by Davis Bunn
A nurse she recognized despite the mask and blue hairnet walked over, checked the infant’s vitals, wrote them into the chart, then noticed Amanda. Her eyes widened. She waved tentatively. Amanda wanted to respond. But her hand was too heavy to lift, and a smile would have been a lie. She stood like that at the entrance to the unit, filled with longing and regret, then turned and walked away.
As the elevator doors closed, Amanda whispered to herself, “One day.”
If only she could convince herself the words were true.
CHAPTER TWO
By the time she arrived back downstairs, news of Moira Campbell’s departure was all over the hospital. Laughter and light chatter filled the hallway, sounds from the hour before a party started. As she opened the doors leading to the admin wing, she saw two nurses hug and a pair of interns exchange a high five. Oh, yes. They’d heard.
The battle-scarred Harriet, whose favorite pastime was counting down to retirement, greeted her with, “Tell me you’re not leaving too.”
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t think for an instant your work is done here.”
To her astonishment several worried faces emerged from neighboring cubicles. She realized what was going on. “You can’t possibly have heard about my stopping by the infant ward.”
“Oh, please. CNN has nothing on this place for spreading news.”
The senior bookkeeper slipped from her office. “So it’s true, you’re leaving?”
Harriet demanded, “Who’s supposed to pave the way for us with the new suit?”
“Who says you’ll be needing anyone?” Amanda countered.
She sniffed her disdain. “He’s coming from the home office, isn’t that right?”
“How could you possibly know this?”
“It’s how we survive down here in the burrows.”
“All right. Yes. Boston is sending someone from HQ.”
“So now we get Moira Two.”
“For all you know he could be a perfect prince. Don’t look at me—” Amanda stopped because Dr. Henri had stepped through the doorway. “Yes?”
“I’d like another word, Amanda.”
“Tell her she’s got to stay,” her secretary said. “Tie her to her desk. Give me a call if you need a hand.”
Dr. Henri moved to the door to her office and waited. “Now, please.”
Dr. Henri settled into the chair opposite her desk and studied the whiteboards lining her side wall. Light from the narrow window shone off the screws clamping the boards in place. “The orderliness of your thinking never ceases to amaze me.”
The boards had been segmented into all the operations within the administrative process. Every incomplete task was visible, along with due dates and related problems. When Moira or a department director requested an update, all Amanda needed to do was step to her side wall. It was similar to the status board used with high-risk infants; that was updated hourly and showed each new shift the precise status of each child. The other admin personnel considered Amanda’s invention a marvel. Except for Moira, of course. She had never entered Amanda’s office. “Thanks.”
“Amanda, do you really want to return to nursing?”
“Why is this anyone else’s business?”
“Answer the question, please.”
“I don’t know what I want.” Amanda knew she sounded shrill. “Until last year all I ever hoped to do with my life was care for babies.”
He gestured toward the hallway. “That wasn’t an act. The admin staff is terrified of losing you.”
“But why?”
“Because you care. Your first thought is for the hospital staff. You stand up to the director, to the doctors, to the board, to Boston. For them. Do you know what they call you out there? Vice President of Calming the Waters.”
Amanda was speechless. Because she had always considered this a temporary position, she had never even requested a job description, much less a title. “I don’t . . . I was just doing my job.”
“Yes, you were. And quite splendidly. If it is your aim to return to nursing, I will help you. But at the moment I can only add my voice to theirs. Stay. Help us all through the transition.”
“I may not have any choice.” Amanda related her final exchange with Moira.
Dr. Henri had the remarkable ability to frown with his entire being. “Her final report will bias the new director against you. Was that why you returned by way of the infant station?”
“No, well, it wasn’t . . .” She sighed. “I don’t know why I went. I couldn’t even push open the door.”
He showed no surprise. “You’re a nurse. You know there is a cycle of healing, and you know it takes longer than anyone wishes. Especially wounds to the heart.”
“Can I really? Heal?”
“You are healing. You will be whole again.”
There was no reason why words spoken by the doctor who most frightened the hospital’s nurses should cause her eyes to tear up. “I wish I could believe you.”
“I suggest you go away. Take a vacation. You have time coming, don’t you?”
“Three weeks.”
“Use it. Give the incoming director a chance to hear from the rest of us just how vital you are.”
This time she found it necessary to wipe her eyes. “We can’t. Chris’s company is downsizing. He’s under so much pressure right now . . .”
She stopped talking because Dr. Henri had risen to his feet. “In fact, I suggest you leave today.”
All the news raced ahead of Amanda throughout the day: Moira’s departure, Frank’s pending operation, Amanda’s visit to the baby ward, Amanda’s pending time off. Hospital staff she had never spoken to stopped to ask what she was going to do with her holiday and tell her how much they would miss having her around. She decided to stop by the gift shop on her way out and buy Frank a card. And then, while he was held captive at the party he had tried to avoid—as if they would ever let their Frank go without a fuss—she would have the chat with his wife that Dr. Henri had requested.
With less than four weeks to go, Christmas dominated the shop. Carols played through overhead speakers. Displays wished everyone the season’s cheer. Until eleven months ago it had been one of her favorite times of year.
