by Tamara Leigh
Maia gives a little shiver. “My ‘secrets’ make me feel so good underneath.”
I smooth a hand down the sixth chapter of Leviticus. “Think I’ll stick with my Bible. It makes me feel good underneath.”
Predictably, she should roll her eyes, but she doesn’t. “Well, once you’re up and about, you and I are going shopping.”
“We are?”
“Uh-huh.” She tucks Victoria’s Secret under her arm. “I’m not letting you go cheap. Frugal? Sure. But not cheap.” She smiles, then disappears down the hall. As she thumps down the stairs, she calls out, “Look out, world! Here comes Kate Meadows—a B-cup at last.”
’m a walking, talking 36B who, thanks to Maia’s shopping know-how, has inflicted very little damage on her credit card. And for it has an updated wardrobe to fit a figure altered not only by a sizable decrease up top, but also by a couple pounds that have disappeared from around her middle. Best of all, 36B has an updated spirit. Well … getting there.
As I follow Becky Standish around the waiting room, I smile as her expressive hands paint her vision on the air. Three times around we go; then she halts and turns to me. “As I said, it’s on a smaller scale than the burn unit, but Dr. Alexander assured me—”
I startle.
“—that, schedule permitting, you’d consider it. And as we’re not in a big hurry …” She frowns. “Are you all right, Ms. Meadows?”
“Yes! I was just thinking.”
“Oh. So how about it? Is it something you can take on?”
Determinedly, I push Clive aside. “I’m booked for the next six months—” largely due to the publicity received from the burn unit—“but I could fit the job in sometime during the spring.”
“Hmm. That’s a bit far out.”
Never again. I will not overextend myself as I did with the burn unit. Will not cheat on God again. “I’m sorry, but that’s the best I can do.”
She sweeps her gaze around the room. “Then six months it is.”
Wow. That wasn’t so hard. “Great. I assume Adelphia Jamison will be contacting me to draw up the contract?”
She seems taken aback. “Oh, no. Ms. Jamison is no longer with the hospital. I’m her replacement. Sorry I didn’t make that clear.”
None of my business. None of my bus—
“So she … quit?”
“Yes. She got married a couple of weeks ago.”
Though I’d like to think it’s the constricting support bra that’s responsible for the sudden compression of my chest, it’s Clive. Did he and Adelphia—?
“To one of our doctors, as a matter of fact.”
If I don’t get to a bathroom and adjust this bra soon, I’ll suffocate.
“Are you sure you’re all right, Ms. Meadows?”
“Absolutely!” I whip my purse up, pull out a business card, and thrust it at her. “Give me a call and we’ll discuss the specifics.”
With a bewildered frown, she accepts the card. “I’ll do that.”
“It was nice meeting you.”
“And you, Ms. Meadows.”
And with that I go in search of a restroom and find one just outside the children’s cancer center.
“36B,” I mutter as I fumble with my bra. “Feels more like a 40B trying to squeeze into a 36B.” I free the hooks and eyes, but it does little to relieve my constriction. And I have no choice but to admit that Clive’s marriage to Adelphia is responsible.
I lean back against the bathroom door and look up. “In all things God works for the good of those who love Him.” I nod. “I know, Lord. I do.”
Still, it’s ten minutes before I emerge, bra hooked, chest somewhat less constricted. At the elevators, I push the Down button as a family of four push the Up button. A few moments later, twin pings announce the arrival of both. However, as I step toward the Down elevator, I feel a tug in the vicinity of my heart, and I look to the elevator into which the foursome clamor.
It would be nice to peek in on the burn unit. After all, I’ve yet to see it used as intended—for the children.
As the doors of both elevators start to close, I yield to impulse and join the family of four.
What am I doing? Of course, not much chance of running into Clive, as he and Adelphia are probably still honeymooning.
