The woman rose and extended a hand across the polished surface of her desk. “Thank you for speaking with me, Mr. Bell,” she said. “Would you have time to take a tour of the hospital?”
James did his best to hide his relief. Would she bother with that if she wasn't seriously considering him? “Certainly,” he said. “Children's has a wonderful reputation. I’d love to see it in action.”
The personnel director smiled. “And we love showing our facility off, believe me.” She beckoned to him to follow, and James realized to his astonishment that she intended to conduct the tour herself. “Children's cares for more pediatric patients than any other hospital in Illinois outside of Chicago. We offer five key areas of service, including neonatal and pediatric ICUs, pediatric surgery, hematology and oncology, and our congenital heart center….”
An hour later, James was invited to lunch with one of the nurses from the heart center. The work sounded fascinating; and he was engrossed in the conversation until he realized that if he didn't leave soon, he’d be late picking the boys up from their summer activities. After thanking the nurse for her time, he made his way back to the parking lot in a daze. That certainly had gone as well as he ever could have dreamed.
His cell phone rang as he slid behind the wheel of his vehicle and he answered it before putting on his seat belt.
“Hi, honey.” It was Fern's voice. “I’ve been dying to hear how your interview went.”
“I’m sure you have been. Believe it or not, I’ve been at the hospital all this time. I had the interview, took a tour and then had lunch with one of the nurses.” He went on to give her a brief overview. “I’ll tell you more when I get home,” he promised.
“But it went well?” she persisted.
“I would have to say I think it went very well,” he told her. “But I’m not going to get excited yet. I’m sure they’re interviewing lots of qualified candidates.”
Fern laughed in a shaky voice. “I’m glad it went well, but it's really beginning to sink in that we could be moving if you get this job.”
“I know.” He glanced at his watch. “Look at it this way. We wouldn't have to do any remodeling. We could find a house with a master bedroom on the main floor right off the bat.”
“There is that,” she agreed, although she didn't sound exceptionally enthusiastic.
“I’m going to get on the road now,” he told her. “I’ll see you after I pick up the boys.”
“Drive carefully. I love you.”
“I will. Love you too. ’Bye.”
As he drove home, his euphoria faded. It was nice to feel that he’d done a good job with the interview. But the bottom line was that he didn't want to move. Peoria was a city of more than a hundred thousand people. The boys might find it very difficult to adjust after growing up in Deerford's small, close-knit community. And he’d be taking Fern far away from her family and all the others who helped and loved her…and then there was Hope Haven.
He loved his work. He loved the setting, the people, the special relationships he’d developed with Anabelle, Elena and Candace. It would be very difficult to tear himself away from them; they had become his own little support network of a sort.
But support network or not, he didn't think he would mention this interview. If he was offered the job—or some other one—there would be time enough to break the news. Still, the whole topic took up a great deal of his mental energy as he worried it back and forth. He couldn't speak frankly to Fern about how sad and upset he felt; it would devastate her. She already hated not being able to work, and he feared she would see it as her fault for not contributing to the family coffers.
On the day of Robin's surgery, Candace stayed with her throughout her pre-op. The surgery was scheduled for eleven. Andrew held Robin's hand until they got to the doors beyond which only staff was allowed; and the couple exchanged a hasty, whispered conversation.
Then Robin held out a hand for her. “Candace, would you pray with us?”
Touched beyond measure, Candace stepped forward and grasped both their free hands as Andrew uttered a brief prayer for Robin's and their baby's safety and a successful surgery. Then she continued to clasp Robin's hand as they went into the OR suite, leaving Andrew standing forlornly in the hallway.
Candace rarely spent much time in the operating room. When there were scheduled cesarean sections, the OR and pediatric nurses were usually involved. Only in emergency sections, which often were completed in the small emergency OR right there in the Birthing Unit, did she attend surgeries. She held Robin's hand at her request until the young woman was anesthetized, then she stepped back out of the way.
