by Irene Hannon
Setting aside the file containing his notes, Marci began browsing the Net. In short order, she located several additional resources for seniors that sounded worthy of investigation, and she found some interesting articles about new programs sprouting up around the country designed around the philosophy of keeping older citizens in their homes.
She’d filled several pages with scribbled ideas and Web sites that merited further exploration when the receptionist appeared in the doorway of the small office.
“Sorry to interrupt. I wanted to let you know we’ll be closing at one. I thought you might need a few minutes to wrap up.”
Marci checked her watch. Where had the past three hours gone? “Thanks. I’m about done, anyway. Would you like me to shut down the computer?”
“I’ll take care of it. And don’t feel you have to rush. Dr. Morgan still has a patient in the waiting room. You’ve got a few more minutes.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
Left alone again, Marci jotted some notes about an innovative time-bank idea, then tapped the sheets into a pile, slung her purse over her shoulder and picked up Christopher’s file.
The receptionist was back at her desk when Marci emerged. The woman looked up as she approached, smiling as she gestured to the file. “It’s a great idea, isn’t it?”
Uncertain how much Christopher had shared with his office staff, Marci erred on the side of caution in her response. “Yes. It could help a lot of people.”
“My own grandmother, for one. She’s seventy-nine and has lived in the same house since she got married fifty-eight years ago. But it’s getting to be too much for her to manage. I know she’d—”
A baby’s wail pierced the air from the direction of the waiting room just as one of the examining-room doors opened. A smock-clad nurse with salt-and-pepper hair stepped into the hall, closing the door behind her.
“I take it Mrs. Anderson is here.” She grinned at the receptionist as she approached.
“With brood in tow.” The woman rolled her eyes.
Walking to the door, the nurse ushered in a young mother who was bouncing the screaming baby. The toddler clinging to her skirt gave the adults in the office a wary inspection.
“Let’s get your weight.” The nurse doubled her volume to be heard above the howling baby and indicated the scale in the hall near the reception desk.
The diaper bag began to slip off the mother’s shoulder, and she tried to shrug it back into place as the baby gave another piercing wail. Spotting Marci, she homed in on her.
“Would you mind holding my baby while I get weighed?” She flashed her a flustered grin. “I don’t need the extra fourteen pounds.”
Before Marci could protest, she placed the flailing infant in her arms.
As the squirming little body settled against her chest, Marci stared down at the scrunched-up face.
And tried to breathe.
“Here, let me take that stuff.” The receptionist stood and leaned over the desk, tugging Christopher’s file and Marci’s notes from her hand. “Isn’t she a cutie?” She reached over and touched the baby’s nose, but the infant slapped her hand away.
“I see she has a temper to go with those red curls.” The woman chuckled.
“Danny, let go of Mommy’s skirt. She has to get on the scale.” The mother was still trying to disengage from her toddler, Marci noted in desperation.
Though her arms felt stiff, she instinctively began to bounce the screaming infant.
“This baby is one of Dr. Morgan’s special children,” the receptionist commented as she rested her arms on the counter and regarded the little bundle.
Marci’s throat tightened at the pleasurable feeling of the tiny warm body against her chest. “What do you mean?”
“He’s very active in the pro-life movement. Mrs. Anderson couldn’t have any more children after Danny, but she wanted another baby. Dr. Morgan has connections with Birthright in Boston, and he helped arrange an adoption.”
Marci’s stomach clenched, and she felt a film of sweat break out on her upper lip.
“Now that’s amazing. You must have the touch.”
At the receptionist’s comment, Marci gave her a blank look.
The woman gestured to the child in her arms. “Peace reigns once again.”
The room had gone silent, Marci realized as she looked down. The infant was staring up at her with big blue eyes, one fist jammed in her mouth. With the other hand, she grabbed a handful of Marci’s T-shirt and hiccupped.
As Marci focused on the diminutive fist, tears formed in her eyes. Each finger was so tiny, yet so perfect.
Just like—
A door opened down the hall, and a white-coated Christopher joined the small group gathered by the receptionist’s desk.
Struggling to breathe in the suddenly airless room, Marci moved toward him. “I have to go.” She pushed the baby against his chest.
He frowned, but to her relief he automatically lifted his arms. Once she knew the baby was secure, she turned away and rushed to the door, fumbling with the knob.
“Marci, wait a second. What’s the—”
She didn’t wait to hear the rest of Christopher’s question. Pushing through the door, she dashed across the empty waiting room and practically ran to her car.
As she fitted the key into the ignition, she could only imagine the reaction of the adults she’d left behind. They probably thought her behavior was bizarre.
But it wasn’t. Not if you knew the reason behind it.
Only two people were privy to that secret, however.
And Marci had no intention of revealing it to anyone else.
As Christopher approached ’Sconset, he eased back on the accelerator. He’d intended to visit Henry again after finishing at the office. But Marci’s hasty departure—and distraught expression—had changed his plans.
