“Was it worse than you expected?” Lauren asked. “I read that cancer in the heart is extremely rare.”
“That’s true. Normally sarcomas are a primary tumor, but that’s not what the pathology presented on Michael’s tissue.” Jeb shook his head. “There is so much we don’t know about the human body, about cancer, etcetera. For now, all that matters for you is that the tumor was successfully excised; hurdle number one has been accomplished.”
Lauren exhaled, slightly light-headed from hearing the news and the sudden release of tension that Michael had survived. At least the tumor was out and it seemed the immediate danger it posed had passed. “When can I see him?”
“Right away, but only for a few minutes,” Jeb instructed. “I want you to go home and rest. We’ve all been running on adrenaline, and in my case way too much coffee. Michael will be out of it for several hours, so you have no reason not to go home and sleep.”
“Mrs. Donahue, Michael has a very aggressive, grade-three type of cancer,” Alan said, violating an agreement made earlier with Jeb that they would not put any more on Lauren than she already had, to wait for the complete pathology reports to come back. He ignored the annoyed look in Jeb’s eyes that came and went nearly imperceptibly, and continued. “I’m afraid removing the tumor is only the first step, and we’re going to have to move expediently. We’ll need to utilize every therapy medical science has to offer, it’s the only thing that saves lives.”
Lauren ruffled at the doctor’s comment, her eyes darkening and turning nearly black in disapproval. Her spirit prodded silently, What about God? Before she could say anything, Jeb interrupted.
“We’ll discuss all of this tomorrow,” Jeb calmly reassured Lauren, and there was no hint in his voice or demeanor that his colleague’s remarks had fazed him. “By then, all the test results should be in and we’ll have an accurate picture of what’s ahead and how we’re going to treat it. We’ll map out the best strategy for Michael, one that will give him the utmost chance for a complete recovery. There’s good reason to be hopeful, Lauren, so don’t lose heart.”
Alan shot an annoyed glance at Jeb, pursed his thin lips, but remained silent.
Lauren nodded before facing Alan. She was grateful he had come from Boston to operate on Michael. “Thank you so much, Doctor Springfield, for coming. I’m sure your skills played an enormous part in the success of the surgery,” she said. She was physically and mentally exhausted and didn’t want to deal with more than was necessary at the moment. “Michael and I both trust Doctor Hastings implicitly. If he says we can wait until tomorrow to discuss it, I hope you’ll understand that is what I want to do.” She managed a weary smile. “There isn’t a part of me, including my brain, that isn’t ready to drop.”
“It was not my intention to overstep Doctor Hastings’,” Alan countered rather stiffly, reacting as if he had been rebuked. He was unused to playing second fiddle to other doctors, preferred retaining absolute control over everything he was involved in, and having things his way, without question. In Boston, he knew that the nurses often rolled their eyes at his high opinion of himself—but they were simply nurses—and their opinions did not concern him. Despite his attempt to appear unaffected, his sudden pout betrayed him.
The celebrated Doctor Springfield’s attitude did not go unnoticed by Lauren, only unchallenged. Undaunted, she simply smiled and said, “No apology is necessary. It has been a long, rough ride for me, and I don’t think I can process anything else today. I’m grateful to God for bringing my son through the surgery, and for your part it in as well.”
“Michael’s in recovery. You can see him whenever you’re ready,” Jeb said with a smile on his weary face. “He’s a fighter, Lauren. He came through better than I thought he would. Treatment decisions will be made soon enough. For now, go be with your son, then get out of here until tomorrow…doctor’s orders.”
Lauren laughed. “Yes sir,” she quipped with a mock salute as she gathered up her purse and coat.
***
Bernie was tired, and now that all of his phone messages had been returned, he was all set to go home. He had been fascinated as he watched Doctor Springfield operate and interact with Jeb, who never missed a beat and anticipated Springfield’s every move, and Bernie was proud of him. They worked well together and Bernie wasn’t certain whether Michael Donahue would still be with them had it not been for their combined efforts in the OR. As expected everyone on the surgical team had performed flawlessly, but that was what made Brannan’s Point Pediatric such a well-known, respected institution.
