by Leigh Bale
“Please take me to see Emma.”
“I’ve already told you no,” he answered gently.
Angie opened her mouth again and Mark placed his fingers against her lips. “No more arguing, young lady. Go to sleep. I’m doing what I think is best for all of us.”
Bending down, he tried to kiss her forehead, but she jerked a blanket over her head. Though she was a child, her rejection cut him deep.
He hugged her instead, finding her body stiff and unyielding. Regardless, she felt good to him, so warm, so alive. He’d made the right choice. By staying away from Emma, he protected all of them from being hurt any more than necessary.
Doubt crowded his mind, but he pushed it aside. No matter what, he would never stop loving Emma. He carried her in his heart and knew he’d never let her go.
Mark stood and walked to the door where he turned off the light. “I love you, Angie.”
“I love you, too, Dad. And I love Emma.” Angie’s muffled whisper reached across the darkened room.
“I know, honey. I miss her, too.”
The confession broke through his defenses and he walked out before he said something else he might regret. Though he had admitted to himself that he loved Emma, he hadn’t spoken the words out loud. As long as he didn’t vocalize his feelings, he could keep them from being true.
Or could he?
In the kitchen, he put the milk away and loaded the dishwasher. His gaze drifted over to the telephone. Before he knew what he was doing, he lifted the receiver and dialed Emma’s number, then hung up before it rang. It felt like years since he’d seen her.
Was she still attending the Make-A-Wish advisory meetings? Because of Angie’s latest recovery and the long drives to receive her treatments at U.C.S.F., Mark didn’t have time to attend the meetings anymore. He missed the association with the Make-A-Wish people. Maybe he should resign. It would be difficult working with Emma without telling her he loved her and wanted her near.
Shaking his head, he tried to get her out of his mind. In the family room, he found the remote control and slouched on the couch as he switched on the television. He scanned channels, looking for something to take his mind off Dr. Emma Shields.
It was no use. The sound of her voice, her laugh and the scent of her hair filled his mind.
He flipped off the TV. Maybe he should go to bed, but he didn’t have the energy to walk up the stairs. Numbing sadness encased his entire being.
He closed his eyes and leaned his head back. The vision of her lovely face swam before him, the slight dimple in her right cheek when she gave him a stunning smile. No matter what he did, she was there, inside his heart.
He snorted. “Ah, come on!”
Impatient, he shot off the couch and went upstairs to his bedroom, then got ready for bed in the dark. It was late and he had to get Angie up early so they could drive to San Francisco.
Busying himself with tidying up the bathroom, he refused to think of Emma. He was successful—for about thirty seconds.
Before he got into bed, he fell to his knees in his nightly ritual of prayer. This time, no words would come. He felt empty inside, hollow and all alone.
Why do you want Emma out of your life? Don’t push her away. You and Angie need her.
The words filled his mind.
“Heavenly Father, I can’t ask her to go through this struggle with Angie. It wouldn’t be fair.”
Emma is stronger than you think.
“But I don’t want Angie hurt, either. Emma is a distraction that keeps me from focusing on Angie’s needs.”
A distraction that keeps you from loving and being hurt again?
“Yes!”
Mark groaned. He was talking to himself. But, the spirit whispered the truth. He feared being hurt again.
He clasped his hands as he pressed his forehead against the mattress. When he first married Denise, he thought he loved her. Later, after Angie was born, he knew he loved her. She was his wife and the mother of his child, after all.
And she had never returned that sentiment. He meant nothing more to her than a sugar daddy, someone to give her a great lifestyle. He couldn’t fault her. In the beginning, he’d sought the same things. But somehow, his feelings had changed over time.
When Denise left, it nearly destroyed him. Angie provided a needed distraction from the pain of the divorce. Loving Emma reminded him of all he had lost and all he could lose again.
He had sent Emma away, treading on her feelings as brutally as a bulldozer. Because he was frightened of what she made him feel. Frightened of being hurt again. He had preached to Emma about the healing power of forgiveness and God’s love, yet he couldn’t bring himself to practice those same principles.
