by Leigh Bale
“No, Mom. I’ll stay here tonight. I can put up with him and the kid, as long as he pays the bills.”
So, that was it. Denise was broke. How had she gone through all that money so soon?
Mark clenched his hands. Every nerve in his body felt like exploding.
Muttering under his breath, he opened the fridge. He made no pretense of being quiet as he took out a dozen eggs, then slammed the door closed. He placed the eggs in a pan to boil and flipped on the burner. He didn’t want to eavesdrop on his ex-wife.
“Oh, he’s back.” Denise’s harsh whisper came from the living room. “I’ve got to go.”
He hardened his jaw as he opened the pantry to take out a bucket of russet potatoes. He’d get them cooked and in the refrigerator tonight so they would chill for his potato salad tomorrow morning.
Emma. The thought of seeing her again eased his mind and gave him the focus he needed.
Denise glided into the room, glancing at the boiling eggs. She sat on one of the tall bar stools at the counter, acting like she owned the place. He could feel her gaze drilling into him as he turned the heat down on the stove. The low clacking of the boiling eggs filled the void.
She inhaled a deep breath, then crinkled her nose. “What is that awful smell?”
He didn’t look at her as he sorted the mail. “Boiled eggs. I’m making potato salad.”
“It stinks up the whole house.” She grimaced.
Setting the mail aside, he placed his hands on the counter and looked straight at her. “What are you doing here, Denise?”
She leaned forward on the bar, exposing her ample cleavage to his view. He knew her moves so well, he didn’t even glance down. “I told you, I came to see Angie.”
He looked away and breathed deep, pulling air into his lungs like it might clear his tension. “I’m glad, for Angie’s sake, but I would rather you called first. I don’t want you coming into my home again without being invited.”
Rounding the counter, he picked up a stack of financial statements he planned to review for a client before he went to bed.
She patted the stool next to her. “I need to talk with you about some things. Come and sit by me.”
He moved to the stove and made a pretense of checking the eggs. “If you sold the Jag, how did you get here? I didn’t see another car out front.”
“Oh, um, I took a cab. I don’t have a car right now.”
“No car? What did you do with the money you got for the Jaguar?”
She lifted a hand and waved it in the air. “I had expenses. It’s not your business anyway.”
He quirked a brow at her. “It’s my business if you’ve come to ask me for more money.”
Her mouth dropped open as he stood at the sink, scrubbing the potatoes. He pricked them with a fork, then popped them into the microwave to cook. “I’ll call you a cab to take you to your mother’s or a motel, whichever you prefer.”
He reached for the cordless phone.
“Wait!”
He paused and she ducked her head, her eyes filled with remorse. “I want to apologize, Mark. I realize how unfair I’ve been to you and Angie. I never meant to hurt you. Say you’ll forgive me. Say you’ll let me come back home. You’re a Christian and Christians forgive, right?”
He snorted. “Forgive, yes, but God doesn’t want me to trash my life. Why the sudden change of heart?”
He wanted to hear it from her own lips. She wasn’t motivated by love.
As she placed her hands on his chest and pressed closer, Mark caught the scent of her perfume. The heavy aroma no longer attracted him like Emma’s clean smell and he held his breath.
“I made a mistake and I want to come home.”
He walked into the family room, picking up Angie’s books and toys and tidying the house. He wasn’t certain how to pull it off without a fight, but he wanted Denise to leave. Right now.
Denise trailed after him like a puppy on a leash.
“All right! Eric left me,” she whined.
Mark sighed. “Did he leave you for a younger woman or because you’re broke?”
Her face whitened. “Both. I made some bad investments and the money’s all gone. He found someone new.”
Well, well. Chickens were roosting tonight.
Although she deserved it, he pitied his ex-wife and didn’t want to hurt her. In fact, he didn’t feel anything for her now. Loving Emma had taken the sting of the divorce away. Yet, he hated the thought that Denise would use him to get more.
