by Leigh Bale
A muscle ticked in his lean cheek and his gaze was filled with so much pain. Mark Williams wasn’t as one-dimensional as she had thought.
“I shouldn’t have told you that,” he said. “But you’re much more to me than just Angie’s doctor.”
“Mark, I’m sorry about Denise. I wish we hadn’t brought up such sad memories.”
“It’s not your fault.”
A stilted silence followed. She longed to confide in him, to be his friend and much more, but doubt filled her mind. She had trusted David, but he’d turned his back on her long before Brian died.
“Mark, I know what it’s like to watch your child waste away and die from cancer. It would kill me to go through that again. I just couldn’t do it a second time.”
She could tell from his expression he understood what she was saying. She didn’t want to be Angie’s surrogate mother. And yet, in many ways, it was already too late. She loved his little girl. If the worst happened, Emma knew her heart would be shattered once more.
His cell phone started ringing and he scrambled to pull it from his pants’ pocket. Emma breathed a sigh of relief for the interruption.
“Hello?”
His smile dropped like stone.
“Denise! It’s been weeks since we heard from you—”
He paused, listening.
“Oh, you saw the news program, huh? Yeah, Angie’s here. Wait and I’ll get her for you—What? Yes, I received the forms yesterday in the mail.”
Emma looked away, embarrassed to be listening to his private conversation. She stood and moved to the living room, where she picked up a pile of magazines and began to sort through them. She could see Mark’s profile as he leaned against the counter in her kitchen, trying to speak softly to his ex-wife.
“No, I haven’t had time, but I’ll mail them back to you on Monday.” Another pause and his shoulders stiffened. “I can’t do that. I’m with Angie now.”
Tension pulsed from him, so thick Emma could have sliced it with a cleaver. “No, tomorrow is Saturday and I’m not taking Angie to Mrs. Perkins. She spends enough time away from home as it is. Now, if you’ll hold a moment, I’ll get her for you—”
With the phone pressed to his ear, he stepped toward the glass door but hesitated, his features hard. “But she asks for you every day. Why can’t you talk to her for a few minutes?”
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he clenched his jaw. “Yeah, yeah, I understand perfectly.”
How could Denise be so cruel?
“Okay.” Mark spoke in a resigned tone. “Do what you want.”
He hung up the phone and pocketed it, staring out the sliding-glass door at Angie, his legs spread slightly as he lifted his hands to his hips and heaved a deep huff of air. It was a masculine stance, exposing his pensive thoughts.
Oblivious that her mother had just been on the phone and didn’t want to talk to her, Angie continued to stroke the cat. The sweet expression on her face as she smiled and talked softly to Wilbur was so innocent and genuine that Emma felt a poignant sense of loss.
Mark faced Emma. His features softened and he seemed to relax. “I’m sorry you had to hear that.”
Emma wished she could say something to lessen the sting. “I’m sorry, too. You and Angie shouldn’t have to go through this, and I can’t tell you how much I admire your strength. You’re such a great example to me.”
In unison, they stared at the girl as Wilbur sprawled on his back in the grass and Angie rubbed his furry tummy.
“She’s happy and confident in your love,” Emma said.
He came to stand beside Emma and took her hand in his. “Sometimes when I see Angie so sick and I talk to Denise, I wonder if I’m fooling myself. Maybe God has forsaken us. Maybe I’m wrong and—”
Emma wrenched her hand free. Tears blurred her vision. “Don’t say that. I want so desperately to hope, to have faith. If you doubt, then I fear there’s no hope for me.”
He gave a shuddering laugh and scrubbed a hand against his jaw. “You’re right. How can I doubt when I witness the miracle you bring into my life? I must sound ungrateful, when I have so much to be thankful for. Thanks for bringing me back to my senses.”
He peered at the backyard and smiled when Angie dangled a blade of grass over Wilbur’s head. The cat batted it with his front paws.
“The divorce was my fault,” he said. “I worked too much and built our lives around material things. I should’ve been home more. I should’ve told Denise I loved her. It might have helped.”