What a hypocrite.
Shame heated his face when he realized what he had done. Shaking his head, he climbed onto the bed and lay on top of the covers. He welcomed the breeze from the open window, but it did little to cool his humiliation.
“What have I done?” he whispered to the night. “And how can I ever repair the damage?”
He closed his eyes. A vision of Emma smiling flooded his mind and he tossed and turned most of the night.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The next day Angie wouldn’t eat breakfast. Or lunch. Even the Marinol didn’t help this time.
They had just come from her chemo injection and Mark blamed that. Deep inside, he knew better. Angie missed Emma.
So did he.
Sitting in the hospital cafeteria, he tried to get her to eat something before they went to their one o’clock MRI appointment. He had put EMLA Cream on her arm where they would administer the dye, but it didn’t seem to matter. Two needle pokes in one day wasn’t fun no matter how much the ELMA Cream dulled the pain.
Angie didn’t even pick up her turkey-and-cheese sandwich. She stared out the wide windows of the cafeteria, watching people walk by, ignoring the hum of chatter and the clinking of dishes.
Glancing at his own tuna sandwich, Mark couldn’t blame her. He didn’t have much of an appetite, either. And yet, if he couldn’t get her to eat, she’d lose more weight and—
“You’re not hungry?” he asked, forcing himself to take a bite and chew.
Angie shook her head. Over the last month, it seemed they had both lost their zest for life. Angie’s eyes no longer sparkled and she rarely found a reason to laugh.
Not since the day of the barbecue.
I’m losing Angie. She’s wasting away right before my eyes.
All things considered, she was alive and doing fine, but she didn’t care anymore. She had quit trying. And that scared him most of all.
“Come on, let’s go get your MRI over with.” Mark stacked their plates on a tray and carried them over to the dishwasher conveyer belt.
Angie followed, her head hung low as she took his hand and followed him down the expansive hallway.
Inside the diagnostic center, Mark helped Angie remove her bracelet. Because of the magnetic force, she couldn’t wear anything with metal during her MRI.
“You ready?” Bill, their technician, asked in a cheerful tone.
Angie nodded and followed Bill into the MRI room. The deafening whoosh of the machine hurt Angie’s ears and Bill helped her put plugs in.
Once they prepped Angie for her MRI, she laid flat on her back and a nurse administered the dye. Angie clasped Mark’s hand, tears brimming her eyes.
“I wish Emma were here.” She spoke in a quivering voice, her face ashen. “It never hurts as much when Emma’s here.”
A lump rose in Mark’s throat and he tried to swallow. While he was falling head-over-heels in love with Emma Shields, his little daughter had done the same thing. He shouldn’t be surprised.
Bill slid Angie into the tubelike machine. Angie was so used to it by now that she never got claustrophobic or moved around in the confined space. If she did, they’d have to poke her with another needle to administer a sedative, which provided great incentive to lie very still.
“Okay, Mr. Williams, if you’ll come outside with me, we can start the scan.”
Mark followed Bill into the observation room, then stared over the technician’s shoulder at the computer screen. Layer upon layer, Bill scanned Angie’s brain. Mark didn’t feel optimistic as his gaze searched the screen and found the hazy white spot of the brain tumor. It looked smaller, but he couldn’t be sure.
“Can you tell if the tumor has shrunk?” Mark asked, unable to contain the anxiousness in his tone.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Williams,” Bill answered, “but I really need to let your neurosurgeon look at the scans. He’ll give you his report.”
Mark sighed as he stared at Bill’s poker face. Lawsuits were too prevalent and, even though the technician saw hundreds of these scans every week, Bill would never speak out of turn and render a verdict. An hour later, Mark and Angie sat in Dr. Meacham’s office, waiting for him to review the scans and offer his opinion. Mark squeezed his clammy hands together, wishing the doctor would hurry up.
Several times, Dr. Meacham measured the scans with a ruler, comparing the current set of scans with the ones they had taken each month over the past six months.