The moment I step into the winding corridor, my worries dissolve as I find myself caught up in the feel of something alive and breathing. All those weeks spent in relative solitude so this place could now be filled with children and their families, friends, nurses, doctors …
From some of the rooms I pass comes the silence of grief and healing, but others are lit by little voices, words of encouragement, and laughter. And it gets better as I near the domed room, from which excited voices and laughter flow. I halt at the threshold and watch the family of four join another family that is on the floor with a toddler who seems oblivious to the bandages covering his legs. All that matters are the blocks he stacks one upon the other.
Next, I pause on a girl about Jessica’s age who leans against a wall with an arm flung out to finger the smile of a painted child. And with each child I look upon, my heart grows fuller.
I should have come sooner. It’s one thing to create something, another to see the response of those for whom it was created. How God must have delighted in Adam and Eve’s exploration of the Garden …
Speaking of whom—well, not exactly—Dr. Adam MacPhail catches my eye next to a teenage boy in a wheelchair.
I smile—until he says something to another white-coated man who’s conversing with a woman alongside the boy in the wheelchair.
Over his shoulder, Clive meets my wide-eyed gaze.
Catching my breath, I swing away.
“Kate!”
Feeling childish at the thought that I can outrun him, I turn back.
Oh, Lord, Adelphia’s husband is heading toward me.
Despite how tight the bra once more feels, I smile. “Hello, Clive.”
He halts within reach. “I hoped you’d stop by.”
Huh? “You did?”
“Yes, I asked Becky to let me know when you were coming to take a look at the cancer center.”
“Well …” I shrug. “Here I am.”
“Yes, you are.” He runs his eyes down me and pauses on my chest. “So the procedure was a success.”
“What? Oh!” I clap my hands to my breasts. “Yes!”
Lord, did I just do what I think I did?
Blushing ten degrees of red, I jerk my arms to my sides. “It went well.”
“Good. I considered calling, but … the timing didn’t seem right.”
I imagine not. Let’s see, that would be about the time he was getting married to a woman who can give him what I can’t.
I put my chin up. “I appreciate the thought. Now I really must go—”
His hand falls on me. “Kate …”
I stare at his fingers curled around my forearm.
Dear God, forgive me for this thrill I have no business feeling for a married man.
“I was wrong. I shouldn’t have pushed you away.”
That was one short-lived honeymoon, and suddenly I feel sorry for Adelphia, who probably has no idea that her husband has buyer’s remorse. Anger rising as much for her plight as for my disillusionment over a man I never would have believed capable of this kind of behavior, I yank my arm free.
“But you did push me away. And now it’s too late.”
“Is it?”
The world really is morally bankrupt. I take a step back. “If you think I’m going to allow you to pull a Christopher on me, think again. Cliché though it may be: You chose your bed; now sleep in it.”
Refusing to linger on the hurt that rises on his face, I turn and, thanks to sensible shoes and an absence of frontal bounce, quickly step through the double doors and head for the elevators.
How could he do it? I was certain he was different from Christopher! Would have sworn—
“Kate!”
&n
bsp; Before the elevators, I turn, and there’s Dr. MacPhail.
Somewhat breathless, he halts before me. “Look, Kate, I know Clive hurt you, but—”
“You, too?” I jab the Down button. “I can’t believe you’re siding with him. The man is married, for goodness’ sake.”
“No, Kate. He really has let Jillian—and Sam—go.”
I drop my jaw. “I’m not talking about Jillian! I’m talking about Adelphia.”
This time it’s his jaw that drops. “Adelphia?”
“Clive’s wife.”
“But …” He blinks. “Ah.”
“What?”
His mouth tightens with what seems like an attempt to suppress a smile. “Will you come to my office? There’s something I’d like to show you.”
“I’m sorry, but—”
“It’s important.”
I long to refuse him, but in spite of his twitching lips, his pleading eyes get to me. “All right.”