“Now, you’re making excuses for Denise.”
Anguish flashed across his face. “I know, but I can’t help wishing I’d done more.”
“I’m the same. I was too wrapped up in trying to save my son’s life to work out the problems in my marriage.”
Mark leaned against the wall and folded his arms. “I do know there’s no hurt, emotional or physical, that the Savior hasn’t already felt. The Atonement isn’t just for sinners, Emma. It also heals carelessness, inadequacy and bitterness. Without it, our lives would be utterly meaningless.”
His words touched her. “Still trying to convert me?”
He shrugged. “Let’s just say we all need reminding on a regular basis.”
She perched herself on the arm of the sofa. “We are an odd pair, aren’t we?”
As he stepped near and gave her a quick hug, she tensed, liking the comfort he offered, yet worried it wasn’t a lasting thing. “I like the sound of that. There’s no one I’d rather be with, Emma.”
She stood and sidled away, her nerves clenching. By encouraging Mark, she only opened herself up to more complications. Being friends was one thing, but this was much more.
“It’s okay to talk about him, you know,” Mark said.
She didn’t pretend not to understand. “It hurts too much to talk about Brian.”
“I know. I don’t usually talk much about Denise, but maybe we both need a safe outlet where what we say doesn’t go anywhere else.”
It was a revelation to realize she wasn’t the only one with regrets in her life. If what Mark said was true, the Atonement could swallow her pain. She could turn her remorse and guilt over to God. Asking the Lord to take it from her shoulders seemed so easy, yet she didn’t know if she could relinquish control that way.
He released a breath of air. “Thanks for letting me talk. I can’t tell you how much I needed it.”
A hard lump formed in her throat and she tried to swallow. There was no getting away from the heartache tucked inside her soul. And yet, by sharing her burden with Mark, it didn’t feel quite so heavy anymore. “You’re welcome.”
Emma’s heart was filled with so many doubts. Maybe prayer was the key. Later tonight, she could try it. If it didn’t work, no harm done.
She gazed at Angie. The sun glinted off the child’s smiling face as she chased Wilbur across the yard. The cat climbed the wooden fence and disappeared.
“Here, kitty, kitty, kitty,” Angie trilled.
She called over and over, but Wilbur didn’t return.
“It’s not your fault, you know,” Mark said.
Emma’s shoulders stiffened. “What?”
His voice lowered. “That Brian died. He wouldn’t want you unhappy.”
“How do you know I’m unhappy?”
“I have eyes in my head, Emma. And Sonja mentioned that—”
“Sonja! Look, Mark, I really wish you’d stop listening to her. I’m a big girl and can take care of myself.”
“I’m sorry.”
He had crossed the line. She wished people would leave her alone. The more she thought of Sonja, Larry Meacham and Mark meddling in her life, the angrier she became.
“My personal life is none of your business,” she told him.
“Emma, don’t.”
“This was a mistake, Mark. I should never have invited you in. I think you should go.” She started to clear the table, conscious of him hovering nearby.
“Emma, I did
n’t mean to hurt you.”
She didn’t respond. His presence was magnetic, his voice so sincere and inviting. Like a haven from heaven. All she had to do was reach out and—
She kept moving, rinsing plates before putting them in the dishwasher, covering the salad bowl with plastic wrap and popping it into the refrigerator. Her movements were stiff and erratic. The companionship she had enjoyed with him evaporated.
Mark stepped close and her stomach churned into tight little knots. “Emma, please forgive me.”
Mark apologizing? He really had changed, but it was too late for them.
“There’s nothing to forgive.” She moved past him, avoiding his eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow night at the Make-A-Wish meeting. Thanks for coming by.”
She leaned against the counter, folded her arms and stared out the window. It was a sharp invitation for him to leave.
With a deep sigh, he stepped to the glass door and called to Angie. Emma almost breathed a sigh of relief.
Angie came inside like a little tornado, so full of life, so happy. The difference was amazing.