“Incredible,” Dr. Meacham murmured under his breath as he squinted at the scans illuminated in the lighted trays hanging on the wall.
“What do you see?” Tingles of hope coursed through Mark’s arms and legs, and he felt Angie shift restlessly by his side. She was anxious for good news, too.
Dr. Meacham faced Mark, his expression one of utter disbelief. “It’s a miracle, Mark. I’ve been practicing medicine for years, and I have never seen this much shrinkage for this type of brain tumor. Never!”
“What?” Mark shot out of his chair and came to stand next to the doctor in front of the wall.
Angie scooted forward onto the edge of her chair, her eyes wide and sparkling.
“Show me,” Mark demanded. His gaze skipped across the myriad scans.
“See here?” Dr. Meacham pointed at a white spot on several separate scans. “That’s the tumor.” Then, he held up the ruler and measured before he pointed at another scan. “This is the MRI taken last month.”
The doctor moved the ruler to measure the tumor. “This is the same view of today’s scan. Since we started Angie’s chemo protocol, the tumor has shrunken approximately fifty-five percent. The most we expected by the end of Angie’s protocol was twenty percent. It’s amazing, Mark, but this shows a fifty-five percent shrinkage. Angie’s tumor is in remission. Obviously the protocol we have her on is working very well, and you owe it all to Dr. Shields.”
“Dr. Shields?” Mark’s mouth dropped open.
“Yes, she called to confer with me about five months ago when it appeared Angie’s current protocol wasn’t affecting the tumor. Dr. Shields suggested a new combination of drugs. At first, I was skeptical, but then I thought it over. I wouldn’t have approved the change if I didn’t believe it would work. I’m sure glad I agreed. I have no doubt the Tumor Board will be happy to hear about this breakthrough.”
Emma had done this? Because of Emma, Angie’s tumor was in remission.
Joy trembled in Mark’s chest and he laughed out loud. “Whoopee!”
He reached for Angie, pulling her into his arms, hugging her tight as he whirled her about the room. “Did you hear that, Angie-babe? The tumor has shrunk fifty-five percent. The most Dr. Meacham has ever seen!”
“That’s over half, Dad.” Angie’s happy giggle sent a shiver of delight over him.
“Yes, my smart girl. Over half gone.” Mark kissed his daughter’s cheek.
Dr. Meacham grinned as he dropped the ruler into the pocket of his white jacket. “Well, you have good reason to celebrate. We need to be cautious, but this is tremendous news.”
“We have to tell Emma. Can we take the scans to her office and show her today?” Angie’s eyes sparkled.
It had been so long since Mark had seen his daughter this happy. One long, harrowing month since he had felt like laughing. Yet, his feelings were a riot of unease. What if Angie took a turn for the worse? “Uh, it will be quite late by the time we drive back to Reno, honey.”
“Well, if you see Dr. Shields, tell her I said hello.” Dr. Meacham started pulling the scans out of the lighted trays and placing them in their envelope. “I knew when I referred you to Dr. Shields she’d be good for you two.”
“What do you mean?” An uneasy feeling settled in Mark’s stomach.
“I went to med school with Emma and I know how hard her son’s death was on her. She quit taking pediatric patients because of it. For some reason, I felt strongly that I should refer you to her for Angie’s oncology, though I’m not certain why.” Dr. Meacham shook his head.
Doubt clouded Mark’s mind. In the beginning, he had been so certain God had led him to Emma, to help Angie. Could there be more to it than that? Maybe Emma had needed him as much as he and Angie had needed her. Yet, Mark had pushed her away just when they had come to realize how much they meant to one another.
Just when he had fallen in love with her.
Larry stepped toward the door. “I’m going to get back to work. I know you have a long trip ahead of you. Don’t forget to stop along the way and celebrate.”
“Thank you, Dr. Meacham.” Mark shook the doctor’s hand. “Thanks for everything.”
