Romance in Color

by Synithia Williams

  California Sunrise

  Casey Dawes

  Avon, Massachusetts

  Copyright © 2015 by Casey Dawes.

  All rights reserved.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher; exceptions are made for brief excerpts used in published reviews.

  Published by

  Crimson Romance

  an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.

  10151 Carver Road, Suite 200

  Blue Ash, OH 45242. U.S.A.

  www.crimsonromance.com

  ISBN 10: 1-4405-9201-2

  ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-9201-0

  eISBN 10: 1-4405-9202-0

  eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-9202-7

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author's imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art © 123RF/maxfx; iStockphoto.com/caracterdesign

  To Laura Burkey, coach extraordinaire, and Carolee Boger, extraordinary mother.

  Acknowledgments

  Carolee Boger has been my friend since college. I value her decades of friendship and her willingness to share the difficulties of raising a child who is different.

  Susan Drake has been a friend for a shorter length of time, but I’m blessed by her continued support. She’s also the one who connected me with Ramon Resa, MD, author of Out of the Fields. When word got back to Dr. Resa and his wife that I was modeling a romance hero after him, his wife laughed hysterically.

  Nonetheless, I am grateful for Dr. Resa’s willingness to care for our children and become a romance role model.

  The Ledesma family, originally from Watsonville, California, took me into their hearts and holidays. I learned so much about what it meant to grow up in a small house in a farmworkers’ town.

  Diane Guerrero, a star of Orange Is the New Black, shared her story on an episode of All In with Chris Hayes about coming home at fourteen to an empty house because her family had been deported. The pain of this experience gave me additional ideas for Raúl’s background.

  To my editor, Julie Sturgeon, who has helped me create the best book I could.

  My critique group continues to nurture and support me.

  And, as always, my wonderful, supportive husband keeps me supplied with wine, chocolate, and love.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 1

  Dr. Raúl Mendez entered notes on his last patient, a six-month-old girl with respiratory problems, into the laptop, his large fingers crowded on the keyboard.

  “Your next appointment is ready.” Graciela Torres stood in the examination room doorway, her black skirt shorter than he preferred in an office setting. Her low-cut, red blouse revealed ample cleavage.

  He’d have to remind his OB/GYN partner, Hadiya Patel, of their agreement: she dealt with the female staff, and he handled the more manly pursuit of hiring a plumber when it was needed.

  “Thank you, Graciela. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  As he headed down the hall to the next patient, his irritation with the receptionist diminished and his satisfaction returned. The clinic, designed to help mothers and children, particularly farmworkers, provided a safe, warm haven for the sick. His partner, Dr. Patel, emitted an aura that comforted even the most distraught mothers-to-be, while he was there to care for the newborns and young children. He was lucky to have her as a mentor in his newly opened practice.

  The trim, peach walls were lined with offerings from local artists, and the gleaming equipment was the best they could afford. He’d insisted on a good, computerized medical records system from the beginning, and the time savings had paid off in their ability to see more people during the day.

  His lungs expanded with pride. Who would have thought that a Mexican kid who’d grown up in a house with a dirt floor, chickens and pigs in the yard, and Christmases provided by well-meaning strangers would have the guts to make it all the way through medical school?

  Now there was only one more thing to achieve: the return of his deported parents and siblings.

  Raúl pushed open the door to the examining room.

  The petite woman standing by the child on the examining table turned.

  The strong bones of her face, full lips, and dark eyes matched the structure of her body. Attractive. Not that he was looking for anyone right now.

  “Are you Dr. Mendez?” she asked.

  “Sí. And you are”—he checked the chart—“Alicia Fuentes.”

  The boy on the table squirmed and let out a howl.

  Raúl glanced back at the chart. No medical problem stood out, but the young woman had been to several doctors, including specialists at Stanford. Was it some type of Munchausen syndrome, or was there a legitimate illness?

  “What seems to be the problem?” he asked.

  “Luis is difficult.”

  He was tempted to tell her all children were difficult, but the set of her jaw stopped him short. “In what way?” He leaned back against the counter, his interest piqued by what she might have to say. If the child wasn’t simply a fussy baby, it might be a chance to increase his behavioral development experience.

  “He mixes up his days—sleeps during the day and wants to be up all night. He’s a fussy eater. I practically have to hand-feed him. He doesn’t seem to sit up well. And temper tantrums! I know all children have them, but his seem worse than other kids’. My grandmother says she’s never seen anything like it.” Snapping her mouth shut, she stared at him, as if defying him to tell her there was nothing wrong, that her child was normal.

  In that instant, he knew there wasn’t anything normal about Luis.

