Truly Yours Contemporary Collection December 2014

by Joyce Livingston, Gail Sattler, Joyce Livingston

  Obviously upset, Eleanor glared at him, her piercing eyes skillfully scanning his face. “Why can’t you understand what I’m saying? I know you, Robert Rachette. You never give anything less than your best. Apparently, I have more confidence in your abilities than you do.”

  “I appreciate your faith in me, but I’m—”

  “Try it, Robert, please. For me?”

  Her voice fairly dripped with sweetness, and he felt like he was eight years old again. He hated it when she did that. “Okay, you win. I’ll try,” he conceded, giving his head a shake of defeat, “but don’t expect too much.”

  Pulling a thick file folder from her desk drawer and reaching it toward him, Eleanor beamed with a smile of victory. “Your best is all I ask.”

  He frowned and took the folder. “What’s this?”

  “The same information I put together for Mr. Kendall. You’ll be needing it.”

  Opening the folder, he flipped through a few pages, finding the instructions she’d given Mr. Kendall were nothing like the Web site he’d presented to her. No wonder she was furious. “You really expect me to have Scrooge’s new Web site up and running by the first of October? That doesn’t give me much time. I can’t possibly keep up with my regular job and work on that, too.”

  “Your assistant can help you.”

  “You’ve got an answer for everything, haven’t you?”

  “It’s my job to come up with answers.” She smiled broadly. “Now go to your office and get busy. You need to get started on it today.”

  Robert felt himself bristle. Hadn’t he already told her he planned to leave early to take Ginny to the doctor? “I can’t.”

  “Oh, that’s right. You mentioned you have some kind of doctor appointment. But this is important, Robert. That appointment will have to wait. You need to get on this as soon as possible.”

  Saddened by her lack of concern, he closed the file and folded his hands over it. “I know the Web site is important, El, but so is my daughter. I’m not going to miss this doctor’s appointment. I’ll start work on the Web site the first thing in the morning.”

  She waved him toward the door. “Oh, all right. Take your daughter to the doctor if you must, but it seems to me something like that could be put off for a few weeks. She was born with that birthmark. What difference would a delay make?”

  “I guess you’d have to be a parent to understand.” His heart grew heavier with each step as he trudged across the thick pile of the carpet and took hold of the doorknob. Why do I always give in to El?

  Three

  Robert sat in Dr. Schopf’s office, holding nearly ten-year-old Ginny on his lap, his protective arms wrapped securely around her, his heart wrenching as he stared at the bright red birthmark on her cheek. God, I’ll never understand why You allowed this beautiful, innocent child to be born with a horrible port-wine stain birthmark on her sweet face.

  Dr. Schopf pulled his stool up close and squinted at her face, his hand cupping her chin. “My associate and I have conferred on this, Mr. Rachette, and we agree that most of the color can be removed quite successfully with laser therapy. And, since someday soon she will more than likely begin to wear makeup, there is a good chance her birthmark may be nearly unnoticeable. But it can’t be done overnight. It will probably take a number of treatments.”

  Though somewhat excited by Dr. Schopf’s words, Bob felt his heart plummet. “How many treatments?”

  Dr. Schopf paused, eyeing first Ginny then Bob. “As many as it takes. We can never say for sure. There are too many variables. I would say Ginny’s port-wine stain, or PWS as we call it, is a grade one, which is the least invasive. She has good, what we call, peek-through skin. That type of stain is very responsive to therapy and doesn’t usually form cobblestones.”

  Bob felt his breath catch in his throat. “Cobblestones? I’ve read about them while researching on the Internet.”

  The doctor bobbed his head toward the girl. “Lesions with deeper vessel involvement often form cobbling as the lesion ages, but I doubt that will happen with Ginny. Laser therapy is ideal for her, and the earlier a child has this treatment, the better.”

  “That’s good news.” Though a sigh of relief escaped Bob’s lips, there was so much more he wanted to know. “What about risks or side effects associated with the therapy?”