Although he’d probed, his receptionist had been unable to offer any clues about what had upset her. In fact, she’d said they’d had a pleasant exchange only a few minutes before.
Yet something had unnerved her.
He didn’t know if she’d followed through on her plan to go to Henry’s once she finished at his office. But he had a feeling she might have. His neighbor’s garden would give her a nice, quiet place to think through whatever had upset her.
As he pulled onto Henry’s street, he spotted her car parked near the arbor in the older man’s backyard. Good. His hunch had been right.
Easing the car to a stop in front of his cottage, he entered through the front door and strode toward his tiny kitchenette. From the window, he could see Marci attacking the weeds next door with a vengeance. As if she was still distressed—or angry.
Although she sidestepped most personal questions with practiced ease, he intended to do his best to find out what was bothering her. Because he wanted to help, if he could. That’s what you did for friends. Especially friends who were beginning to become much more.
Five minutes later, after exchanging his work clothes for jeans and a T-shirt, he picked up the elder-assistance file and the notes she’d left in his office. Exiting through the back door, he approached the white picket fence that separated the two yards and sent a silent prayer heavenward.
Lord, give me the words that will reach her heart.
Pausing at the fence, he drew in a steadying breath. “Could you use some help?”
At his question, Marci swung toward him, hoe frozen mid-strike.
“I thought you said you were going to do rounds after office hours?”
“I changed my mind. I’m filling in for half a shift in the E.R. tonight, so I’ll visit patients before that.” He waved the file and papers at her. “You left these behind.”
A soft blush crept over her cheeks as she set the hoe aside and approached him.
“Sorry.” She reached across the fence to take them.
He tightened his grip as she tugged. “Before I hand these over, do you want to tell me what happened back at the
office?”
She retracted her hand and tucked it in her pocket. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean.”
Moistening her lips, she lifted one shoulder and adopted a nonchalance too deliberate to be authentic. “I was still thinking about the encounter with Henry’s daughter.”
He didn’t buy that. She was hiding something. But maybe if he could put her at ease, she’d drop a few clues.
Passing over the material, he vaulted the fence. Marci’s eyes widened, and she immediately took several steps back.
“Patricia can do that to a person. I had to bite my tongue more than once while she and I and Henry discussed his recuperation plans.”
“How did he take the news about going to the assisted-living place?”
“Not well. I hope when we talk one-on-one he’ll realize it’s for the best in the short-term.”
“Good luck.”
“Yeah. So…” He scanned the yard. “Tell me where you could use an extra pair of hands.”
Depositing her notes and the file on the rocking chair in the corner of the porch, she sent him a wary look. “You seriously want to help in the garden?”
“Sure. It’s too nice a day to waste indoors.”
Skepticism narrowed her eyes. “Do you know how to tell weeds and flowers apart?”
“I think so. With a little coaching.”
“Okay. I’m working on that section this afternoon.” She gestured to the long expanse by the fence on the far side of the yard.
“Lead the way.”
He followed, enjoying the way her springy blond curls bounced when she walked. The view of her trim figure wasn’t too shabby, either. And he liked the way long hours in the sun had brought out a few freckles on her porcelain complexion. Just a mere sprinkling across the bridge of her nose.
“Well?”
Christopher came out of his reverie and realized she’d asked him a question.
“Sorry. I was, uh, thinking about how sunny it is. With your fair skin, you should be wearing a hat.”
“I use a lot of sunscreen.” She pointed to a section of the garden. “Do you want to start here?”
“Yeah. That’s fine.”
“If you have any questions, just ask. I don’t want you pulling up half of Henry’s flowers.”
She moved a few feet down, dropped to her knees, and dove into the soil again.
Following her example, Christopher got up close and personal with the garden. Not until then did he realize just how overgrown it was.
“Wow. This is a mess.”
“Tell me about it.”
He started yanking out weeds. “Are you sorry you took on the challenge?”
“No. I’ve never liked neglected gardens. They make me sad, for some reason. It feels good to give the flowers an environment where they can thrive and bloom.”
“You’re making great progress.” A quick glance around the garden showed she was three-fourths of the way through.
“It’s coming along. I want it to be done when Henry comes home.” She shoved her hair back from her face, leaving an endearing streak of dirt on her cheek. “I was impressed with your elder-assistance plan, by the way.”
“It needs a lot of work.”
“You’ve laid a good foundation, though. And you’ve identified a lot of potential supporters and resources. I like the idea of a talent-exchange registry. It would offer services not available through existing programs like meals-on-wheels and the island shuttle service.”
He gently extricated a daisy from a tangle of greenery and began pulling up the weeds that were choking it. “It seems to have potential. But it’s not a new concept. Bartering has been around for ages. This just formalizes it a little. For example, Henry taught English for years. He could easily help someone polish their résumé, or review a college-application essay, or help draft a grant for a local nonprofit organization. They, in turn, could paint his house. Or weed his garden. Or run errands.”