A knock on the door startled Bernie. “Yes?” he called out. He figured it was Jeb, stopping by to let him know he was on his way home.
The door opened and Kevin Browne stepped into his office. “And what can I do for you?” Bernie asked pleasantly, a genuine but tired smile on his face. He had become rather fond of Brownie, he fascinated him. “Thank you for being around today. Michael obviously trusts you. I gather that he knows your, uh, little secret?”
“Yes, Michael knows and I was happy to be there for him. I’m glad I caught you before you left,” Brownie said, holding something Bernie could not see behind his back.
Bernie tried unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn and frowned. “It’s not the same as it once was, you know, and it’s not getting better, either. Every time I put my key in the lock, I expect to see her face. She isn’t there, of course, and it’s like losing her all over again.” He ran a hand across his face as if to wipe away the weariness, the sadness and the years, all in one felled swoop.
Brownie placed a newspaper on Bernie’s desk. “I think you’ll find something interesting on page twelve. What you do with it is up to you. I suspect you might be too tired tonight to deal with reading the paper, so just remember, page twelve.”
Bernie rubbed at his tired, smarting eyes as he looked at Brownie who was still dressed in scrubs. A strange sensation, like gooseflesh, washed over him. He stared at the newspaper and wondered what it could possibly contain to prompt an angel to see that he had a copy of it. “Page twelve?”
Brownie nodded. “It’s been a long day and I won’t keep you,” he said quietly before he turned and left the room, closing the door noiselessly behind him.
“C’mon old man, it’s just a newspaper. How bad could it be if Brownie brought it to me?” He wagged his head and scolded himself. “That’s enough of being afraid of the unknown!” With that Bernie picked up the paper, aware that his hands shook ever so slightly, which further unnerved him. “Okay, page twelve, what do you have for me?” The newspaper rustled as he turned to the page. He saw it immediately:
The Rabbi Seth Bernstein from Spring Hill, Florida will be speaking tomorrow night at His Holy Assembly Church in Piqua. Rabbi Bernstein, a Messianic Jew and popular Bible scholar, has been invited by Pastor George Maropolis to be a special guest speaker at the midweek celebration service.
A black-and-white picture of Seth was just to the right of the notice and it was as if Bernie was looking at himself some thirty-odd years ago. He swallowed hard against the flood of emotion rushing through him, threatening to overwhelm him. Their last encounter had ended in an ugly, venomous fight that destroyed what was left of their relationship, and broke his mother’s heart. Isabel had physically come between them to break up the fight and encouraged them both to cool down, to try to mend their differences.
“Like father, like son,” Bernie mused. Instead of sniffing back the tears he felt misting in his eyes, he allowed them to pool, then stream freely down his weathered cheeks. He recalled the squabble, Seth’s accusations that Bernie lived like a godless man whom had failed to embrace his Jewish heritage, to go to Temple or celebrate the Holy Days. At the time, Seth had embraced Orthodox Judaism and had even chastised his gentile mother, whom he adored, for her Christian beliefs and practices.
Bernie shook his head. Obviously something had happened; the article claimed that Rabbi Seth Bernstein was a Messianic Jew. He wondered what ha
d caused his son to change his immovable convictions.
There was a sudden, familiar golden glow in the room and Bernie looked up to find Brownie materializing before him in his original teddy bear form. “I’m sorry if this has upset you,” Brownie apologized as he sat on the edge of Bernie’s desk. “But even you admit that you’re a stubborn man. I wanted you to know Seth is in town.”
Bernie grabbed a tissue from his desk drawer and hurriedly wiped his face. He had set foot inside a church only once, and that was for his wife’s funeral. Because he loved Isabel, he had honored her wishes for a Christian funeral service. Pastor Maropolis had kindly helped him through it and personally performed the moving ceremony.