  “This type of therapy is quite safe, especially since her PWS is on her cheek and away from her eye, her nose, and not too near her mouth. Though the treatments aren’t pleasant, they are tolerable by using an analgesic cream first. Each of the zaps she’ll experience will feel much like a bad rubber band snap and only last a second. I’m sure those who administer her treatments will do everything they can to keep your daughter as comfortable as possible. After each treatment, there will be a slight swelling and redness in the area, and possibly a mottled appearance will occur. A gray color may persist for approximately three to seven days, but this slowly resolves itself. After that, improvement in the overall color is expected. I’m sure she’s as anxious to rid her lovely little face of that stain as you are.”

  “They’ll keep her comfortable? You can’t do the treatment?”

  He shook his head. “No. Laser therapy takes special training and equipment. There are a number of fine hospitals that specialize in laser therapy. I would highly recommend the Arkansas Children’s Hospital in Little Rock. They have a fine reputation.”

  “Little Rock? That’s nearly fifteen hundred miles from here! I could never afford to take her that far away. I—I was hoping it could be done—closer.”

  “Cincinnati also has a fine laser therapy program. It’s not quite nine hundred miles,” the doctor offered, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

  Bob’s grip tightened about his precious child. “My insurance may cover the treatment, but I doubt it will cover the costs of the trips and hotel to either Cincinnati or Little Rock. I could try to get a loan—”

  The kindly doctor placed a consoling hand on Bob’s arm. “I don’t want to get your hopes up, Mr. Rachette. Most insurance companies refuse to pay for this sort of treatment since they claim it is done for cosmetic purposes only.”

  Bob’s righteous indignation kicked in. “Cosmetic purposes? Removing a port-wine stain from a child’s face? That makes no sense at all!”

  Dr. Schopf shrugged. “I agree. All I can do is recommend that you present a good argument to your insurance company then pray they’ll accept your claim. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I’ve heard of very few patients whose insurance company was in the least bit cooperative.”

  Bob nudged Ginny off his lap and rose slowly, his heart aching as he extended his hand. “Thanks, Dr. Schopf, but from the sound of things, Ginny’s treatments may have to be put off for a long time. My wife died two years ago. I’m a single father with a large family to support. The kind of money we’re talking about is way beyond my reach. I guess this trip to your office has been in vain. I’m sorry to have taken up your time.”

  Dr. Schopf tousled Ginny’s curls then grasped Bob’s hand with a hearty shake. “If there is anything I can do to try to convince your insurance company this is a legitimate claim, I’ll be happy to do it.”

  “Isn’t the doctor going to take this red thing off my face, Daddy?” Ginny asked, looking glum and grabbing her father’s hand as they exited the office.

  Blinking hard, he sent her the best smile he could muster. “Not now, honey. Maybe in a year or two.”

  “But I thought—”

  “So did I, sweetheart. But I guess the Lord didn’t think this was the best time. We have to leave it in His hands, okay?” The disappointed look on his daughter’s face ripped at his heart, but he tried not to show it. “How about some chocolate chip ice cream?”

  Ginny lifted her watery gaze to his, her lower lip trembling. “I’m not hungry for ice cream, Daddy. Can we just go home?”

  ❧

  Engrossed on the project in which she was working, Eleanor barely looked up from her
computer when Robert entered her office the next morning.

  “You’re in early.” He moved to the coffeepot on the credenza and poured himself a cup. “Want one?”

  She gave him a look of veiled disgust. “I’m always in early. Not all of us can keep banker’s hours. I’d hoped you be in much earlier.”

  “Little touchy this morning?” He hastily added a smile, hoping his quick response hadn’t upset her. Though she was a fairly good sport, she never appreciated jokes or careless repartee at her expense. “It’s not even seven o’clock yet, El. Bad night? Did you have one of your headaches?”

