So why hadn’t they contacted Dr. Ruiz back then? The answers were ugly and terrifying all at once. Because they’d figured anything Maddie might need, they could provide. Tests…medicines…blood work. Neither she nor Peter was a specialist, but they could order tests. And so in their great belief in themselves they’d failed to do the one thing that might’ve helped Maddie months ago.
Call another doctor.
She reached out and took Maddie’s limp, hot hand in her own. Their tiny daughter was so precious, so much a part of their lives. What would she and Peter have between them if it weren’t for the girls? A life of commonalities, yes. A shared interest in medicine and an appreciation for Bloomington and the beauty of Indiana University.
But love?
The kind of love Pastor Mark talked about? Gentle and kind and unconditional? In the deepest part of her soul Brooke was sure she’d known that type of love only twice in her lifetime. With Maddie, and then with Hayley. Not with Peter or her parents or anyone else except the little blonde girls who ran and played and laughed and lived.
All at the very center of Brooke’s existence.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
JOHN HEARD ABOUT the appointment from Elizabeth. Just after nine o’clock that morning she called his office and said she had Hayley for the day.
“Maddie’s sick again. A fever, higher than before.” Her pinched voice was clear evidence of her anxiety. “They’re taking her in to Dr. Ruiz at ten today.”
The news hit John like a load of bricks beginning to descend on his shoulders. “She’s been well for so long.”
“Brooke and Peter are worried. She has no other symptoms.”
“Fever of unknown origin.” He held his breath. “Just like before. I’ll meet them over there after the appointment.”
“I’ve heard of the doctor.”
“Ruiz is the best in his field.” John squeezed the bridge of his nose and sensed his prayers lifting to heaven before he could even voice them. “Pray it’s nothing, Elizabeth.”
“I am.”
At ten-thirty, John took a series of hallways and catwalks to the building where Dr. Ruiz had his practice. John still had his lab coat on as he entered the office and nodded at the receptionist. He explained that he was looking for his granddaughter, and the woman checked a stack of charts on her desk.
“She’s five years old?”
“Right.” John leaned against the counter, willing the fear to leave his heart. Kids got fevers, sometimes without any explanation. Besides, her white count hadn’t even been checked this time.
The woman glanced at her computer screen. “Looks like they’ve admitted her to St. Anne’s for testing.” She paused, her expression more serious than before. “She’s running a hundred and four, Doctor.”
A hundred and four? This wasn’t the answer he’d expected. He was supposed to drop by, see that Maddie’s fever had broken, and give Peter and Brooke a reassuring hug. Dr. Ruiz should’ve stuck his head out to shake his hand and smile about the obvious answer for Maddie’s latest fever. A flu bug, nothing more.
But apparently Ruiz was worried.
“You’re sure?” John took a step back. “She’s at the hospital?”
“Yes.” The woman looked at the computer screen again. “Dr. Ruiz is with them.”
John thanked the woman and prayed as he made his way to his car. He didn’t want to call Elizabeth yet, not until he knew something more, but he called his own office manager and asked her to clear his schedule for the next few hours.
He arrived at the hospital and found Maddie’s room in a matter of minutes. As he approached her door from out in the hallway, he could hear Brooke and Peter talking. The sound of their voices made him stop. They were quiet and angry, and though he couldn’t make out what they were saying, he had no doubt they were fighting.
Dr. Ruiz approached from the opposite direction. The two men nodded at each other, and John explained that Maddie was his granddaughter.
“I’m admitting her for a few days, trying some IV antibiotics on her. The big guns.” The doctor pursed his lips. “According to her records, her white count’s much higher than before.”
“How high?”
“Over ten thousand.”
The number was another brick added to the load forming across his shoulders. Ten thousand? Numbers like that had to be taken seriously. “An infection?”
“We’ll see.” He held his clipboard close to his body and looked toward Maddie’s room. “You know the routine. If she responds to antibiotics, we look for the source of infection. If not…”
The doctor didn’t need to expound on the possibilities. John patted Dr. Ruiz’s shoulder. “I’m going to see her now.”
“Okay.” He paused before turning back toward the nurses’ station. “We should know something in the next three days. During that time we’ll try a few broad-spectrum antibiotics.”
“And we’ll pray.” John managed a partial smile.
The two promised to talk soon; then John entered Maddie’s room. Immediately Brooke and Peter stopped talking. The hard expressions on their faces told John he was right. They’d been fighting. Not far from them, Maddie lay beneath the hospital blankets. She looked small and pale.
“Dad.” Brooke came to him and gave him a kiss on his cheek. “They’re running tests.”
“I talked to Dr. Ruiz out in the hall.” John hugged her and went to Peter, who stood a few feet away near the foot of Maddie’s bed. He held out his hand and Peter took it, but with none of his usual warmth. “It’ll be a few days before we know anything, right?”
“Right.” Peter was grim-faced, and he didn’t meet John’s eyes. Instead he stared at Maddie and took gentle hold of one of her feet. “We should’ve taken her to a specialist months ago.”