During the elevator ride, my gaze is drawn to him repeatedly, and I wonder at the smile that twitches its way into being, followed by the grin that elbows aside the smile. But the real curiosity is the spring in his step as we walk down the hall toward his office. What is he up to?
On the verge of demanding an explanation, I catch sight of Clive’s office ahead, the door of which is open. Though I know he can’t be inside, I look away as we pass.
A few moments later, Adam motions me into his office. “Have a seat.”
I step into an office on par with Clive’s—excepting the presence of pictures—and lower to a chair before Adam’s desk. Behind me, he closes the door. As I wait for him to come around, I consider the pictures on the wall. Family … friends … children … dogs … a boa constrictor—
Ew!
I lower my gaze to the credenza and a picture of a newly wedded couple. Very nice.
Wait a minute! I peer at a tuxedoed Adam MacPhail posed alongside … Clive’s wife.
“So are you going to congratulate me?” Adam comes around to face me.
I know I’m gaping, but there’s nothing I can do about it. When I finally break free, all I can manage is, “I’m confused.”
“Yes, you are.”
I shake my head. “Are you telling me …?” No. Adam must be twenty years her senior. “I mean, are you …?”
He settles back against the desk. “Adelphia and I were married two weeks ago this past Saturday.” He slaps his thigh. “Been chasing that woman for years. Only when she realized that Clive’s heart wasn’t into her did she finally accept.”
My chest constricts, head swims, thoughts twist back on themselves. And like a punch between the eyes I relive my exchange with Clive.
“Oh no!” I drop my head between my knees. Not Clive, but Adam. Adelphia and Adam. Clive is not married—no more married than the night we met and I momentarily believed the woman who glided into the children’s shop was attached to his wedding band. No more attached to Adelphia than when I wrongly concluded that she was his mistress.
It’s almost funny. And to prove it, a snort of laughter exits my nose, only to be followed by a hiccupping sob, another snort, another sob. Though aware that the sounds coming from me could be mistaken as coming from a seriously disturbed donkey, it’s not until Adam lays a hand to my back that I’m able to gain any control over them.
“Are you all right, Kate?”
I open my eyes and stare at the carpet between my feet. “No. Not all right.” I swallow the snort-sob that attempts to sneak up my throat. “I thought …”
“I know.” He rubs my back.
“I said …”
“I can guess what you said.”
“He thinks …”
“Probably.”
I raise my head. “When Becky Standish said Adelphia married one of the doctors …” I swallow hard again. “I thought it was Clive. And when Clive said he was wrong and shouldn’t have let me go …” I drop my head back between my knees. “Oh, no.”
Adam grips my shoulder. “Listen, Kate, it’s a simple misunderstanding.”
I jerk my head up. “It’s not simple. It’s complicated. Very complicated. This means maybe he and I …” My throat convulses. “But I can’t give him kids. And he wants kids.” Another convulsion. “And I’ve worked so hard to get over him. To get right with God. And he doesn’t want anything to do with God.”
“Kate.” Adam drops to his haunches before me. “If you talk to him, I believe you’ll find that you’re not the only one who’s been trying to get right with God.”
I look at Adam. Did I hear right? Does he mean that the way it sounded? Is it possible that Clive—
“Gloria tells me he’s started attending church again. And not long ago, he hung pictures of Jillian and Sam in his office.”
“Really?”
He nods. “And yesterday I walked into his office and found him praying. Of course, he said he was dozing, but I know what prayer looks like.”
Lord, is Clive in Your plans for me after all? Or do I just want to believe he is?
Adam straightens and grabs a box of tissues from his desk. “Wipe your face.”
I pull a tissue, wipe my eyes and cheeks, then pull two more and blow hard.
“Better?”
“Sort of. I’m still not sure—”
“Talk to him, Kate.”
“Now?”
“Now.”
“Okay.” On wobbly legs, I stand and cross to the door. “Uh …” I look around. “Thank you, Adam.”
He waves me away.