“Building on that idea, I read about some groups that are also doing time banks, where seniors help each other,” Marci said. “For every hour they help someone else—whether it’s caring for a pet, grocery shopping, changing light bulbs, raking leaves, you name it—they bank hours they can redeem for help when they need it.”
He looked over at her. She’d stopped pulling weeds, and her eyes were sparkling with enthusiasm.
She was the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen.
“What I like best about those kinds of approaches is that no one feels like they’re relying on charity or taking advantage of someone else, you know?” She sat back on her heels, her expression earnest. “We could even pull in young people. Maybe for each half hour they volunteer, they could earn points redeemable for merchandise or movies or food donated by area businesses. Plus, I think interaction between seniors and young people would be a good thing. Older folks have a lot to offer.”
“That all sounds great, Marci. But coordinating it is a huge time commitment. That’s why it’s never gotten off the ground.”
She surveyed the garden. “I’ll have this done in another few days. I could at least get the ball rolling while I’m lining up resources for Henry. That is, if you’d like me to. It’s your program.”
“The idea may have started with me, but it needs someone to take it forward. The way things are going, I’m never going to have the time to make it a reality.”
“Okay.” She went back to work. “I’ll start by getting in touch with some of the contacts you listed. Any suggestions on who to talk to first?”
“Reverend Kaizer at my church would be good. I mentioned the idea to him months ago, and he was very supportive. Plus, he’s well-connected on the island. He could put you in touch with a lot of people who might be willing to help get this thing launched. I could introduce you to him if you’d like to join me for services tomorrow.”
In his peripheral vision, he saw her freeze for an instant before she resumed tugging at a stubborn weed. “I’m not a churchgoer. God and I have never communicated much.”
At her poignant tone, Christopher sent her a speculative look. “It sounds like you wish that would change.”
She rubbed her palms on her jeans, leaving streaks of dirt on the fabric. “Sometimes. J.C. finds great solace in his faith. Even my other brother, who was never very interested in religion, has embraced the whole concept. But I’m not sure.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and kept her face averted. “Let’s just say I’m not exactly a role model for Christianity.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Believe it.”
He thought about pushing, but had learned to recognize that firm set of her jaw as a sign to back off.
“Well, no matter why you believe that, I can promise that you’d be welcome at services. And it would give you a chance to meet Reverend Kaiser.”
There was silence for a few moments as she dug in the fertile earth.
“I’ll think about it, okay?”
“Sure.” At least she hadn’t refused outright. “Is this ferny stuff a flower?”
She crawled closer to inspect it. Close enough for him to get a whiff of her sweet scent. Close enough to feel the warmth emanating from her body. Close enough to find himself fighting the impulse to lift his hand and touch those golden curls.
“That’s an astilbe. They get colored plumes later in the summer. Or so Henry tells me.”
She crawled back and resumed her work.
For the next hour, they spoke little. Christopher tried a couple of times to start another conversation, but Marci didn’t cooperate. At last, after checking his watch, he rose.
“I need to have some dinner and take care of a few things before I head back to town.”
She stood as well, brushing off the knees of her jeans. “I’m about to wrap up for the day, too.”
After they stored the garden tools in Henry’s shed, Marci went to retrieve her purse and the file and notes from the
chair on the porch.
“I’m going to go home and change.” She dug in her purse and withdrew her keys. “Would you tell Henry I’ll stop by later?”
“Sure. Let me give you my cell number. You can call and let me know what you decide about church. I’ll have my phone with me in the E.R.”
Once more she opened her purse, rummaging for a pen and paper. As he recited the number, she jotted it down. “Okay. Thanks for helping.”
“No problem.” He looked over the fence at the back of Henry’s property, where grass gave way to sand and the sea sparkled in the sun. “It was nice to have an excuse to spend time outside on such a beautiful day.”
And with such a beautiful woman, he added in silence when he turned back to find a winsome smile tugging at Marci’s lips as she, too, admired the view.
“Yeah. This spot feels like a little piece of heaven.”
Only one thing could make it better, Christopher thought as he regarded Marci in the golden afternoon light.
“Well, I better be off. See you later.” With a wave, she headed for the gate.
A couple of minutes later, he heard her car pull away from the cottage. And as the sound receded into the distance, leaving quiet in its wake, only the pounding of the surf, and of his pulse, disturbed the tranquility around—and inside—him.
Chapter Nine
This was a mistake.
As Marci flipped through the small closet in her cottage, trying to decide what to wear to church, she was having serious second thoughts about agreeing to attend. She didn’t belong in a house of God.
On the other hand, she did want to meet the minister. Christopher had said the man was enthusiastic about the elder-assistance idea, and if she was going to pull anything together in the short time she had left on the island, she needed a lot of help. And the sooner the better.
The Lord would just have to put up with her for one day.
Pulling a beige skirt and a cotton madras blouse off their hangars, she tossed them on the bed as a knock sounded at the door.
Her pulse took a leap, and she checked her watch. Christopher was twenty minutes early. And she wasn’t anywhere close to ready!
“Marci?” Another, more persistent knock. “You there?”