Emma took a deep, steadying breath as she walked toward the front reception counter of her medical office. Thank goodness she was finished for the day. She couldn’t concentrate. Instead of focusing on what her patients were saying, she found herself thinking about Mark and Angie, wondering how they were doing, hoping Angie was getting better.
Emma longed to call Mark. She wished she dared make homemade cookies and take them over to their house. It wouldn’t be proper.
He didn’t want her.
Standing at the reception counter, Emma jotted notes on the last patient’s file for the day. Darcy sat at the counter with Tom leaning over the top as they tried to clarify a delivery of blood samples before they left for the evening.
Emma prepared to enter her office where she planned to make a few phone calls and complete a mountain of paperwork before she went home to her lonely apartment.
Tomorrow, she had a Make-A-Wish meeting. They were planning a new fund-raiser, with her as team leader.
Sunday, she had church. Because she played the piano, they had asked her to begin directing the children at singing time and the possibilities excited her. Her congregation had welcomed her with open arms, eager to involve her.
Extracurricular activities now filled her life. She was having a blast, and yet a part of her remained vacant because she missed Mark and Angie. She didn’t feel whole. She hoped she would get over them sometime soon, but doubted it. Love wasn’t something she could turn on and off that easily.
“Dr. Shields?”
Emma glanced at Sonja. “Yes?”
Sonja inclined her head toward the outer door of the reception room. “I think you have a visitor.”
Emma glanced that way and her mouth dropped open.
“Angie!”
Angie Williams stood in the reception room, holding a large bouquet of red long-stemmed roses. Emma almost fell over.
The little girl stared at Emma, dimples showing on her smiling face.
“Hi, Angie,” Sonja greeted the girl. “We’ve sure missed you. How are you doing, kiddo?”
“Fine, thanks.” Angie smiled at Sonja before her gaze returned to Emma.
“Who are the flowers for?” Sonja asked, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
“They’re for Emma.” Angie walked toward the doctor.
For me?
Emma could hardly believe it. The room spun around her and she tried to focus.
Angie thrust the flowers at her and Emma held them dumbly, her hands shaking. “These are for you, Emma, for taking such good care of me. Won’t you forgive Dad for being stupid and come home with us? We miss you.”
; Kids had such a simple way of looking at things. They always spoke their minds.
A lead weight settled in Emma’s chest. She knelt and hugged Angie, crushing the fragrant roses between them. “Oh, Angie, there’s nothing to forgive.”
Emma could feel Angie’s little hands clutching her shoulders, squeezing tight. It felt so good to hold this child, to see her, hear her, touch her once more.
“I love my mom, but I want you to be my mom, too, Emma,” Angie whispered. “Come home with us, please.”
Questions raced through Emma’s mind. What about Mark? Her heart plummeted. She wanted to be with Mark and Angie more than anything, but Mark didn’t—
They drew apart, just a bit. Emma wiped her eyes as she gazed at Angie. “Are you here alone? Where’s your father?”
A movement at the doorway caught her eye and she looked up. Mark leaned against the threshold, dressed impeccably in a dark double-breasted suit. His slicked-back sand-colored hair framed a charming smile gracing his masculine face. His gaze locked with hers as he sauntered toward her with fluid grace. She was vaguely aware of her staff members standing by the counter, watching in silence. Every one of them wore a cheesy grin.
Tremors of delight spiraled through her. Just seeing him again lit up her soul like the Fourth of July.
Taking Emma’s hands in his, Mark helped her stand and Angie backed away, grinning. Emma stared in disbelief, forcing herself to take a breath.
“Tell her about the tumor, Dad,” Angie whispered loudly.
Emma glanced between them. “What’s going on?”
He shook his head, his eyes filled with amazement. “You didn’t tell me you spoke to Dr. Meacham five months ago about changing Angie’s chemo protocol.”
“Well, I didn’t think—”
He gave a throaty laugh. “It worked, Emma. The tumor has shrunk by over fifty-five percent.”
“What?” She laughed, too, hardly able to believe it.