“Candace, you want to watch what we’re doing here?” the surgeon asked her. “After all, this little lady is your patient too.”
Her eyes widened above her surgical mask. “I’d love to,” she said.
The doctor's eyes crinkled. “Then elbow your way in here.”
The surgery was quick, as surgeries went, and within an hour Robin was in the recovery room. While she still was out, Candace walked over to the surgical waiting room on the third floor.
Andrew, his parents, Robin's parents, and an assortment of other people greeted her eagerly. Andrew had tears in his eyes as she quickly reassured him that the lumpectomy had gone well and no secondary spread appeared to have occurred, although they would be doing lymph node biopsies to be sure.
By the time Robin fought her way out from under the anesthesia, Candace was back at her side. After a few minutes of disorientation, Robin's eyes managed to focus on Candace's face as she leaned over the gurney on which her young friend lay.
Robin reached out and clamped her fingers around Candace's wrist with surprising strength. “My baby?” she whispered.
Candace smiled. “Your baby's fine,” she said. “Just fine. And so are you.”
“No problems?”
“No.” Candace shook her head. “The surgery went very well. The lump was contained and there didn't appear to be any secondary involvement.”
“Thank heavens,” Robin said before her eyes closed again and her grip on Candace's arm relaxed.
An hour after that, Robin was installed in a room in the Intensive Care Unit. It wasn't usual for women to be admitted for a lumpectomy; the procedure normally was outpatient surgery. But given Robin's advanced pregnancy, it had been deemed wise to keep her under close observation and keep her close to the Birthing Unit, just in case.
When Candace walked into the room later that day, Robin burst into tears.
“You can't cry now,” Candace said, going to her side and drawing her in for a hug. “It's over and everything's fine.”
“I feel a hundred pounds lighter,” Robin said, pulling back and drawing a tissue from a box on the bedside tray table. “I guess I didn't realize the extent to which this whole ordeal was preying on my mind.”
“You should feel much better now,” Candace confirmed.
“Now I just have to get healed before this baby comes.” Robin's smile faded a little. “Did the doctor say anything to you about follow-up treatment?”
Candace shook her head. “Has he been in to speak to you since the surgery?”
Robin nodded. “As soon as the baby is born, he wants me to have radiation treatments and then a short course of chemo.”
Candace looked around. “Where's Andrew?”
“He went to get some coffee,” Robin said. “I want him to go home tonight though. I’ll be fine.”
The women chatted for a bit longer. When Andrew returned, Candace rose to take her leave.
“Candace?”
She paused in the doorway and looked back. “Yes?”
“I know you said everything was fine, but…you don't think there's any chance this hurt the baby, do you?”
Candace shook her head. “No, I don’t. If anything was going to go wrong, it already would have happened. You could have gone into pre-term labor. But you didn’t, and your body seems to have handled the anes
thesia and the surgery very well. In a few short weeks, you’ll be holding him or her in your arms.”
“But I won't be able to breast-feed,” Robin said sorrowfully.
“True. But the ability and opportunity to breast-feed has nothing to do with your parenting, or with the bond you and your baby share. Many mothers who don't breast-feed have wonderful relationships with their infants.”
Robin sighed. “I know. I guess it's just a dream I’ll have to let go of.”
“Think about all the years you and your child will have together,” Candace suggested. “You have given yourself the very best chance to live a long and healthy life.”
Anabelle did not work on Saturday. She buzzed around the house all morning, catching up on laundry, vacuuming, cleaning the kitchen and bathrooms, watering her plants and sweeping out the barn.
Shortly before lunchtime, she stopped and changed into clean khaki slacks and a chocolate blouse nearly the same color as her eyes. She took a picnic basket from her pantry and loaded a chicken casserole she’d baked and cooled into it, then stacked a divider atop it before adding a pie made of sour cherries from one of their fruit trees. It was her daughter Kirstie's favorite type of pie.
Humming “Abide with Me” softly to herself, Anabelle climbed into her little Ford and set off for Kirstie's. Her daughter would love the surprise meal.