“Oh, I love Wilbur, Daddy. Can we get a kitty, please, please, please?” She hopped up and down. “I want a yellow one and I’ll name him Tiger.”
Emma had never seen Angie this animated. The child had just received a chemo injection three days ago, so she should be feeling sluggish. Surely a plate of chocolate-chip cookies, a slice of pizza and a cat named Wilbur couldn’t make the difference.
Angie raced over to throw her arms around Emma’s waist for a tight squeeze. “I had so much fun. Can I come over and play with your kitty tomorrow?”
Waves of emotion washed over Emma and she squeezed her eyes shut, resisting the urge to hug the girl back.
“He’s not my cat.” Emma spoke around the lump clogging her throat.
“Can we come visit you anyway?”
It was no use. Emma couldn’t resist. None of this wretched situation was Angie’s fault.
Cupping the girl’s cheek with her palm, Emma stared down into her sparkling eyes. “I’m sure Wilbur would like that, sweetheart.”
Looking delighted by Emma’s response, Angie clasped her father’s hand.
“Thanks for a wonderful evening, Emma.” Mark led Angie to the front door.
“You’re welcome.” Her voice sounded tight and she didn’t see them to the door.
She walked to the living room and pushed back the lace curtains to stare out the small window. As she watched them drive down the street, she felt numb and empty inside.
Chapter Fifteen
“Good morning,” Mark greeted Darcy the following week.
Standing at the front reception counter, he smiled as he signed in for Angie’s appointment.
Angie stood on tiptoe as she peeped over the counter. “Hi, Darcy.”
“Hi, cutie. How are you?” Darcy smiled with affection as she tugged playfully on the brim of Angie’s baseball cap.
“Fine.” Angie’s voice sounded buoyant.
Mark glanced around the reception room. “Mrs. Valdez isn’t here yet?”
After two months Angie had become quite attached to Mrs. Valdez.
Darcy showed a hesitant frown. “No, I’m sorry, but she won’t be here. Mrs. Valdez died.”
Angie gasped, her eyes flashing wide.
“Died? When?” Mark said.
“Well, I, um, I’m not sure—”
“No.” Angie gave a small whimper and backed away from the counter, shaking her head. Tears filled her eyes and her little chin quivered.
“Angie—” Mark stepped toward her, his arms outstretched.
“No! It’s not true,” she yelled, and took off through the office, sprinting toward the treatment room.
“Mrs. Valdez! Mrs. Valdez!” Angie yelled, circling around the hallway with Mark in hot pursuit.
Her cries filled the entire office and brought several staff members running. They stared in confusion as Angie made her second pass through the hall. Angie spied Emma standing at the end of the corridor. The girl made a beeline toward the doctor and threw her arms around Emma’s legs.
Holding tight, the child pressed her face against Emma’s abdomen, sobbing. “She’s not dead, she’s not. You can make her better, Emma. You can bring her back, can’t you? Please, please bring her back.”
Staring down at Angie, Emma’s eyes went wide with surprise. She held her hands up, as if she didn’t know quite what to do.
Mark dropped down on his knees beside his daughter, trying to comfort her. He tried to take Angie into his arms, but she shook him off, clinging to Emma.
“No, let me be,” Angie cried. “Emma, please.”
Mark glanced up at Emma and saw her confusion. She knelt in front of Angie and pulled the girl into her arms.
“What happened?” Emma asked over the top of Angie’s head.
“She just found out Mrs. Valdez died. Why didn’t you warn me so I could have prepared her?” he asked.
Tears flickered in Emma’s eyes, her expression one of helplessness. “I only found out half an hour ago. I didn’t realize Angie would take it this hard or I would have called you.”
Mark hadn’t realized, either. First her mother, now Mrs. Valdez. He should have talked with Angie about this possibility; he should have prepared her for it.
“No, she’s not dead, she’s not!” Angie’s words were muffled against Emma’s neck.
“Angie, listen to me.” Mark tried to pry her away, but Angie clung tighter to Emma.