“Fine.” Brooke fell hard into a chair by the head of Maddie’s bed. “What he’s trying to say, Dad, is that this is all my fault.” Her voice was tinged with equal parts sarcasm and fear. “I thought we could order whatever tests she needed.” Another huff. “Peter deferred to me, and we didn’t bring Maddie to a specialist until now.” She crossed her arms. “Peter thinks it’s all my fault.”
“That’s not what I—” Peter stared at Brooke. “Forget it.” He waved his hand at her and strode from the room.
John looked from Maddie to Brooke. Something about the way Brooke and Peter had spoken to each other told John this wasn’t the first time they’d had such clashes. And that whatever was at the root of their anger toward each other was dangerously deep.
He cringed at the blow of another brick.
Brooke gripped the rails on Maddie’s bed and hung her head. “Sorry.” She looked up enough to meet his eyes. “I wish you hadn’t seen that.”
He moved toward her and placed his hand on her shoulder. “Is it Maddie? Is that the problem?”
Brooke gave a slight shake of her head. “I don’t know. We were at each other all the time when she was sick before.”
“Sickness will do that.” John pulled up another chair and sat beside Brooke. “Your mother and I went through some of that when she got sick. The first month after they found the lump, when they knew it was cancer, we fought over the smallest things.”
“I didn’t know that.” Brooke sat back in her chair. “When…how did it change back again?”
“Well—” John turned so he could see his daughter better—“we met with a counselor, someone your mother’s doctor recommended. The man was a Christian, and he told us something we haven’t forgotten since.”
Brooke was quiet, searching his eyes.
“He talked about the Scriptures reminding us to return to our first love. I know the verses are talking about our returning to Christ, but the counselor thought the principle could be applied to marriage as well. He reminded us of Scriptures that urged a husband and wife to find delight in each other. See, we’re supposed to keep going back to our love for each other, that wonderful, heart-pounding love that drew us tog
ether. But returning isn’t a onetime thing. It’s a constant returning. Day after day after day. Returning to each other with a thirst that can never be met without a fresh supply of water. With that attitude, any couple could survive the hills and valleys of life together.”
“Hmmm.” Brooke still had hold of the bed rails. “I like that.” She lowered one hand to Maddie and slid forward so she could stroke her daughter’s blonde head. “But what if you aren’t sure you have anything to return to? What if you were classmates and friends, and before you knew it you were married with children?” She turned and looked at him again. “What if you never once loved each other the way you love your children, Dad? What then?”
“If you don’t know how to return to each other, you do the thing that comes first, Brooke.”
She waited, tears glistening on her eyelashes. “What?”
“You return to God.”
John spent almost an hour with Brooke. Maddie’s fever was down a bit by the time he left and headed outside to use his cell phone. His first call was to Elizabeth. He explained the situation, careful not to let her hear the depth of his concern, the same way he’d been careful with Brooke. He didn’t want either of them to worry about the thoughts that kept demanding his attention.
If tests showed that Maddie had cancer, it was possible she might never leave the hospital. Possible that these were her last days. And if that was true, the rest of the family would find out soon enough.
But one of his children would never know unless he was told in straight, blunt detail just how serious the situation might be. The moment he finished talking to Elizabeth, he called Luke.
It was just after noon, and Luke was having lunch with Lori at their apartment, something they did every Monday after classes and before the afternoon clubs and meetings that often took them in different directions. It was the first time either of them had taken a full load during summer, but doing so meant graduating a semester early and getting to law school that much sooner.
Besides, Luke’s life revolved around campus now. He worked at the cafeteria and had a leadership role in three clubs that met during the summer months.
He and Lori were teasing each other about some girl who’d been calling for Luke, when the phone rang. Luke was up first. He pointed at Lori and chuckled. “It’s not her…she’s not interested, I’m telling you.” He checked the caller ID and saw words that made him cringe.
Baxter, John.
“You get it.” His smile faded as he handed the phone to Lori. “I don’t want to talk.”
She glanced at the caller ID window on the back of the phone and raised an eyebrow at him. “You have to face him, Luke.” She whispered the words as though somehow his father would hear her from wherever he was making the call.
The phone rang a third time.
“Just answer it. Please.” He and Lori had been doing better these days. She was completely recovered from her infection, and though they agreed that seeing other people was the free and right thing to do, they’d developed a friendship that appeared fairly exclusive. In bed and out.
Lori hit the On button and held the phone to her ear. “Hello?” She paused for a moment. “Uh…” Her eyes caught his and she held her hands in the air for a moment. She cleared her throat. “He’s out right now. Is…is there a message?”
Luke sat and watched her, searching her expression for some clue as to why his father was calling.
She lowered her brow and gave a slow nod. “I see. Yes, I’ll tell him.” Pause. “I will. I’ll have him call you when he gets in.”
Lori said good-bye, clicked the Off button, and stared at him. “Your niece is in the hospital.”
Seconds passed and a single thought anchored itself in the deep waters of his mind. If something was wrong with Maddie, then he had to get to her, had to see her and hold her the way he’d done every week when he’d lived with his parents. He needed to run from the apartment, jump in his car, and make his way to the hospital fast. His legs tightened, and he could feel his feet tense in anticipation of his going.