It was a glorious summer day with temperatures in the upper seventies and a pleasant breeze. The drive from the farm to Kirstie's new apartment took less than ten minutes.
Parking along the quiet street in front of the brick building, Anabelle hefted the heavy basket and walked along the sidewalk, up several steps to Kirstie's apartment door. Knocking firmly, she braced the basket against her hip as she waited.
In moments, she heard her daughter's familiar tread. Although Kirstie walked so well that many people who didn't know about the accident never realized she had an artificial limb, she had a very slight limp and favored her right leg just the tiniest bit. To Anabelle, it was as clear as glass. When she was away from Kirstie for any reason and first saw her again, she always had to stifle an urge to cry over the injustice of the injury sustained by her beautiful child.
When the door opened, Anabelle was wiping away a tear.
“Mother! What are you doing here?” Kirstie looked more surprised than pleased to find her mother on her doorstep, and she didn't immediately invite her in.
“I brought you a meal. And a pie,” Anabelle said, smiling warmly. She held out the picnic basket. “What are you up to this fine day?”
“I’m grading summer-school tests,” Kirstie said, finally stepping back. “I can only take a short break.”
Anabelle laughed, although she was disappointed she wouldn't be able to share lunch with her daughter. “I can take a hint. I won't keep you.” When Kirstie didn't protest, Anabelle felt her smile wobble around the edges.
Kirstie led the way into the kitchen, where she had a laptop set up and papers spread out over the surface of the table. Anabelle stopped in consternation as she came into the room. There was a man at the other end of Kirstie's table. A husky, blond young man with vivid blue eyes who also had work spread everywhere and looked quite comfortable.
“Mother,” Kirstie said, “this is Mark Holcher. He teaches at the high school.”
The man had already risen, and Anabelle noted his neat appearance, with a navy sport shirt that emphasized broad shoulders tucked into his belted chinos. He extended a hand. “Hello, Mrs. Scott,” he said. “It's nice to meet you. Kirstie's spoken of you often.”
Kirstie had spoken of her? Anabelle barely stopped herself from blurting out, She hasn't mentioned you at all. “It's nice to meet you too,” she said.
“Let me take that basket for you.”
Anabelle let him slide the basket from her arm and carry it to the counter, too surprised to speak further. After he’d deposited the basket, he resumed his seat.
Kirstie had gone to the basket and lifted out the pie. “Oh, thanks, Mother,” she said as she stored it and the casserole in the refrigerator. “You know I adore your cherry pie.” To Mark, she added, “Wait until you try it. Your taste buds will sit up and beg for more.” From that, Anabelle inferred he would be sharing at least one meal with her daughter.
Mark laughed. “Kirstie tells me you’re a great cook, Mrs. Scott.”
“Call me Anabelle,” she said automatically. She summoned a smile. “Are you from the area, Mark?”
The young man shook his head. “No, I grew up in Traverse City.” Seeing her blank look, he elaborated. “It's in Northern Lower Michigan—the top part of the mitten that sticks up into Lake Michigan.” He held up his right hand and pointed to the tip of his ringfinger. “I got my teaching degree from the University of Illinois, though, and Deerford was the first job offer I got.” He smiled across the room at Kirstie. “This is a wonderful little town.”
Anabelle watched her daughter smile back at the other teacher. She felt distinctly like a third wheel. The silence that fell was obviously awkward.
“Well,” she said briskly. “I’ll just be getting along. I have a million things to do at home.” She bustled across the kitchen and picked up her empty basket, then wheeled and hurried toward the front door. “It was nice to meet you, Mark,” she tossed over her shoulder.
“Thanks for thinking of me, Mother,” Kirstie said from behind her. She hastened to Anabelle's side and caught her elbow, slowing her down long enough to kiss her on the cheek.
Anabelle grabbed Kirstie in a tight hug that lasted only a moment. Releasing her daughter, she opened the door and started down the walk. “Good luck with your grading,” she said without looking back. “I’ll see you at church tomorrow.”
