by Tamara Leigh
“New, I suppose?”
I jerk my chin in his grip. “Uh-huh.”
He sighs then releases me.
Whew! I declare, the man has electricity in his veins and not of the static variety that only makes one jerk. Oh no—the killing kind.
“Part of your self-improvement plan?”
Heat flushes my skin. “Uh-huh.” Yikes! What’s happened to my speech?
“Do you have cleaning solution with you?”
“Uh-huh.”
Words, Kate! Put forth a little effort!
Despite the irritation, I open my eyes wide. “I came straight from the optometrist.”
“Then I suggest you duck into the restroom and take care of your problem before you visit Jessica.”
“Good idea.” I start to turn away only to realize I have no idea where I’m going. “Where’s the nearest restroom?”
I glimpse a tolerant smile before I blink and squeeze again. Then to my surprise, he takes my elbow and leads me down the hall. “Here.” He releases me.
“Thanks.” I grope for the handle, step inside, and close the door.
Five minutes later, I glare at the contacts where they float in solution. Having decided a mere cleansing is too good for them—even if I have to make do with fuzzy edges—I twist the caps closed and drop the case in my bag.
Though I know I won’t like what I see, I look in the mirror and recoil at my blurred image. My eyes are so red. As for makeup—which took too long to apply after a long day on the new project—much of the mascara has gone south.
I grab a paper towel, moisten it, and gently wipe at the rings beneath my eyes. Unfortunately, gentle doesn’t cut it. Thus, I rub at the delicate skin, grateful Michael isn’t here to scold me.
Once I’m satisfied that I no longer resemble a raccoon, I fluff my hair, which is in pretty good shape despite my reservations about my ability to duplicate the “look” Michael’s assistant gave me. Did Dr. Alexander notice?
Not that I care. I don’t!
I step back from the mirror, but as I turn, I catch sight of my tie-dyed shirt and relaxed-fit jeans. Not exactly how I would have chosen for Dr. Alexander to see me again. I really need to update my ward—
Aargh! I don’t care what he thinks.
I wrench open the door and step into the hall, which, thankfully, is empty.
Shortly, the nurse who asked me to wait outside ushers me into Jessica’s room, and I’m once more grateful for Dr. Alexander’s absence.
I look to the little girl and am surprised not only to find her sitting up in bed, but that her eyes are bright and lips bowed. Other than the bandages covering the right side of her face, she hardly looks different from yesterday.
“Miss Kate, you came!”
I glance at her parents, who are in chairs pulled close to their daughter’s bed. Mom smiles, and once the surprise passes from Dad’s face, so does he.
“Of course I came.” I cross to the bed and lower my bag to the floor.
Jessica captures my fingers in her small hand. “Thank you.”
My heart tugs, but rather than fight the emotion, I turn my hand up and give her fingers a squeeze. “How are you feeling?”
“Good. Dr. Alexander says the operation went well. I might even go home Sunday. Did you pray for me, Miss Kate?”
“You bet I did.”
She looks to her parents. “Told you she would.”
Her mother meets my gaze. “Thank you for coming.”
“Oh, Miss Kate! Dr. Alexander told us you’re an artist.”
“Did he?”
“Yes. He said you’re going to paint the new burn unit.”
Grateful for the muscles that prevent my eyes from popping from their sockets, I croak, “Dr. Alexander told you that?”
“Uh-huh. He thinks you’re great.”
Great? I momentarily forget my outrage. “He does?”
“Oh yes! His eyes change when he talks about you.”
“Really?”
“Uh-huh. He told us all about your Amazon wall.”
Oh. My art. It’s my art he thinks is great. My art that makes his eyes change. Not me. Which is exactly as it should be. I am not interested in Dr. Alexander. Michael Palmier is plenty man for me. Well … maybe.
Jessica gives a little bounce. “Dr. Alexander said the trees look like you could climb them and the animals like you could pet them.”
Whether she realizes it, the little mite is calming my roiling. But that doesn’t mean Dr. Alexander isn’t going to hear about this. How dare he tell her I accepted the job!