Surely he would go.
But before he could lift himself off his seat, he pulled the anchor and let his mind sail to another place. The muscles in his legs relaxed. “Maddie?”
“Yes.” Lori’s eyes looked troubled, even disappointed. “Luke, you need to go. No matter what your family thinks of you.” She hesitated. “Your dad said she might have something serious.”
Luke steeled himself. “She needs the others, not me.” He picked up the sandwich on his plate and paused. “I’d make everyone uncomfortable.”
“But your father said she was—”
He held up his hand. “I’m allowed to think the way I want, right?” His voice echoed off the plaster walls. “Isn’t that what we’re being taught?”
“That doesn’t mean you stop caring about the people you love.” Her voice was soft. She stood and grabbed her purse. “Freethinking is about more love, not less.” She stared at him. “Something happened when I was in the hospital, Luke. Something I haven’t told anyone.” Her eyes welled up and she coughed to clear her throat. “Your dad came and held my hand. He prayed for me, and you know what?” Her tone matched his now. “I might not believe in prayer, but I know one thing for sure. Your father is a great guy. He should’ve hated me. But he stood there and prayed for me. He—” her voice cracked—“he told me everything was going to be okay.”
Luke couldn’t think of anything to say.
Lori gave a sad shake of her head. “That’s the man you’re running from, Luke? It doesn’t add up.”
She left without saying another word, and Luke stood and crossed the apartment to the window. He stared out and let his forehead fall against the glass. His father prayed for Lori? Even knowing who she was and the role she’d played in leading him away from the Baxter family? Even when he’d thought the baby she’d aborted was his?
A sinking feeling pushed at the edges of his gut. His father must still think that. After all, he’d done nothing to make him believe otherwise.
He grabbed hold of the windowsill. What had happened to him? What had he become after months of letting go of everything he’d believed? After allowing those in the know to reshape his thinking to a level that should’ve been higher and more freeing, his life was more meaningless than ever before.
“Freethinking is about more love, not less.” Lori’s words sounded good, but it was crazy, really. Freethinking meant he could avoid his family if he wanted to. According to freethinking, whatever thought he went with was the right one.
But was that true?
If so, how could cutting off his family—something perfectly acceptable in freethinking—be more loving?
The alternative, of course, was the worldview he’d held before. The belief that God was, and is, real and that he cared enough to stay with a person every minute, every day, for a lifetime. Could any belief be more archaic? Amazing that it took something like September 11 to open his eyes.
But if freethinking didn’t make him more loving and if God’s love wasn’t real, then what was? What foundation did he have to stand on?
Minutes turned into half an hour, and still no answers came. None at all. Life was strange and dark and empty and alone. And for just a moment Luke was certain that somewhere across Bloomington in a hospital room at St. Anne’s, a little girl he still loved had to be feeling the same way.
Strange and dark and empty and alone.
A towheaded, blue-eyed wonder child, whose laugh when she raced him down the driveway at the Baxter house was like wind chimes in a summer breeze. He called her Little M, and she called him Uncle Lu-Lu.
He held his breath and wished for a minute that he still believed in God, still had the confidence to know without a doubt that he need only ask God for heaven to hear and for Maddie to be well again.
If only he could believe just one more time.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
ASHLEY TOOK THE day off so she could set u
p her easel at her parents’ house and paint. The country scenes—especially those with flags—were favorites with the New York gallery, and Margaret Wellington had called again to report that a second of Ashley’s paintings had sold.
A humid blue sky hung over Bloomington that morning, and Ashley set up a hundred yards from the house. Cole had made friends with a neighbor boy, who had joined Cole in a game of soccer on the grassy field between her easel and the front door. Every now and then they’d leave the ball and play hide-and-seek near the big elm tree out front, or sit together on the bench beneath the branches and sing songs. Ashley could barely make out the words, but the songs were happy. That was all that mattered.
For as long as she’d loved painting, Ashley had wondered what it would feel like to live the life she portrayed on canvas. A life filled with light and hope and unforgettable colors. After coming home from Paris, her life had been more like a solid black sheet than one of the Americana portraits she loved to create. A black sheet punctuated with a single piercing yellow dot: Cole.
But not anymore.
“Mom! Watch this!” Cole stood beneath the tree. He lowered his head, ran fifteen steps, and tumbled into a series of somersaults. When he stood up, he did a victory dance and held both fists high in the air.
“Wow, Cole, you’re the best tumbler in the world!” Ashley blew a wisp of bangs off her forehead and wished for a breeze. The day was getting hotter. If the humidity didn’t let up a bit she’d have to move inside.
“I can do it, too!” Cole’s friend set off running.
Ashley stared at her painting and realized that was just what it needed. Not just the house and the flag, but two rough-and-tumble boys playing near the tree in the foreground. She set her brush down and reached for her pencil. With feathery light strokes she sketched in the images of one boy somersaulting while the other celebrated.
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