The Healing Place

by Leigh Bale

  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?

  She couldn’t remember.

  She had everything she could possibly need, except what she really wanted. And yet she was thankful to have been Brian’s mother. How enriched her life was because of him. Maybe later on, when she was alone, she should tell God that.

  “Don’t you think so, Emma?”

  She looked up and found Mark staring at her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear—”

  “Look! There’s a kitty,” Angie shouted.

  The girl scooted back from the table and ran to the sliding glass door where an orange tabby sat swishing its tail on the back step. The cat meowed and nudged the glass pane with its black nose.

  “That’s my neighbor’s cat, Wilbur,” Emma supplied. “He comes over here looking for food and hoping I’ll pet him.”

  Angie hunkered down by the door and rubbed her finger against the glass. “Can he come in?”

  Emma shook her head. “Nope, sorry, I’m allergic. You can go out into the backyard and play with him, though.”

  Sliding the glass door open, Emma allowed Angie to slip through to the back deck.

  “Do you need me to come with you?” Mark asked.

  “No, Dad,” Angie snapped. “I think I can play by myself.”

  The girl scooped up the cat, rubbing her face against the animal’s soft fur.

  Mark’s eyes widened at her surly tone. “I guess she’s extra tired today.”

  Emma bit her tongue. Angie didn’t act tired. She acted annoyed by her father. Though Emma thought Mark was too protective of his daughter, it wasn’t her place to criticize him.

  “She won’t catch any disease from the cat, will she?” Mark looked anxious. “I know her immune system isn’t strong right now.”

  “She’ll be fine, Mark,” Emma said.

  Definitely overly protective, yet Emma couldn’t blame him.

  She left the sliding door open just a crack, so they could hear Angie if she called out. Even from this distance, they could see the girl and hear her delighted giggles and Wilbur’s purrs as Angie scratched his ears.

  When Angie took the cat over to sit on the grass, Mark started to rise from his chair. Emma stopped him with a lift of her hand. “She’s fine, Mark. It’s a nice, safe, fenced yard. Let her play for a while.”

  He sat back down but his gaze followed Angie for several more minutes and silence loomed throughout the room.

  “She thinks I’m domineering and pushy.” Mark shrugged. “But I just want what’s best for her.”

  “I know. When you’re fighting to save someone’s life, it’s hard to think about anything else.” Emma spoke without humor.

  He gazed into her eyes. “You talk as though you know what it’s like, Emma.”

  She moved her gaze to Angie. If she told him about Brian, it would only make things more difficult. It didn’t help when he reached across the table and squeezed her hand gently.

  Knots of tension cramped her stomach. She stared at their entwined fingers, feeling guilty for enjoying the touch of this warm, attractive man.

  She jerked her hand back. “Don’t.”

  He looked hurt and Emma refused to meet his eyes.

  “Don’t you think it’s time you told me what happened to your son, Emmy?” he said.

  Emma froze, feeling as though a guillotine had chopped off her windpipe.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “I don’t like being called Emmy,” Emma said, ignoring Mark’s question about Brian.

  Mark’s brow furrowed in confusion. “But I’ve called you that name ever since first grade.”

  Glancing across the kitchen table, her gaze meshed with his. Images of David flashed through her mind. The last time she had seen David, his eyes had been filled with hate as he shouted that she had murdered their son. Even now, the memory chilled her blood.

  Mark’s eyes filled with hope and had the power to melt her frozen heart.

  She reached for the salt shaker, rubbing it between her palms in a nervous gesture. A lump formed in her throat but she managed to speak around it. “I know you’ve always called me Emmy, but it’s just that—”

  She wanted to explain about Brian’s death, but the words stuck in her throat.

  “Emma, what’s wrong? You can trust me.”

  Every fiber of her being responded to his gentle urging and she heaved a weary sigh. “David called me Emmy when he—” Her voice cracked and she tried again. “When he blamed me for our son’s death.”

  Ma
rk rubbed his fingertips against his forehead. “Oh, boy. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. I feel like such a heel.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “You know you’ll see him again, right?” Mark added.

  “David?”

  He shook his head. “No, Brian. Your son.”

  Something cold gripped her. “I don’t believe in eternity, Mark.”

  She didn’t mean it. Not really. But the anger and hurt she kept bottled up inside ever since Brian died seemed to rise to the surface now. Mark was the first person she had confided in.

  “You don’t mean that, Emma.”

  Oh, he knew her so well.

  How desperately she wanted to believe she would see Brian again.

  She thought about what Mark said, knowing in her heart it was true. Yet her personal guilt and regret over her son’s death kept her from admitting it.

  He clasped his fingers around hers and she couldn’t pull away.

  “I want us to be friends,” he said.

  Warmth tingled up her arm. She should let go.

  She held on tighter. He filled the emptiness in her life, but he had his daughter to think about. He didn’t need a neurotic woman grieving for her son to muddy up his life.

  She let go of his hand.

  “Do you still like to go fishing?” Mark asked.

  She burst out laughing, his question completely unexpected. “Yes, but I haven’t gone since—”

  The summer before their junior year in high school, Emma had gone fishing with Mark. Brett and Tina and one other couple from school joined them and they’d laughed and shared a picnic of fried chicken, potato salad and s’mores. Mark had helped her land her first trout, teasing her because it was so puny. They’d thrown the fish back and splashed each other and played until the sun went down. That evening, when Mark had dropped her off at her doorstep, he’d kissed her.

  Her first kiss. And it had been magic.

  Now they exchanged a secret smile and Mark lifted a hand to brush his knuckles against her hair. “You remember, too?”

  “Yes, one of the best memories of my life.”

  “I’ve never been anyone’s best memory, Emma.” His smile faded. “There are times when I wish Denise and I could go back to the way things were, before the divorce. I keep thinking I could change things somehow, if only I had a second chance.”