  Although he hadn’t seen a wedding ring, he asked the question anyway. “How is he with his father?”

  “I’m a single mom.” Her chin went up. “He never sees his father.”

  A too common answer. His heart crinkled with sadness for her and anger at the boy’s father. “He has no contact with his son?”

  “No.”

  The finality in her voice warned him not to pursue the subject.

  He ignored the warning.

  “It must be very difficult for you, especially so young.”

  “I’m eighteen.” She made her age sound as if she were in her mid-thirties.

  He hid a smile. “The baby is twelve months, correct? What have the other doctors told you?”

  “They don’t know what’s wrong. He’s too young for certain tests. They can’t help me.” Defeat crept into her words, and her shoulders slumped, but then she rallied and looked him straight in the eye. “I’m told you can."

  He hoped her confidence wasn’t misplaced. “Why don’t you take a seat, and I’ll take a look at your son?”

  “Do you have children, Dr. Mendez?” She moved toward the chair but didn’t sit.

  “Me? No. I’ve never been married.”

  “Brothers and sisters?”

  “Yes. Older brothers. Why do you ask?”

  “It seems odd for a single man to be a pediatrician.”

 
“Like many of us, I come from a large, extended family. Lots of cousins. Lots of different problems—some the normal hazards of being a kid, some brought on by poverty. Giving kids a healthy start is a way to help our people.” He looked down at Luis and put his stethoscope in his ears. “Now let’s see what’s up with you, little man.”

  The phone rang.

  Yanking the tubes from his ears, he turned back to the desk and stabbed one of the buttons. “I told you not to interrupt me when I’m with a patient.”

  “I’m sorry, Doctor, but your next patient is here, and her baby looks very sick,” Graciela said.

  “She’ll need to wait.” He put the brakes on his temper. “Thank you, Graciela.”

  He glanced at Alicia. Her face seemed paler. Had the call bothered her? Or had it been his short display of temper? “I’m sorry about the interruption. I tell the ladies out front each patient is as important as the next, but they have their own priorities.”

  As if sensing something was going on, Luis began to stir and wail. Raúl touched the boy’s arm to comfort him, but the noise increased in volume.

  “I see what you mean about being difficult.” He took a penlight from his pocket and waved it in front of Luis’s eyes.

  The boy’s gaze followed the moving light, and he calmed down.

  “Good boy.” Raúl patted the boy’s shoulder, then clicked off the light.

  Luis’s gaze locked on the ceiling tiles, his eyes moving as he traced a pattern visible only to him. Raúl went through the vitals and tested the child’s reflexes. No scars or bruises marred his skin.

  “Hi, Luis.” Raúl waved his hand in front of the boy.

  No response.

  He tried again. Luis squirmed and fought his way around the table so he could see the ceiling again.

  Suspicions formed in his mind, but the other doctors were right: it was too early to confirm them. And if he was correct, Luis would always be difficult for his mother. She was young, but would never be able to share the freedoms that other women, even other single mothers, would have.

  How could he support her?

  “What’s wrong, Doctor?” the hovering mother asked. “How can I help my son?”

  “Tell me how Luis acts at home.”

  “I’m not with him most of the day. He stays with my grandmother while I go work in Costanoa. I was hoping to take a few business classes at Costanoa College to learn how to manage a store.” She looked at Luis. “But he’s getting more difficult for my grandmother to handle. No one else seems to be able to deal with him.” Her smile didn’t fully materialize. “I can’t stay home with him for the rest of my life.”

  Like he had, she wanted to better her life, but she had an extra burden he hadn’t been forced to carry. He hated to tell her that her path to her dream was going to be a rocky one.

  “What do I do with him?” The question held the same overtones as Luis’s wail.

  “He’s too young to do the kind of tests it will take to determine what I think is the problem. He has some of the characteristics of Asperger’s, but I won’t be able to say definitively until he is about eighteen months or so.”

  “What is Asperger’s?”

  “It’s on the autism scale but not as severe.” He watched for her reaction, scrambling in his mind for words to reassure her that there were things she could do, even if he had no idea what they were.

  The palpable drop in her energy saddened him. She’d been so determined to do right by her son.

  And she still could.

  “Many children with Asperger’s do well. They learn to live independently or in a halfway house.” He smiled. “Some are even lucky enough to find a spouse who will help them be the best person they can be.”

  “It doesn’t sound easy.”

  “It isn’t.”

  “What can I do right now? How can I help him?”

  “I have a book that might help. It has suggestions that will help you and your grandmother care for him. Un momento.”