“I suggest you stay with your mother until you can find yourself a job. If you want to see Angie, we can arrange that at a more reasonable time of day.”
“A job?”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “You might find it fun and fulfilling to work.”
“But I’ve never worked before. What can I do?” Her eyes widened, as if she had something stuck on the bottom of her expensive shoes.
“Maybe you could go to beauty school and learn to be a hairdresser,” he suggested. “You’ve always liked the salons.”
“I like fixing my own hair, not other people’s.”
“Daddy?”
Angie came into the room wearing her slippers and the shorts he had put her to bed in. She stood in the doorway, blinking her eyes as if she could hardly keep them open.
“Daddy, I don’t feel good. Can I have a drink of water?”
“Oh, Angie,” Denise huffed, and waved the child off. “Can’t you see your Dad and I are having an important conversation?”
“Sure, honey, let me get you a drink.” Mark smiled to cover Denise’s rebuke and went to the kitchen for a cup. Denise followed, shifting her weight on the granite floor of the dining room.
Cold and hard as her heart.
Mark took the cup back to Angie, with Denise hot on his heels. Angie slumped against the wall.
“Are you okay, honey?” he asked.
Denise snorted. “Angie, go back to bed now.”
“Don’t speak to my daughter that way,” Mark snapped.
He picked Angie up, cradling her against his chest. She closed her eyes. He’d never seen her so tired before.
Mark carried her to her room and put her back in bed. He used the upstairs phone to call a cab. Twenty minutes later he carried Denise’s suitcases outside. She had no option but to follow. He held the door for her while she slid inside the car, her back stiff with anger. Without a word, he closed the car door, then gave the cabdriver the address to her mother’s house and a twenty-dollar bill.
As the car pulled away from the curb and turned the corner, he couldn’t help think about Angie crying for her mother. Her tears haunted him and niggling doubt ate at the corners of his mind.
What if becoming Angie’s stepmom proved too much for Emma? She’d already lost her own son. What if he married her and she abandoned them, just like Denise? It would be too much. He and Angie couldn’t stand another heartache like that.
Neither could Emma.
Chapter Nineteen
At precisely eleven o’clock the next morning, Emma lifted a homemade deep-dish apple pie from her oven and set it to cool on the countertop. She smiled at the bubbly juice and golden crust baked to perfection. Mark and Angie were going to love it with vanilla ice cream.
Her phone rang and she wiped her hands on a dish towel before answering the call.
“Hello?”
A long pause followed.
“Um, hi, Emma.” Mark’s voice sounded tired and strained.
“Well, hi, stranger. I hope you’ve got the barbecue fired up, because I’ve got a fierce appetite for chicken today.”
“Uh, yeah, that’s why I’m calling, Emma. I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to cancel. Something unavoidable came up.”
Knots of disappointment tightened in Emma’s stomach. “Nothing serious, I hope.”
His deep sigh rasped through the receiver. “Nothing for you to worry about. Just a personal matter I need to deal with.”
“I unders
tand. What about dinner tomorrow night?”
Another long pause. “No, I can’t. I’m…I’m buried with work. I’m sorry, but I think it’d be best if we don’t see each other for a while.”
His words crushed her heart. She licked her lips as the ramifications spilled over her in crashing waves. “Mark, I don’t understand. What’s going on?”
“Nothing for you to worry about. I’m sorry, Emma. It’s just that…I think with Angie’s illness and everything going on at work, it would be best for all of us if I don’t complicate matters with a new relationship right now.”
Emma held her breath. Beads of perspiration broke out on her forehead and the back of her neck. He was breaking up with her and she didn’t know why. “That’s it? You don’t want to complicate your life with me?”
She tried to stop it, but her voice sounded harsh with frustration and hurt. Her heart pounded in her ears. She could hardly believe he would do this without a more logical explanation. And over the phone, no less.