Amanda slipped past an older woman inspecting the plush toys and stopped in front of the cards. With an abrupt shudder her world seized up.
There before her were row after row of baby cards. Congratulating the family. Glittering with happy best wishes. Amanda’s chest became so constricted she could not breathe.
She wrenched herself around as though she were yanking herself free of a nightmare.
But the opposite side of the aisle held something even worse.
She now faced row after row of birthday cards. And directly in front of her was a sparkling card wishing every joy on the baby’s first birthday.
She was outside the shop gasping for breath before she realized she had heard someone call her name. She forced her legs to carry her out and away.
CHAPTER THREE
Cell phone in hand, Chris Vance paced back and forth in front of his office window, thinking about how much he wanted to hit the road. He was born with a greyhound’s love of open spaces. When he ran, he was not only free, he was in his element.
Everyone knew he ran at midday. Including Claire, his sister, who seemed to take an oddly possessive pleasure at holding him up. The middle child of five, Claire seemed to consider it her role in life to bind the family together.
“This year Christmas is going to be super,” she declared. “Tony’s sister is finally coming. I’ve only been begging her for six years. Did I tell you she’s pregnant with number three?”
“No, Claire. You didn’t.” Which was hardly a surprise, since Chris had not seen his brother-in-law’s siblings since Claire’s wedding. Claire’s husband, Tony, was a genial man, an orthodontist who could calm the most frightened child, even when they faced years of braces.
Chris tried to st
ifle a blade of envy. Claire’s family would never face the risk of losing their jobs and their home. The world would always produce more kids with bad teeth.
“Dad is coming, of course. And Pete with their two, and Samantha with her brood. And Sally. That makes, let’s see . . . nineteen plus you two, twenty-one! Isn’t that fabulous?”
“Claire, I don’t think we’ll be able to make it this year.”
“But you have to. We always have Christmas together. It’s the best time of the year!”
“Not . . . Sorry.”
“Doesn’t Amanda know how important this is?”
“We haven’t discussed it.”
“I’ll call her. She has to let you—”
“Don’t you do any such thing.” His tone hardened. “If you push her, she’ll agree. And I don’t want that.”
“But why?”
“Do you even remember what happened last Christmas?”
“Chris. That was months ago. You’ve got to get over it.”
“Claire, if one of your children died, do you think you’d be ’over it’ in a year?”
There was a gasp, then, “It’s not the same thing at all!”
“It feels that way to Amanda.”
“Well, she’s wrong. Chris, I want you here! With us! Where you belong!”
This was the other side of Claire that few people saw, mostly because they knew it was easier to let her enthusiasm sweep them along. Chris was one of the few people who didn’t instantly jump on Claire’s bandwagon. He did not argue; he simply did not budge. It was one of the reasons why he was happy to be living in Florida instead of nearer to the rest of the brood. He loved Claire. But his sister could be a bully.
“You need to understand—”
“I understand perfectly. I called you about Christmas. And you two are going to ruin it.” Claire slammed down the phone.
Chris stood there a long moment, staring blindly out his window. For once the sunlight did not beckon. It was not the conversation that anchored him to his desk. His sister Claire was insensitive, but that wasn’t the problem. Chris felt the silence echo with the thousands of prayers he had uttered over the past eleven months. More than anything he yearned for his wife to come back to life.
Then he left the office and went for a run.
Brevard County was a blue-collar sort of place. Cape Canaveral and Cape Kennedy had seen to that. Even the more expensive neighborhoods were dominated by folks who did physical labor for a living. One county farther south, Indian River, everything changed. The Sebastian Inlet Bridge connected the two barrier islands, but the world down there was a different place entirely. The island community of Vero Beach was home to some of the richest people on earth. They owned three-million-dollar oceanfront condos, parked Bentley convertibles in their garages, and only used the places for the season, which ran from the week after New Year’s to the week before Easter.
Amanda always insisted on Chris driving her down for dinner once each season. She treated it like a visit to the zoo. As she pulled into her drive, she realized that they had not made the trip last year. Like so much else it had been forgotten in the frantic struggle to push the December events away.
Chris was not home, which was hardly a surprise. Before the economic meltdown they normally tried to time their arrivals so they could have dinner together. But with his company struggling to survive, his hours had become crazy. She glanced across the road to the Wrights’ drive. She’d get that errand over with before entering her empty house.
They lived in a cul de sac in Melbourne Beach, the county’s most residential beachside community. The town had no hotel and only three oceanfront condos. The beaches were all public, yet held a locals-only atmosphere. Mothers camped there on pretty days and shared baby-minding with their neighbors. Kids who misbehaved found themselves catching it from everywhere.
The atmosphere even carried over into the water. Local Melbourne Beach surfers made newcomers welcome and helped newbies learn the ropes. Twenty miles farther south, Sebastian Inlet was home to the largest waves on the Eastern Seaboard. There the vibe was totally different, fueled by outsiders hunting the limelight and a place on the professional circuit.