“See you at church,” Kirstie echoed.
Anabelle jammed her hand into the pocket of her pants, searching for her keys. She wrenched open the driver's door of the car and threw the basket inside as her breath hitched, and she suppressed a sob. The interior of the car already had heated uncomfortably in the summer warmth, and by the time she’d fumbled the proper key into the ignition and rolled down her window, she couldn't pull out of her parking spot because she couldn't see through her tears well enough to drive.
Holding onto the wheel, she leaned her forehead against the hot vinyl as tears rolled down her cheeks. She knew she was being ridiculous. Kirstie was twenty-three years old. An adult in the eyes of the world.
But she was Anabelle's baby girl, and she’d nearly lost her once. Now that Kirstie had moved out and obviously was enjoying her independence, Anabelle felt as if she was losing her child all over again.
Why hadn't her daughter said anything about Mark Holcher? They couldn't have been dating long; she couldn't possibly know him well. Had she even told him about her leg? How long would she have waited to tell her family about him if her mother hadn't stopped by unannounced? Anabelle felt almost betrayed, in a way, even though a part of her recognized that her feelings were less than rational at the moment.
Rummaging through her handbag, she pulled out a tissue and wiped her eyes, then blew her nose and took a deep breath. Turning on the car, she put it in gear and drove out of town again.
Chapter Eighteen
CANDACE WAS ENJOYING A RARE, LOW-KEY MOMENT at the nurses’ station with her three friends. It was a gray, rainy day outside; and it appeared that everyone had decided it was a good day to not get ill or have a baby.
“More good news,” Elena told the rest of them. “Our network of volunteers has placed brochures for the bricks all over town, and the first of the three interview articles will be in the paper later this week. Would you believe we already are beginning to get our first donations from outside the hospital staff?”
“That's great news.” James pumped a fist, and Candace had the whimsical thought that Elena was usually the one doing the cheering.
“Yes, it is,” Elena agreed. “And there's more. A bunch of kids from the high school are doing their own fund-
raiser to donate a brick in memory of the vice-principal who passed away last year. They already have over two thousand dollars!”
All three of the others made sounds of surprise. “People are really embracing this, aren't they?” Candace said.
“They are.” Elena paused and looked around. “If the campaign is successful, it will keep the four of us here together.”
Candace looked around dubiously. “Well, not exactly right here—”
The others all laughed, and she blushed, unaccustomed to the role of clown.
The elevator at the far end of the central hall dinged, and the doors slid open. Marge Matthews stepped out. She was carrying an envelope which she extended to Elena. “A girl I didn't know in Reception asked me to give you this. She said you’d know what to do with it.”
“Another donation. I’m taking it straight to Zane.” Elena waved the envelope and then did a little dance right there in the hallway. Dashing toward the elevator, she called over her shoulder, “See you later.”
“See you,” James said. He too started toward the far end of the hall.
A nurse who had grabbed the ringing receiver said, “Candace, phone. It's a patient in labor.”
“Thanks.” As Candace went toward the phone, she saw Anabelle pick up the second telephone at the desk. Candace turned away, speaking calmly to the agitated patient. Then, after the woman agreed that it was time to call her doctor and let him know she was in labor, Candace pulled up an intake form and accessed the preregistration file.
Anabelle ended her call and dialed another. She looked upset, but Candace didn't want to intrude. Eavesdropping, however, was another matter. It was practically impossible not to in the confined space behind the desk.
“Cam,” Anabelle said, “you might as well save that roast for another night. Kirstie can't come for dinner.”
While she went on with her conversation, Candace did her best to concentrate on the monitor before her.
Finally, Anabelle hung up the phone. She sighed, drawing Candace's attention again. “I assumed Kirstie was coming over for dinner tonight, but she's going out with a couple of other teachers. And when I suggested to Cam that maybe we could drive over and check on her later tonight, he practically yelled at me.”
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