asked him.

  “No.”

  She heard the panic in the man’s voice and was up and headed to her closet for clothes to wear to either the clinic or the hospital.

  “What are his symptoms?” she asked as she grabbed a pair of jeans and a white button-down shirt.

  “He’s burning up and throwing up. Hold on, please.”

  She stared at the phone for a moment. When she heard retching, her mind started running through what besides stomach flu might be wrong with the cute little boy. Spring pulled on the jeans and slipped into a pair of loafers.

  “Dr. Darling? I’m back. He says his stomach hurts a lot. I didn’t know who else to call.”

  “Where are you?”

  When he told her, she was a bit surprised to hear that someone with financial troubles was living in that rather expensive hotel. There were several more economical options around town. But she said nothing about that. It
wasn’t her business. A sick child was her concern.

  “I want you to take Jeremy to the hospital. To Cedar Springs General Hospital. I’ll meet you there. Do you have something to write with? I can give you directions from where you are. It will take you less than ten minutes to get there.”

  She gave David the directions, shrugged on and buttoned her shirt and was about to grab her keys when she paused at the mirror. She made a quick detour to her large bathroom and applied a touch of powder and a bit of blush to her cheeks. She picked up a tube of lipstick, then frowned and put it back on the tray that held her makeup.

  “It’s a medical emergency, not a date,” she said.

  With her keys in hand, she grabbed her phone, the wallet clutch that held the essentials and the lanyard with her hospital IDs.

  Outside, as she made her way to the garage, she noticed the lights were still on at her mother’s house. Spring’s home was actually a separate wing of her mother’s large estate. They shared the four-car garage on the property. Lovie Darling was a consummate entertainer, and the two cars in the drive, vehicles Spring didn’t recognize, were proof of that.

  In her Volvo car, Spring placed her hands on the steering wheel, closed her eyes and prayed for Jeremy Camden and his father.

  Then she headed to the hospital. She hated that it was under these circumstances, but she found herself pleased at the prospect of seeing David Camden again.

  Hot on the heels of that came the realization that her thoughts were inappropriate on so many levels. Chief among them was that there was most likely a Mrs. Camden who loved him and that precious little boy. But the doctor’s suddenly sweaty hands and that little flutter in her gut gave evidence to another diagnosis—one of a far more personal nature.

  For the first time in a long, long time, Spring found herself intrigued by a man, curious about his impression of her...and she fervently hoped there was no Mrs. Camden.

  Chapter Four

  Spring headed straight to the emergency department at Cedar Springs General Hospital. As one of the staff physicians at the medical center, she had a designated parking space and was able to bypass the entry used by other hospital employees.

  On weekends, the emergency department—typically called an emergency room by the public, as if there was just one room to it—bustled with acute trauma cases, mostly of the do-it-yourself-home-improvement variety like broken arms and legs or fractures. Then there were the asthma attacks and bee stings, as well as the usual mix of possible heart attacks, allergic reactions to everything from peanuts to shellfish and the occasional car crash victim. Severe trauma patients who needed advanced care were airlifted to Durham, where specialists at Duke University’s emergency trauma hospital and facilities could handle burns, gunshot victims and the like. Thankfully, those cases were rare at Cedar Springs General.

  Spring looked around but didn’t see either David or Jeremy Camden in the emergency department’s waiting room. This evening there was just a handful of people in the waiting area. Three people huddled together with a man who kept saying, “I’m not gonna let them touch me. I’m not gonna let them touch me.” And an elderly woman in a light blue pantsuit sat erect in one of the chairs facing the receptionist’s desk. The woman clutched her purse as if someone might try to snatch it from her grip.

  The televisions were on; one wall-mounted plasma set displayed a cable news channel, while its twin depicted a late-night talk show host yukking it up with a celebrity guest.

  “Hi, Dr. Darling,” a man said from behind her. “What are you doing here this time of night?”

  Spring turned to see Joseph Bradshaw, one of the physician assistants. Dressed in green scrubs, the uniform of most of the emergency department staff, he held a chart and was making his way toward one of the bays.

  “Hi, Joseph. I got a call from the father of a patient. Acute abdominal pain that’s gotten worse. They’re supposed to meet me here.”

  “It’s been pretty quiet tonight,” Joseph said. “I haven’t seen—”

  Just then the automatic doors whooshed open and David Camden rushed in, almost running, with his son in his arms. The panic in his eyes and his bearing arrested Spring. He spotted her almost immediately.

  “Dr. Darling!”

  “Joseph, I’m going to need a bed.”

  “On it, Doc,” he said, heading toward the emergency bays.

  “He woke up doubled over,” David said, approaching Spring. “And he threw up again.”

  “All right,” Spring said as several emergency department aides rushed to take the boy.