In the hall outside, I pause.
Lord, is this You? Your timing? Are what I long to do and what You want me to do in line with each other? I don’t want to mess up again. As You know, I’m not the outdoorsy type—do not like camping out in the wilderness.
Though I’m not one of those who hear God’s voice loud and clear and know exactly His will for them, I feel a nudge toward Clive.
“All right, I’m going.” Smoothing my outfit, I set a course for the domed room. However, as I near Clive’s office, I notice the door closed to within an inch, whereas a while ago it was wide open. Meaning he’s inside? I push the door inward.
Clive doesn’t notice me where he sits at his desk with his head in his hands, but when I step inside, he looks up.
“Kate.” He drops his arms to his desk. “What are you doing here?”
And out of my mouth pops stupid. “You’re not married.”
“What?”
I cross the room and halt before his desk. “I thought you were married.”
His brow furrows.
“To Adelphia.”
His eyes widen.
“That’s why I said what I did.”
The transformation to disbelief complete, he shakes his head. “You thought I’d married Adelphia?”
“Yes, but now I know it was Adam. That you weren’t pulling a Christopher on me. That what you said …” I look down and, as with each time I do it, am amazed to see beyond my chest to my shoes.
I hear his chair roll back, then the creak of wood and leather as he rises. “What I said …?”
I nod. “About being wrong, that you shouldn’t have pushed me away. You meant it. Didn’t you?”
After a painfully long moment, he nods. “I did.”
Why does that sound so past tense? “Do you still?”
“Should I, Kate?”
Though fear of rejection urges me to retreat, I step around the desk. “I hope you do.”
Clive turns to me, and I ache for how tautly he holds himself—for the defenses he’s raised in the short time since he approached me in the domed room. Not that I should be surprised, as it can’t have been easy to humble himself and then have his attempt at reconciliation thrown back in his face. Even if it was all a misunderstanding …
“It’s been a long three months, Kate.”
I clench my hands to keep from reaching to him. “It has, but I needed the time. And you did too, I underst
and.”
He inclines his head only to narrow his gaze. “So you and Adam had a nice long talk, hmm?”
Hand in the cookie jar, but I will not feel guilty. “You have a good friend in him. Of course, I’m sure you already know that.”
He looks momentarily away. “What did he tell you?”
“That you’re attending church again. Seeking God.” Dare I? “Praying.”
Feeling a rise in Clive’s discomfort, I’m struck by a vision of an overinflated balloon at the mercy of a small but very sharp pin. But then he sighs. “A month after I pushed you away, I came to the end of myself.”
The end of himself? “What do you mean?”
He sidesteps and crosses to the right of the door, where two pictures hang—the first identical to the one of Jillian and Sam I had blown up for the domed room, the second an eight-by-ten candid shot of the three of them.
For a long moment, he just stands there with his back to me, but then he speaks. “I looked back and saw all the broken pieces I’d been dragging behind me—everything I’d lost.” He draws a breath that broadens his shoulders, then turns back around. “But you weren’t there. And neither was God. I tried to write off the two of you as losses, but you wouldn’t get behind me. Do you know why?”
Beginning to tear up, I shake my head.
“Because I didn’t want you behind me, didn’t want to lose either of you.”
Pain cramps my heart.
He takes a step toward me, only to halt as if thinking better of it. “Finally, I got down on my knees and from there gained a perspective I lost years ago. I can’t say I liked the answers I demanded from God, but I accepted them. And forgiveness.”
I think I’m going to cry. “Then you and God …?”
“Are reconciled? To a point.”
My hopeful smile falters.
Clive takes another step toward me, then stops. “I won’t lie to you, Kate. I don’t have a hand around my faith yet, and I don’t know how long before I get to where I need to be, but I am getting there.” His grim mouth lightens. “Bit by bit. Prayer by prayer.”
Which is the best way. The only way.
I smile. “I’m happy for you.”