  As he strode back to his office, the people and artwork he passed were blurs. How could he help Alicia and her son? For one, working with her more closely as she learned different strategies would enable him to apply the same strategies to other patients. She seemed driven to do the best for her son. Maybe she’d make a good partner in his exploration.

  He grabbed the book from a shelf and returned to the examining room, excited by the possibilities.

  Alicia was standing by one of the photographs he’d taken during a hike in the coastal redwoods. The scene showed a deep forest with sunlit fog whispering through needled branches.

  “Did you take this?” she asked.

  “Yes. Are you interested in photography?”

  “I went to an alternative high school. One of the teachers taught a class about different photographers and showed us some techniques to take good pictures, even with our phones.” She looked back at the photo. “This is nice. It reminds me of Ansel Adams.”

  “Adams is one of my favorites.” He was flattered by the comparison and intrigued by her knowledge. He cleared his throat and gestured to the chair by the desk. “Why don’t you sit down, and we can come up with some strategies for you to put into practice? Your son seems occupied.”

  “Do you have time? There was that other patient ...” She pointed to the phone.

  “I have time.” He flipped open the book and pressed his finger to a spot on the page. “Routine is the most important thing for difficult children. If you and your grandmother can establish definite times for eating, sleeping, playing ...” He shook his head. “Of course, part of the challenge is to get these children to play. Let him have some comfort with the things he likes to do, but stimulate him with new things, too. These are good habits for him to have as he grows and goes to school.”

  “Will he be able to go to school?”

  “He’s going to need special help. Once we’re able to make the diagnosis, it would be good to start checking into schools in the area to see what they can do. Unfortunately, it varies from one place to another. I’ll help you however I can.” He touched her hand, a gesture meant in comfort.

  Instead, the warmth of her skin seeped through his, directly into the marrow of his bones.

  Startled, he withdrew his fingers and pointed back to the book. “This is also important. Parents with difficult children need to make sure they have time for themselves.” He smiled at her, struggling to regain his professional demeanor. “You need to take care of yourself, too.”

  She smiled at him, but the expression held uncertainty and didn’t fully form.

  He shut the book and handed it to her. “Bring him back to see me in a few months. If things get too difficult, we can talk again before that. I—I don’t want you to feel alone.”

  After scribbling on the charge slip, he handed it to her. “Just show this to the front desk.”

  “Sí. Gracias.”

  “Call me if you need any help in the meantime, Alicia. I’m not going to kid you. Luis will probably never be easy, but if you learn some of those strategies, it will help you both.” He stood and walked to the door.

  For a few moments he stood outside the room, his hand still on the doorknob, intrigued by the young woman before him. She reminded him of himself at that age, making the first steps to create the life she desired.

  He gave her another smile and turned away, wondering how her story would end.

  • • •

  Counting herself lucky, Alicia managed to snag a rare parking spot on the street as a battered maroon pickup pulled from the curb, but climbing the steps leading to the main college campus took the last bit of energy she had.

  Maybe she should have used the college parking garage.

  Pounding steps behind her made her grimace. Someone with a higher fitness level was showing off.

  “Steep hill, isn’t it?” A gawky-looking Anglo boy caught up to her. “My name’s Josh,” he said, slowing his steps to climb beside her. “This is my f
irst semester. How about you?”

  The heat of the midday sun touched her shoulders. Maybe if she ignored him, he’d go away. She glanced at her watch. Only a short amount of time to get her registration complete and drive back to the store.

  On the other hand, one of the reasons she was coming to school was to meet new people. “Yes, it’s my first semester, too.”

  “What’s your name?” he asked as they reached the top step.

  “Alicia Fuentes.”

  “Nice to meet you, Alicia Fuentes.” He held out his hand and grinned. The expression transformed him from a geek into someone who had potential to be handsome, but not as good-looking as Luis’s new doctor. That man had a smile like she’d never seen anywhere else.

  “Nice to meet you.” She took Josh’s hand.

  “Are you here to register?”

  She nodded.

  “So am I. It’s over there, I think.” He pointed to one of the squat cement buildings clinging to the side of the hill.

  Josh continued his banter all the way down the sidewalk. “I’m doing two years here before I transfer to a University of California school. I kinda messed up my junior year in high school.”

  “Oh?”

  He laughed. “Not drugs or anything like that. I just got lazy. Figured I knew it all so I didn’t have to work for my grades. By the time I figured out coasting wouldn’t cut it, it was too late.” He shrugged. “So here I am. How about you? What’s your story?”

  “I only need to take a few classes, so this works.”

  “In what?”

  ”Business.”

  He held the door open for her. “You shouldn’t limit yourself, then. Get the counselor to tell you what you need to take to be able transfer to the university system if you want to. That way, you’ll always have a choice.”