“So how are you going to paint it, Miss Kate?”
“Hmm?” I blink at Jessica, and her enthusiasm once more causes me to forget my outrage. “I was thinking something on the theme of the world, with children of every nation represented.”
The unbandaged portion of her forehead furrows, then she claps her hands. “The dome! It’s perfect! And since I’ll be coming to the hospital a lot, I’ll get to see the world grow bigger and bigger!”
She has vision, and I’m pleased—until I realize I’ve confirmed my acceptance of the job.
Dr. Alexander, you rat!
Jessica and I visit another ten minutes, during which her mother opens up, and her father makes a comment here and there. When the nurse announces it’s time for dinner, I take that as my cue to leave.
Jessica’s mother rises from her chair. “Thank you for coming, Miss Meadows. It means a lot to Jessica.” She glances at her husband. “And us.”
After exchanging phone numbers with Jessica, I slip out.
Now a-hunting we will go …
I approach the receptionist who stands guard over the doctors’ offices; however, before I can ask the whereabouts of one Dr. Clive Alexander, the woman says, “Ms. Meadows?”
“Uh, yes.”
She sweeps a hand toward the hallway on the left. “Go on back.”
He knew! But of course he did. “Thank you.”
I traverse the hallway with steps so jerky my chest bounces, placing further stress on my back.
Unhh! Maybe Michael knows a good plastic surgeon who specializes in breast reduction.
As I round the corner, I falter at the sight of Dr. Alexander standing in the doorway of his office, a shoulder against the frame. “You’re angry.”
I halt before him, reach to my specs, and freeze. Grateful I didn’t poke myself in the eye, I do the U-turn thing with my finger and jab the air between us. “You misled that little girl.”
His eyebrows rise.
“Don’t you raise your eyebrows at me! You told Jessica I accepted the job!”
He considers my accusatory finger. “I thought it might help get you off center.”
“Off center! We talked yesterday. And agreed I would call you by the beginning of next week. Next week!”
He opens his mouth, only to close it when the tread of feet warns that we’re no longer alone.
“Clive,” a gravelly voice says.
I glance over my shoulder into weathered eyes beneath bushy white eyebrows.
“Adam,” Dr. Alexander stiffly acknowledges.
The stout man, whose badge on his white coat identifies him as Dr. Adam MacPhail, gives me a nod, then looks at Dr. Alexander. “When you have a few minutes, I’d like to speak with you about the matter we discussed yesterday.”
A muscle jerks in Dr. Alexander’s jaw. “I didn’t realize there was anything left to discuss.”
The older man claps the younger on the shoulder. “You know me better than that, Clive. This afternoon, then.”
I glance from Dr. MacPhail to Dr. Alexander and wonder what the “matter” is.
Stop it, Kate! As Eve proved to humanity’s regret, curiosity leads to downfall.
“This afternoon,” Dr. Alexander begrudges.
“Good.” Dr. MacPhail gives me another nod, then continues down the hallway.
I raise my eyebrows, to which Dr. Alexander responds by gesturing me to ente
r his office.
I frown. “You sure? Your boss seemed a bit—”
“He’s not my boss.”
“Oh?”
“Ms. Meadows, if you’d like to discuss the burn unit, now would be a good time.”
And that’s when I remember my reason for hunting him down—to confront him over his dirty, rotten, underhanded tactics.
Jerking my bag higher on my shoulder, I step past him. A moment later, he settles into the chair beside the one I take, and it’s all I can do not to demand that he take his proper place behind the desk.
Leaning forward, he rests his forearms on his thighs. “I owe you an apology.”
I peer at him through narrowed lids. He doesn’t look apologetic. “Then you wouldn’t do it again?”
“I would if that’s what it took to get a commitment out of you.”
I jump to my feet. “You are so manipulative!”
He sighs and sits back. “Sometimes I push too hard, especially when it’s for a good cause. And this is a good cause.”