“No, it’s not like that, Emma. You’ve been great. It’s just that—I don’t want to hurt you any more. I think you’ve been through enough.”
“Hurt me? Like you’re hurting me now?”
The silence on the phone sounded deafening.
“Look, Mark, if you’re getting cold feet, we can slow things down. I never meant to be pushy.”
“No, you haven’t pushed me to do anything I didn’t want to. I just need to concentrate on Angie right now. I can’t explain it better than that. Please, try to understand.”
She blinked hot tears from her eyes. “But I thought we were working to get Angie better.”
He didn’t respond right away. When he did, she heard the tension in his voice. He sounded agitated and harried. “I’m sorry, Emma. Look, I’ve got to go. You take care of yourself, okay?”
Like he really cared.
“Yeah, thanks for the call, Mark. Give Angie my love.” Bitterness laced every word.
“I will. I’m sorry, Emma. Goodbye.”
He hung up. She stood frozen, pressing the receiver against her cheek until the dial tone buzzed in her ear.
She finally hung up the phone. She turned and stumbled before she gripped the back of a chair to steady herself. Her gaze swept the room, seeing everything as if she were in a tunnel. Torn with confusion, she tried to comprehend what had just happened. Why would Mark break up with her so suddenly over the phone? It didn’t make sense.
She stared at the warm pie. Without thinking, she picked it up and carried it to the garbage can, her steps stiff with anger. She lifted the lid and dropped it inside where it landed with a loud thump. As she dusted off her hands, she ignored the tears streaming down her face.
For the second time in her life, Emma had lost the man she loved. She felt just like that abandoned pie. Its fluted edges carefully molded and teased before being discarded in the trash and forgotten.
It wouldn’t happen a third time. She had learned her lesson. She was an educated woman, strong and independent. Mark Williams would never use her again.
Mark didn’t call. Emma stayed by the phone all day, hoping this was a terrible mistake and he would tell her he didn’t mean it and set things straight. Something had caused him to break up with her, but she couldn’t think what it might be.
She thought about going over to his house, to demand a better explanation, but decided against it. He needed time to sort it out. Pressuring him wouldn’t help.
By early evening Emma picked up the telephone receiver, aching to hear his voice again.
She dropped the receiver into its cradle. Mark would have to call her. She deserved that much respect. He had to make the next move. But deep inside, she knew something was terribly wrong.
Emma tidied her kitchen to keep busy. It didn’t help much. She missed Mark’s deep laughter and Angie’s sweet hugs. It was her own fault she had allowed them to get under her skin, giving them the power to hurt her. She had known better than to open her heart. And yet, if she hadn’t done so, she might never have recognized how wrong she was to abandon God.
What a fool to let Mark kiss her. To believe she meant anything to him.
She dashed angry tears from her cheeks, then jerked a tissue from the box sitting next to the couch and blew her nose.
Be calm. All is well.
The words echoed in her heart and left her confused, yet she knew it did no good fretting over something out of her control.
The phone rang and Emma jumped. Expectation thrummed through her body. Sitting up on the sofa, she swallowed, not daring to hope it was Mark. Her hand shook as she picked up the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Emma. It’s Sonja. How are you tonight?”
Disappointment lodged in Emma’s throat. “I’m fine, Sonja. What’s up?”
“Well, I was at the hospital visiting an old friend and I saw Mark Williams there.”
Emma’s spine stiffened. “What? Mark was at the hospital?”
“Yes. They rushed Angie into emergency surgery this afternoon. Apparently she hemorrhaged on the entire right side of her head.”
“What?” Emma covered her face with one hand. “Is she all right?”
Sonja’s sigh filtered through the receiver. “I think so, but Mark looked pretty shaken up. Angie had just gotten out of surgery when I saw him. He hadn’t been allowed to see her yet, so I don’t know what the prognosis is.”
“Did he say what caused the hemorrhage?” Emma’s voice sounded unusually shrill and she gripped the phone to steady herself.