  “Actually, I had a very good night, what there was of it. I couldn’t sleep for thinking about the Web site.” She brightened, as if just the thought of it gave her new energy. “I’m so anxious to get started on it. I thought we could—”

  He held up a palm between them and shook his head. “Not so fast. There are a number of major preliminary things that have to be accomplished before we get started. Important things.”

  Eleanor clicked an icon on her computer screen and pushed the keyboard toward the monitor, turning to him with her undivided attention. “Like what? I thought we could get started on the content today.”

  Bob pulled a chair up in front of her desk, took a few papers from his briefcase, and sat down, leaning forward. “For one, I have to bring Tom, my assistant up to speed. We can’t let the accounting department get behind just because we need to get the Web site up and running. My department is my first and most important priority.” He raised his brows. “Okay?”

  Eleanor rolled her eyes. “Yes, I suppose so. How long do you think that will take?”

  “Tom’s a good man and catches on fast. He’s already familiar with most of the procedures. But you have to understand, El, right up front: If I’m needed in the accounting department, this Web site project is going to have to be put on hold. We sure don’t want any foul-ups happening in the financial end of your business.”

  Her eyes widened. “We can’t get started today?”

  He reached across the desk and patted her hand. “We can’t get started on it today, but you can. I want you to set aside as much time as you can, feed the words—fashions, department stores, designers, boutiques, and any other words you can think of that would describe finer women’s fashions, into your computer—into the search engine. That should bring up hundreds of Web sites. I want you to check them out and bookmark any that catch your eye or give you ideas you might want to incorporate on Scrooge’s Web site. Especially pay attention to their navigation designs. I also need you to make out a list of all the features you’d like to put on our Web site. Watch for colors that appeal to you, graphics, flash intros—”

  Eleanor screwed up her face. “Flash intro? Somehow that conjures up an image of a scruffy old man in a raincoat.”

  Robert leaned back in his chair with a laugh. “Not that kind of flash. Flash intros are quite often used as the very first page on a Web site. The first thing a customer or client will see when they type in Scrooge’s dot com. They’re catchy, quick, and usually have moving graphics. If done right, they’re quite effective in presenting the overall image you want your site to convey in only a few seconds of time. I really think we should use one for Scrooge’s.”

  “I don’t want anything like the beginning of Mr. Kendall’s presentation.”

  He nodded. “I know. A good, classy flash intro will give your customers an instant impression of what the Web site is about. Uniqueness, innovativeness, quality, and good service.”

  Eleanor’s face lit up. “That’s exactly what I want, Bob! And to think I was even considering Mr. Kendall’s company when you were right here under my nose all this time.”

  “His company’s Web site designers are pros, El. I’m not. I’m not even in the same league.”

  “But don’t you see? You and I think alike. You know what I want.” She rose and circled the desk, enthusiasm illuminating her lovely face. “They didn’t have a clue, even though I thoroughly explained my wishes to Mr. Kendall before they even started. You know me, Bob, sometimes even better than I know myself.”

  Her statement made him laugh and brought back old memories of the little girl he’d grown up with. Little El. How she’d changed from that first day she and her family moved into the run-down trailer house down the street from his parents’ home. Even though she had to wear her sister Eileen’s secondhand clothes and she had come to school with nothing more than peanut butter and crackers in her lunch sack, there’d always been something special about her. Yes, he did know El better than anyone else knew her. They’d been pals and cohorts most of their lives. Though he’d never told anyone, not even his mother, he’d been in love with El since the time they’d been in the fourth grade and he’d beat the school bully up for making wisecracks about her. El had hugged and kissed him that day, and he’d never been the same.

  He’d always been her protector. Though she’d dated many boys during their high school years, none of them had been able to win her heart. At least a dozen suitors had asked to escort her to their senior prom, but she’d turned them all down, saying she wanted to attend that special occasion with her best friend. How proud he’d been that night, dressed in his rental tuxedo. Since his mother had made the elegant, red satin dress for El, she had come to their home that evening to get ready, and his mother helped her with her hair. He still had the snapshot his father had taken of the two of them as he’d pinned the delicate white orchid to her shoulder. Though he’d never actually told her how much he loved her, he had always planned to ask her to marry him as soon as he graduated and got a job. But that was not to be. The day of their high school graduation, El announced she was leaving for New York City where she planned to get a job in a big fashion house.