  “Daddy, my stomach hurts a lot,” Jeremy said. Adding emphasis to just how much, the boy moaned and burrowed in closer to David’s chest, instinctively seeking the protection of his father rather than the strangers with outstretched hands.

  The sound tore at Spring. Little Jeremy’s moan was one of the most pitiful sounds she had heard in a long, long time.

  “Dr. Spring is right here,” David told his son.

  The boy lifted his head a bit. “Pretty Spring?”

  “Yeah, buddy. It’s Dr. Spring.”

  Despite the strain she saw evident in the worry lines at his mouth and brow, Spring heard a note of amusement in David’s voice as he answered Jeremy. She’d been called many things in her thirty-five years, but this cute little boy calling her pretty just tugged at her heart.

  It was clear Jeremy had more than just a bad case of stomach flu or too many jelly beans. Her mind raced with possibilities, none of them good.

  “Noooo!” Jeremy cried out when David tried to place him on the gurney manned by two orderlies.

  “It’s okay, buddy,” David assured his son, who resisted lying down. “I’m right here.”

  “Want Dr. Spring.”

  “I’m here, too, Jeremy,” Spring said with a nod toward one of the orderlies. “If you’ll lay back, we’re going to take you into a room where I can see what’s making your tummy hurt. Okay?”

  The little boy nodded and did as she requested, but tears streaked down his face and he sought his father.

  Spring glanced up at David.

  “Can I come back?”

  She nodded. “Of course.”

  * * *

  Helpless and anxious, David watched as emergency room attendants wheeled his son into a room cordoned off with curtains and hooked him up to machines.

  David was terrified, so he could only imagine how Jeremy must feel. He reached deep for the anchor that would stabilize him. He needed to be strong for his son, not show the panic that raced through him. His heart beat so fast that he feared he might end up on a gurney next to Jeremy.

  A moment later, he was politely asked by one of the attendants to step back.

  “I can’t leave my son.”

  A soft hand on his arm drew his attention. Spring was there.

  “David, you don’t have to. They just need some room to work.”

  He glanced around and saw a nurse or a doctor wheeling some sort of machine. He quickly moved to a spot she indicated, where he could stand and hold Jeremy’s hand and not interfere with the tests they needed to run.

  “Lord, you took her. Please don’t take him, too,” he whispered in an anguished plea. “He’s all I have.”

  * * *

  As she’d expected, the diagnosis wasn’t good. Fortunately, it was something that was fairly routine for the hospital. Spring consulted with the emergency department’s attending pediatrician while David Camden remained in the emergency room bay with Jeremy.

  “We have done an ultrasound and a CT scan,” Timothy Paquette, the department’s pediatrician, told Spring.

  Worried, Spring bit her lip. “I sent him home thinking it was just gastroenteritis.”

  “I would have done the same thing,” Dr. Paquette said.
“I took a look at the lab you did at the clinic. With his other symptoms, it made sense.”

  Spring nodded, but his words didn’t make her feel any better. She just wanted to take Jeremy in her arms and hug all the hurt away.

  “You want to talk to his father, or should I?” Paquette said. “Dr. Emmanuel should be here in about five minutes. The OR is ready just as soon as he gets here and the father gives the okay.”

  “I’ll tell him,” she said, knowing from experience the reaction he would have.

  David jumped up from his chair when Spring entered the waiting room. Telling him his son was so sick wasn’t going to be pleasant; this part of the job never was.

  “Mr. Camden—”

  “Call me David,” he said, grabbing her hand. “Is Jeremy all right?”

  He was clutching her hand so tightly that Spring winced.

  He immediately dropped it. “I’m sorry. I’m just worried about Jeremy.”

  Spring resisted the urge to massage her throbbing hand. “He has appendicitis,” she said. “Dr. Adam Emmanuel is ready to operate once we get your approval.”

  “Operate? His appendix? But he’s just four,” David said.

  “Appendicitis is not uncommon in children,” Spring said. “Toddlers, even infants, can develop it. But it’s harder to diagnose in the younger ones.”

  David Camden looked genuinely distressed. “Are you sure?”

  Spring didn’t know if his question was a result of her earlier misdiagnosis or the first and typical question from a worried parent of a sick child. Either way his question reminded Spring about their precarious financial situation. This was one of those situations where the generous donations to the Common Ground ministries paid off. The surgery Jeremy needed would not bankrupt his father or leave him with the choice between paying medical bills or paying to keep a roof over their heads, even if said roof was that of a hotel.

  She nodded in answer to his question. “This is something that can’t be ignored,” she told him. “And it can’t wait. If his infected appendix isn’t removed, it could burst or leak, and that would lead to peritonitis, which can be fatal, particularly in children.”