“No, he didn’t say. He seemed distracted and in a big hurry to see Angie, so I didn’t detain him. I know you’ve become quite attached to them, so I thought I’d let you know.”
Attached? That was putting it mildly. Emma loved them dearly. If anything happened to Angie—
Her chest tightened. She wanted to wail and scream. This wasn’t fair. Not now. Not after everything else Angie had been through.
Why hadn’t Mark told her?
“Thanks for calling to tell me, Sonja. I’ve got to get down there to check on them.”
“Okay, Emma. I won’t keep you any longer. Would you call me later tonight to let me know how Angie’s doing? I think our entire office is worried about that little girl. We’ve all become attached to her.”
“Yeah, sure. I’ll call later.” Emma spoke absentmindedly, her thoughts consumed with getting to the hospital. A hemorrhage of this type was highly unusual.
She hung up the phone, then dashed for her purse and car keys. What a dope she had been to believe Mark’s pathetic explanation about why they shouldn’t see each other anymore. Angie had gone into emergency surgery and Mark hadn’t told her. That was a hard slap in the face, yet Emma understood his reticence. She had to get to Mark, to look him in the eye and tell him—
She froze.
Tell him what? That she could go through this again with him and Angie? That she didn’t mind pacing the floor of the hospital and wringing her hands with anguish, her heart tearing to shreds when she got the fatal news?
Her entire body trembled. It would be more than difficult for her to go into the pediatric ward of the hospital. She hadn’t been there since the night Brian—
She didn’t want to go. She wanted to stay home, where she wouldn’t feel bereft and helpless. It was safe here. No worry, no fears.
No love.
Maybe Mark had been right not to tell her the truth, after all. She couldn’t go. She just couldn’t.
Chapter Twenty
Mark eased his head back against the lumpy recliner and closed his weary eyes. A clipboard and several insurance forms lay sprawled across his lap. More paperwork. At this point, he ought to have a Masters degree in medical procedures.
He blew out a breath. As he rested his hands on top of the papers, they made a crackling noise. The intensive care unit looked dark, except for a single lamp resting on a table beside Angie’s bed. The smell of antiseptic and ammonia p
ermeated the air and he wrinkled his nose.
What time was it?
Opening his eyes, he peered through the dark at his wristwatch. Almost eleven o’clock. Where had this day gone?
He squinted at the fine print on the documents and tried to scratch out another response on the form. It was no use. He was exhausted, emotionally and physically. He longed to call Emma, to ask her to come be with him, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. She’d been through so much pain. She had shared her deepest feelings about her son’s death and he couldn’t ask her to go through that again with him and Angie. It had broken his heart to call and tell Emma he didn’t want to see her anymore, but he made the sacrifice thinking it best for her.
He tossed the pen aside and glanced about the expansive room Angie shared with four other patients. Each of the beds had a white sliding curtain pulled between them, to offer a bit of privacy. The curtains hung like ghoulish ghosts hovering in the dark.
Yesterday, the Make-A-Wish barbecue had been wonderful. Then, he had kissed Emma good-night and confided that he wanted to be more than friends. He meant it, but now—
Angie lay sleeping beside him, flat on her back, hooked up to four IVs and a brain drain. Her bald head was stained with orange antiseptic and stitches.
Oh, baby, look what they’ve done to you this time.
He’d been a fool to think he could involve Emma in this. Reaching out, he stroked Angie’s arm, his fingers evading the tangle of tubes.
“Don’t worry, bug.” He spoke in a trembling whisper. “We can recover from this. Your hair will grow back. It’s going to be okay.”
Though Angie slept, he needed to hear the words. To give himself strength. He hadn’t been able to speak with the neurosurgeon since he’d come out of the operating room to say Angie was stable. But what about tomorrow, and the next day after that?
Please, Father, please don’t take her from me. I’ve already lost Emma. I can’t lose them both.
Angie’s eyes fluttered open and she blinked. “Daddy?”