  “Bob? Did you hear me?”

  He shook his head to clear his thoughts and gave her a shy grin. “Yeah, I heard you.”

  Moving back around the desk, she gracefully seated herself before smoothing at her hair. “You and I have always been a good team, haven’t we?”

  “I’ve always thought so.”

  She lowered her head a bit and batted her long, dark lashes. “When I was a little girl, I used to drape a scarf over my head and pretend the two of us were getting married. Isn’t that funny?”

  Her words startled him. “Would that have been so bad?”

  “Marrying you? No, of course not. But you never loved me. You married Lydia.”

  “You went to New York. Life went on. I met Lydia and fell in love with her. The rest is history.”

  “If—if you hadn’t met Lydia—”

  “You wouldn’t have married me, El. We both know that. You wanted to make your mark in the world. You set a goal for yourself, and you went after it.”

  “I might have married you, if you’d waited for me.”

  “I could never have offered you what old Mr. Scrooge did. You’re an elegant woman, El, with elegant tastes. I’ll never be more than an accountant.” He gave her a weak smile. “And a part-time Webmaster, thanks to you firing Mr. Kendall. Lydia and I had a good life. I loved that woman, and I love each of the children we had together.” Bob rose and tossed the papers onto her desk. “You might look these over when you get a chance.”

  El was silent for a moment then asked, “Could you have loved me as much as you loved Lydia?”

  “I’ve always loved you, El. I probably always will.”

  “But not in the same way you loved her?”

  He moved slowly toward the door. “Hard to say. You never gave me a chance.”

  “How did your doctor’s appointment come out yesterday?”

  He turned slowly, surprised she had even remembered it. “It turned out to be the old good news, bad news type of thing. The good news is that Ginny is a perfect candidate for laser therapy. Her birthmark is pretty much on the surface.”

  “I’d think you’d be happy about that. Isn’t that what you wanted to hear?”

 
“Yes, but then I found out that insurance companies won’t pay for the removal of port-wine stain lesions.”

  “Why? That doesn’t make any sense!”

  He swallowed at the lump in his throat. “They consider it elective cosmetic surgery.”

  “Surely you have some savings. Couldn’t you pay for it?”

  He wanted to shake her. “Savings? On what I make at Scrooge’s? There are no savings, El. It takes my entire salary just to keep our monthly bills paid. That’s why I have a second job. Do you have any idea what it takes to meet the needs of a family of six?”

  “You and Lydia should have thought of that before you had all those children.”

  He sucked in a deep breath of air and counted to ten. “Each of our children was a gift from God. We were doing fine until Lydia got sick and had to give up her part-time job, but with all the extra expenses of having to hire someone to come in and care for her, plus the extra for child care, and the deductible on my insurance, not to mention the funeral expenses—”

  “I’m sorry, Bob. I didn’t mean to upset you. But, it seems to me, the expense of having all those children and having to provide for them is the very reason you are having trouble making it on your salary. Maybe your daughter could just put some makeup on that little birthmark of hers.”

  His fists clenched at his sides. “Are you so caught up in your own life and your own little world, you have no idea what is going on in other people’s lives, or even care? That birthmark is not an insignificant little thing that can be covered up with a dab of makeup. If you would have come to our home any one of those dozens of times we invited you, you would know that her port-wine stain birthmark is about two inches long and three-quarters of an inch wide, and it is as brilliant as that red satin dress my mother made for you when you were voted prom queen. Ginny’s been teased and ridiculed about it by her peers, and she’s had adults go out of their way to take a look at it. She hates that birthmark. So do I. I’ll guarantee you, if you had been born with a birthmark just half that big, you would have robbed a bank to get the money to have it removed!”