“No, I want Emma.” The child wept, her pitiful sobs filling the office. The staff members stood around staring, their faces white with shock.
All this time, Mark had been worried about becoming romantically attached to Emma, it never occurred to him that Angie might become too attached to her, as well. Maybe he had done his daughter a disservice by spending time with Emma. Eventually she would leave them, just like Denise. When that time came, it would devastate his daughter.
“Angie.” Emma spoke against the girl’s ear, soft and soothing. “Listen to me, sweetie. Mrs. Valdez was very old and very sick, but she lived a long, happy life. Her husband was with her right up to the end and she passed away quietly without pain.”
The sobbing subsided into hiccups as Angie listened intently, her tear-drenched face pressed against Emma’s cheek.
“I know we’ll all miss her,” Emma continued, “but there was nothing we could do to help her and it would have been cruel to make her stay with us any longer. She’s at peace now.”
Rubbing her eyes, Angie gave a little shudder as she drew back and looked at Emma, their noses barely touching. “Am I gonna die, too?”
The words chopped off Mark’s words, thoughts and heartbeat.
It was the first time Angie asked this question out loud. He had wondered if she was too young to understand the ramifications of her brain tumor, but she was smart and insightful and he should have known better. He had tried to keep her morale positive but should have addressed her fears better.
“No!” Emma answered fiercely, hugging Angie close. “No, sweetie. I won’t let you. Mrs. Valdez had a deadly cancer that you don’t have. You mustn’t give up hope. Your dad and I will do everything in our power to keep you safe. I promise you.”
Mark gave a weak smile, approving of what Emma said. He refused to give up. Angie needed to know that.
“Emma’s right, honey.” He caressed Angie’s cheek, his heart aching. “We’re never going to give up this fight. Never.”
The sounds of the office filtered over them, the ringing of the phone, the buzz of machinery and voices coming from the reception room.
Angie looked into Emma’s eyes. “Are you gonna leave Dad and me, like Mommy and Mrs. Valdez?”
Emma glanced at Mark, then hugged Angie tight. “No, I’ll always be here for as long as you want me.”
She meant what she said. Every single word. If she had to call in every favor of every medical professional she knew, she vo
wed she would not let this child die as long as she could do something to prevent it.
Please, God! Please let me keep my promise. Please help me have faith, to be strong for Angie and Mark.
Emma didn’t resist the burn of tears. She was so overcome by emotion, she just didn’t have the strength or desire to fight it any longer.
Over the top of Angie’s head, Emma saw Mark’s face contort with emotion. A single tear tumbled down his cheek and Emma could hardly stand to see this strong man cry.
He wiped at his right eye and inhaled a deep breath before he let it out in a fast exhale. “Thanks, Emma.”
Knowing he depended on her brought Emma a hot gush of achy pleasure. And yet, it scared her to death. Old fears of failure crowded her mind. If the new chemo protocol Emma had discussed with Larry Meacham didn’t work—
She couldn’t think about that now. God had given her that insight and she mustn’t doubt it.
They walked into the treatment room where Emma stayed with Angie while Sonja administered the chemo injection. By the time Mark led his daughter out of the office, Angie was calm and smiling once more.
When they were gone, Emma went into her office and closed the door. Sitting all alone, she contemplated this turn of events. And then, she did something she had longed to do but hadn’t done in years.
She lowered herself to her knees beside the mahogany desk and bowed her head. Clasping her hands tightly in her lap, she closed her eyes and started to pray. She offered her gratitude for all her blessings, and for Mark and Angie bringing such sweetness into her life. Every careworn fear and hurt poured out of her as she expressed her deepest desires to her Heavenly Father.
When she finished speaking, she felt a divine peace resting upon her like the summer sun after a harsh winter storm.
As she went to the restroom and rinsed her face, she stopped trying to understand the calm that filled her soul. God loved her, she knew that now with every fiber of her being. And for the first time since Brian’s death, she no longer felt alone.