“There’s bad blood between my son and me,” Bernie explained as if that might make a difference to Brownie. “For all I know, he won’t want to see me even if I do go, and I’m not saying I will, mind you.” He was suddenly cold, as if a window had been opened somewhere and allowed frigid, winter air to fall on him from an unknown, unseen source and cast a chill on his hands and fingers. “I’ll be honest, if I go into that church I’m afraid that all I will see is the memory of Isabel’s flower-draped casket in front of the altar.”
Brownie nodded sympathetically. “Yes, I know it will be very difficult for you to do, but it could also open the door to a new relationship with your son. The choice is yours, and only yours; and you’re the only one who knows whether or not it’s worth it. Don’t let fear of something that might or might not happen cloud what your heart tells you. I just want you to know that Seth is in town. If he doesn’t make the first move, then perhaps you will. He’s both Isabel’s and your flesh and blood.” A sheepish grin spread across his face. “Besides, if you two don’t make amends, how will you ever know your grandchild?”
“My grandchild? Did you say grandchild?”
“Yes, I said grandchild!” Brownie chuckled. “Bernie, you have a granddaughter named Isabella. She’s beyond adorable!”
Bernie sighed as the last of his energy, and perhaps his resistance, drained from him like a deflating balloon. He leaned back in his chair and felt exhausted, weak, and flat as a splattered cartoon character. “Why are you doing this to me?”
“Because God loves you, because it is your wife’s greatest desire that the two men she loves most in the world be reconciled. Can’t that be reason enough, Bernie?”
With that Brownie disappeared in a mist of gold, leaving Bernie with much to think about.
***
Marcus stood in the entryway of the living room, still as a statue, afraid if he moved that the scene before him would be disturbed before he had his fill of it. The sight was so precious that it brought tears to his eyes and took his breath away. There on the sofa, sound asleep, cuddled together beneath a large afghan, were Morgan and Angela. Curled up on the arm of the couch near Morgan’s head lay Lovebug, snoozing inimitably as only a feline could. The glow from the fireplace cast a golden light on his sleeping wife and daughter, and Marcus sought to etch the timeless moment in his permanent memory. Any remaining despair and frustration over the events of the last year vanished as Marcus savored the sight of his sleeping wife and daughter. Angela was home, and despite suffering a miscarriage, Morgan was already bouncing back and bonding with Angela as if they’d never been apart. Marcus believed he would once more have his wife back; the Morgan he knew before a diagnosis of leukemia tore their lives apart.
An incredible feeling of warmth and the overwhelming sense of love flowed around Marcus like an embrace. He did something he hadn’t done in a very long time. Bowing his head and closing his eyes, he thanked God for the scene before him. Marcus quietly made his way through the room to the couch where he knelt down on the floor. His knee creaked and the sound caused Morgan’s eyes to flutter open.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Marcus whispered and planted a kiss on her forehead, breathing in the sweet, perfumed scent of her shampoo, of her.
“It’s okay,” Morgan whispered. She smiled contentedly as Lovebug pressed his nose against her hair, purring loudly. She looked up at Marcus and it struck her with overwhelming force just how much she loved him, how her heart fluttered at the nearness of him. She knew the brunt of the blame for the problems between them lie with her.
Angela snuggled closer to her mother, but did not awaken. Marcus touched his fingers to her silky blonde curls, the smoothness of her cheek. My little girl is home, he thought. “You’ve got your wish, Angela,” he whispered. “You knew you would somehow, the way a child just believes in the seemingly impossible.”
“What wish was that?” Morgan asked softly.
Marcus smiled. “Seeing Mommy’s smile for Christmas, remember?”
“Yes, I do now.” Feeling ashamed, she looked at Marcus. The realization made her feel like a selfish, hideous monster—pretty on the outside but so ugly inside. “Of all the things she could possibly have, she wanted to see me smile.”
“How are you feeling, Love? Has the cramping stopped?”
“Yes, I’m just a little tired. I’m sure I’ll be back to normal in a few days.”
Lovebug got up from the arm of the couch; he stretched and climbed up over the back of it, then moved onto Morgan’s side. He curled himself into the familiar feline ball posture before he looked up at Marcus and meowed.