Melbourne Beach had managed to remain like the place where Amanda had grown up—Cocoa Beach, which over the years had become steadily more crowded and frenetic. Her father was retired NASA, her mom a schoolteacher. All she ever wanted was to put down her roots in Brevard County and raise a happy brood of six or seven kids. But with the economic down-turn, Chris’s work situation was uncertain. And their plans for a family were on hold. Maybe forever. Amanda crossed the street and wished for a way to turn the page. Start over. Build the life she and Chris had dreamed of.
Their neighbors Frank and Emily lived in a Florida-style home whose stucco finish and wood-slat blinds made it almost a twin of their own. But this time of year, the difference between the two households could not have been more startling. The Wrights’ front lawn contained two mock Christmas trees, the house was rimmed by lights, and every sunset twelve deer frolicked in electronic abandon. Amanda had kept her front curtains shut since Thanksgiving, waiting for the holiday season to be over and done.
Emily opened the door and gaped. “It’s you!”
“What’s the matter?”
“Look here. What’s this in my hand?”
Amanda glanced at the phone. “Is this a trick question?”
Emily pulled her inside and shut the door. “I picked this up to call you, and here you are! It’s a miracle.”
“No, it’s not.”
“How do you know?”
“If God had a miracle in mind, he’d choose someone better than me to deliver it.”
“Oh, piffle.” Emily led her into the kitchen. A red enamel pot sat on the stove and filled the kitchen with a rich aroma. “Have you eaten?”
“Not since breakfast,” Amanda said. “Things got out of hand at the hospital today.”
“I’m not surprised, given what I’ve heard. Sit there at the counter. We can talk while you eat.” She used a potholder to lift the top. “I’m making veal pot au feau, which is fancy French for beef stew. It’s Frank’s favorite, and it was ready an hour ago.”
As Emily filled a flat bowl with a generous helping of flaky veal and potatoes and leeks and carrots, Amanda studied her neighbor. Emily was in her early sixties, a rotund woman with a face made to smile. They had bought this house just before Thanksgiving a year ago. During that time, Amanda had become an expert at keeping life and people at arm’s length. She knew the Wrights had four children and thought they all lived up north, but she did not even know their names. “Why aren’t you at Frank’s farewell party?”
“What is there to celebrate? And from the sound of things, I’ll be over at the hospital plenty in the weeks ahead.”
“Then you know about his hip?”
“Of course I know. I see him limping around. I knew it couldn’t possibly be arthritis. I had a long talk with our GP, who was informed by the gentleman doctor at the hospital with the interesting name.”
Amanda took a bite and declared, “This is fabulous.”
“My parents started a family-style bistro in Chicago. I spent my teenage years waiting tables and learning to love good food.”
“I never knew that.”
“Hardly a surprise, given what you’ve been through.”
The comment was said in an easy, matter-of-fact way. Amanda set her fork on the side of the plate and tried to clear away the sudden knot in her throat.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. It’s just . . . you’re so understanding. I’m afraid Chris’s family will be expecting us for Christmas, and I’m just not ready for that.”
Emily stood on the counter’s other side, the ladle forgotten in her hand. “What about your folks?”
“They’ve learned not to talk about it. But I know what they’re thinking. They want me to let go and heal.” Amanda stirred the remnants
of stew in her bowl. “If only it were that easy.”
“You know what they say, dear. God gave us friends to make up for our families.” Emily pulled over a stool. “But can we save that discussion for later? There’s something I wanted to ask you before Frank gets home.”
Amanda gave her a questioning look.
“Frank can’t go to Israel, of course. But the trip is booked and paid for. If we back out, we’ll lose almost everything we’ve paid. And I certainly don’t want to go by myself. So why don’t you come with me?”
“Excuse me?”
“To Israel. Instead of Frank. Do you have a passport?”
“Sure. But I can’t go.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t imagine what Chris would think about this. Especially now.”
“Your husband is one of the most capable people I’ve ever met. He’ll be fine, and you know it. My guess is he’ll say this is a great idea. A miracle. You wait and see.”
This time there was a soft resonance to the word miracle. Like a subtle push of unseen wind. “But why me? You’ve got family. Daughters. What about—”
“I’ve called. I’ve begged. They’re all busy with Christmas. More stew?”
“What? No. Thank you.”
“I was at the end of my rope, I can tell you. Then I thought about you. I know that sounds like you’re my fall-back position.”
“Sort of. A little.”
“But when the idea came to me, it seemed like a gift.” Emily’s eyes shone. “I’ve seen you struggle this entire year, doing your absolute best to make yourself whole again. I know what you’re going through. You deserve this.”
Once again a lump became lodged in Amanda’s throat, making her words sound strangled. “How could you possibly know what I’ve been going through?”
Emily’s movements became very deliberate. She rinsed Amanda’s bowl and wiped the counter and folded the towel and patted it down. “Come with me.”
Emily led her back through the living room and down the hall and through a pair of double doors. The master bedroom was fronted by a small room, like a second foyer, with just enough space for a television and a sofa and a pair of bookshelves and a reading lamp. “Frank calls this his sanity room. When the grandchildren come and their noise gets to him, he retreats in here.” Emily pointed to the photographs on the back wall. “This is what I wanted to show you.”