I glare at him, the child in me wanting to stomp out of his office, the juvenile wanting to give him a good dressing down, the adult stuck in the midst of sibling rivalry.
“Please, Ms. Meadows, don’t make me chase you down any more elevator shafts.” He nods at my chair. “Have a seat so we can discuss this civilly.”
“At the moment, I don’t feel very civil.”
He rises. “Then over dinner?”
What is going on? Not a single date in over a month, and now four invites in two days. “I’m already committed for this evening.”
“Oh? Another date?”
I will not be embarrassed about Michael’s back-to-back invite, even if it is the middle of the week. “As a matter of fact, yes.”
His brow lowers. “For being as busy as you say you are, you seem to have a good deal of time on your hands.”
Ah! “Well maybe you work sixteen-hour days, but I don’t!” Which isn’t entirely true considering my pre-Michael work schedule, but what I do beyond an eight-hour workday is none of Clive Alexander’s business.
“I apologize.” And this time he does look apologetic, sort of. “I’m pushing too hard again.”
So what clued him in? My hair standing on end? And just where is all this anger coming from? I am not an angry person. And yet I could throttle him!
Deep breath. “Have you heard of Dale Carnegie, Dr. Alexander?”
Surprise flickers in his eyes, but then his mouth tilts. “How to Win Friends and Influence People? I assure you, you’re not the first to recommend the book.”
“Then let me be the last. Get the book, read it, and maybe we’ll talk about the burn unit.”
He thrusts a hand forward. “I’ll be waiting for your call.”
Why do I have this sneaking suspicion that he has no intention of going anywhere near Dale Carnegie?
Gritting my teeth, I slide my hand into his and, too late, realize what a bad idea it is. As much as I don’t want to be attracted to him, the squeeze of his hand causes funny little things to jump on the trampoline that’s supposed to be my stomach. Fortunately, he doesn’t sustain the shake longer than necessary.
“Good-bye, Dr. Alexander.” I lower my arm to my side.
He inclines his head. “Ms. Meadows.”
I hightail it out of there and am surprised—and disturbed—by a pang of disappointment when I exit the elevator and he’s not there to intercept me.
Thursday, March 22
Dear Lord,
Thank You for alternatives to contacts (trying to tell me something?). Thank You for the success of Jessica’s surgery and the skilled hands You directed (guess that means I have to thank You for Clive Alexander, too).
Help me to be patient, guard my tongue, and not allow myself to be pushed into something that will jeopardize my integrity. Or might the burn unit be Your go-ahead to pursue breast reduction? My back really aches. As always, please keep Belle and Beau’s baby safe.
Yours,
Kate
nd the verdict is …?
Belle’s eyes bug.
Beau steps back.
Belle’s hand convulses on her expectant belly.
Beau’s jaw drops.
“Well?” I stare at them through sapphire blue contacts (yes, I gave them another try).
“You …” Beau shakes his head.
“… look …” Belle sighs.
“… great!” Beau chuckles. “So great I didn’t recognize you.”
I asked for that. “Gee, thanks, Beau.”
“At your service. No doughnut today?”
He just had to remind me! Though the siren song—er, scent—of the doughnut ministry called the moment I walked through the church doors, I’d managed to distract my salivating taste buds. Thanks a lot, Beau-zo.
He drapes an arm across my shoulders. “So, tell me more about this Michael Palmier.”
I haven’t seen Beau or Belle since church services last Sunday, and they aren’t in my 8 a.m. singles Sunday school class, so all they know is what I’ve told them over the phone. Obviously not enough to prepare them for my transformation.
I consult my watch, then look to the churchgoers swarming into the sanctuary. “If we don’t hurry, you’ll miss out on your pew.”
As if someone pulled the fire alarm, Beau drops his arm from me, takes his wife’s hand, and hastens her toward the doors.
Beau and his pew—left of center, just the right distance from the speakers, three rows back, end seats.
Me? Though I often join him and Belle, my day goes as swimmingly—or unswimmingly—regardless of where I sit. Thus, when Beau and Belle squeeze out the last two seats of “his” pew and he shrugs apologetically, there are no hard feelings. Determining my chances are better on the balcony, I turn toward the steps.