Marcus laughed and petted the top of Lovebug’s furry head. “Welcome home, Lovebug. I’m glad you’re home too.”
“I’ll admit it, Lovebug, I missed you too,” Morgan mused. She smiled up at her husband, her heart and soul at peace. “We’ve received a blessed gift this year, Marcus. Angela is healthy and we’re all together again. We’re going to have a very special Christmas.”
Marcus thought so too, and was working on a surprise for his wife. It had been a long time since she had seen her family; it seemed like the perfect opportunity to bring them to Ohio for the holidays.
***
“So, where’s a jumpin’ place in this burg? Or is there one?” Alan Springfield, his dark-blond hair still damp from his shower, asked as he waited for Jeb to put on his coat. “Not much here that I saw anyway on my way from the airport. How did you end up in Brannan’s Point? Why not Cinci, or Cleveland?”
Jeb shrugged. He was tempted to simply tell Alan that he wasn’t up to it tonight, not even for dinner. He was exhausted and longed to climb into bed and hold his wife in his arms, where he would almost instantly fall asleep.
“I like it here. If I wanted Cinci or Cleveland, or LA, or Tampa, or wherever, that’s where I would be.” He yawned. “Alan, I’m not in the mood for any ‘jumpin’ places,” he said softly. “I don’t ‘jump’ anymore. If you’d like to go somewhere to grab something to eat and to talk a bit, I think I can handle that without falling asleep, but then I’m heading home.” He rubbed his forehead against the warning twinges of an impending headache. “Man, I’m beat! It’s been a rough couple of days without sleep.”
Alan rolled his eyes. “Aw, you’ve turned into an old fart, Hastings!” he admonished. “What kind of leash does Kenni have you on?”
“Oh, here we go.” Jeb frowned. He knew at one point during Alan’s visit it would come to what he called ‘the inquisition.’ “I live as I want to, a quiet life with my wife, who just happens to be my favorite person and best friend in the universe, and we’re having a baby next year. With my faith in God, and the love of the most beautiful, wonderful woman in the world, I have more than I could ever ask for.”
“I’m starving.” Alan changed the subject. “If the most I can get out of you is a hamburger, let’s do it.”
“I know a good place,” he said as they reached the door to his office. He shut off the light and closed it behind them. “Just follow me,” he told Alan as he locked the door.
***
Kenni yawned and put down the Karen Kingsbury novel she was reading about the unsure future of an orphaned little boy. She looked longingly at the empty space beside her in the bed. She had expected Jeb home
long ago. He had called to let her know he was going to grab something to eat with Alan who was flying back to Boston in the morning.
“Men.” Kenni leaned back against the headboard and yawned once more. She rolled her neck from side-to-side, easing a kink that had developed while she was reading. She frowned at the thought of Alan, someone she did not trust. Jeb and Alan had been close friends at one time and she understood why they would want to spend some time together, especially since he was only in town for one night. However, she had never forgotten his attempt to fix Jeb up with another girl just before they became engaged.
Many years had passed since then. Alan went on to marry the daughter of a well-connected, Baltimore family, to make his fame and fortune in Boston at the top of the east coast’s medical elite. They exchanged Christmas cards each year and the Springfields always included pictures of their vintage cars, their object d’art and other outward symbols of their monetary success. Compared to the Springfields, Jeb and Kenni lived unpretentiously, but they also had a healthy savings account, a modest stock portfolio and a lovely, mortgage-free home.
Kenni looked at the clock, frowned, and picked up the phone on the night table. She dialed Jeb’s cell phone and was surprised when the call went to his voice mail, something so unusual and disturbing to her that startled, she hung up without leaving a message. Recovering, Kenni dialed the number again, and once more got voice mail. This time she left him a message to call her.
As the moments passed with no response from Jeb, Kenni alternated between feeling angry with him because he was not home, and fears that something had happened to him.
Kenni dialed Jeb’s direct office number but there wasn’t an answer there, either. “Where are you, Jeb Hastings?”
Chapter 16
BROWNIE: An Angel's Visit Page 22