Thirty minutes later, a half dozen spirit-lifting songs sung out, I watch as our minister takes to the pulpit. Brother Leo’s topic is evangelism, and I cringe at not yet having gotten anywhere with Maia. In fact, I’m further out than ever, owing to Michael’s attentiveness. Three dates in four days does not sit well with my housemate, as evidenced by her banging around the house last night previous to Michael’s arrival to take me out for pizza and a wardrobe-enhancing shopping spree. (My credit card will never be the same—and yeah, I did pop for more of those seventy-dollar hip-hugging jeans.)
I consider the new outfit I wore to church, a blue, figure-enhancing pantsuit (size ten!). And that’s all it takes to drift from Brother Leo’s sermon. As with several of the outfits I ended up purchasing, I initially pooh-poohed Michael’s selection, but he really has an eye for cut and color, with the exception of his insistence that red is my color.
Smoothing my lapels, I smile. The moment I saw my reflection, I knew this outfit was me. The only outfit with which I hadn’t concurred was an above-the-knee dress that laid bare a series of spider veins that were a cause of concern for Michael—so much so that I earned myself another business card. Brother Leo reduced to white noise, I lift my bag and remove my wallet. Nestled behind the bills are a stack of business cards—Dr. Neimer, tooth bonding; Judith Westman, electrolysis and laser hair removal; Dr. Schulze, pest control (mole and spider vein removal); Dr. Corrigan, breast reduction.
Of course, that last was my doing and grudgingly given, as Michael tried to convince me that, despite my back problems, my breasts are fine just the way they are. Hmm.
As for the first three cards, though resentment flared each time Michael presented one, after some consideration—supplemented by time before the mirror—I found myself concurring. So much so that I almost made appointments with Dr. Neimer to advise me about my gap and Dr. Schulze to evaluate my “pest” problem. Almost …
Nibbling my inner lip, I tell myself to toss out the cards and stop worrying so much about my appearance. And I know I should; however, the favorable reaction to the “new and improved” Katherine Mae Meadows makes me return them to my wallet. Mustn’t be to
o hasty. I’ll just think about—
“Pray about it!” Brother Leo booms.
I am jolted, causing the elderly woman beside me to gasp and clutch her chest.
“Sorry, Mrs. Farmer.” I glance at Brother Leo to confirm that he isn’t speaking to me. He’s not. I think … “Powerful message today, hmm?”
The woman lowers a trembling hand to her lap. “Not really, dear.”
So much for excusing my bodily outburst.
She draws a deep breath and leans near. “I thought perhaps something bit you.”
Something did, but not anything creepy crawly. With an apologetic smile, I return my attention to the minister.
“The opportunities are boundless! The needs many! There’s no excuse to look the other way.” He points left. “The lost are waiting for you!” Center. “And you.” Right. “And you.” He jabs at those seated on the balcony. “And every one of you.”
I know … I just don’t know how to reach Maia without incurring rejection. And anger, as there’s no doubt she’s attracted to Michael. Oh, why does he have to like me? Moreover, why do I like him, especially considering his aversion to my imperfect self?
Complicated, but let me count the ways:
1. Though he may not be a practicing Christian, he’s the closest I’ve come in a looong time.
2. Though I’m not nearly as attracted to him as I am to Clive Alexander—nix that!—he’s good-looking.
3. Though his kisses don’t exactly make me melt, he respects my limitations on physical contact.
4. Above all, each time I “feel him out” about perpetuating the human race, he remains indifferent. Surely I ought to be able to turn the other cheek when he points out a flaw. After all, nobody’s perfect.
By the time the sermon ends, the offering plate makes the rounds, and the blessing is spoken, I’m wrung out. So I decline Belle’s invitation to lunch and promise that later I’ll fill her in about Michael, who as it turns out is waiting for me at the house.
His voice hits me as I step into the foyer, followed by a chuckle and, not too far behind, Maia’s husky laughter.