All He'll Ever Need

by Loree Lough

  “I’m partial to the veal Parmesan. It’s just the right amount of crunchy, and Hobert serves it with roasted red potatoes and salad with dressing that beats any I’ve ever tasted.”

  “Hobert?”

  “The chef. He keeps threatening to retire. And I keep threatening to stop eating here if he does.” Laughing, she tacked on, “His son Matt owns the place now, and insists the recipes won’t change, no matter what.”

  “But you don’t believe it?”

  It was her turn to shrug. “You know the way it is with fathers and sons . . . one always trying to outdo the other.”

  “That was not my experience, but then, my father lived in Pleasant Valley.”

  Lived. Emily wondered if an ailment similar to Gabe’s had taken Phillip’s father.

  “Meaning, you had a friendly, tolerant dad? Or disagreeing with parents is frowned upon in the community?”

  One side of his mouth lifted in a wry grin. “Little of both, I suppose.”

  He’d reverted to what the hospital staff referred to as Amish-speak, slipping only now and then. “Can I ask a personal question?”

  “I’ll tell you what I told your brother when he asked the same question. You can ask, but I may not be able to answer.”

  “Why the change? From Englisher clothes and speech patterns back to the Amish ways?”

  His eyes darkened and his upper body stiffened. “I have my reasons.”

  And they’re none of your business, she thought.

  Cindy appeared, balancing two tumblers of lemonade on a small round tray. “Here you go, folks.” Her order pad open on the tray, she gave her red ballpoint a click. “Ready to order? Or do you need a few more minutes?”

  “We’ll have two veal Parmesan dinners.”

  “As if I didn’t know,” she said, scribbling as she spoke. “One check or two?”

  Phillip answered before Emily had a chance to. “Just one.”

  Cindy walked away, and as Emily started to protest, he held up a hand to silence her.

  “It’s the least I can do. Something Cindy said earlier makes me think that you make a practice—pardon the pun—of bringing patients’ family members here to discuss things in a relaxing environment.” Phillip unwrapped his silverware. “It must be a false rumor, then, that doctors are required to maintain an emotional distance from patients.”

  And their family members . . .

  “As long as we don’t allow the attachment to cloud our medical judgment,” she said, “I see no harm in sustaining a, ah, a certain closeness.”

  He sipped his lemonade and met her eyes over the tumbler’s rim.

  Oh, to read the thoughts that caused one corner of his mouth to lift in an appealing smile!

  Chapter Six

  “Tell me, what childhood event made you want to become a doctor?”

  “How did you know it was a childhood event? Maybe I watched a lot of doctor shows on TV. Or had a crush on my pediatrician.”

  “You don’t strike me as the type who spent a lot of time in front of the television, or makes lifelong decisions based on youthful infatuation.”

  Emily’s pediatrician remained handsome well into his seventies. Not the kind of handsome that inspires girlish dreams, but handsome nonetheless. And she’d always preferred reading, sketching, making beaded bracelets over sitting in front of the TV. But how had Phillip known that?

  “My mom was a Type One diabetic. Her whole life, it seemed, revolved around doctors’ appointments, medications and test strips, a strict diet . . . At first, I thought I’d go into research, to find out what caused the condition, in the hope the discovery might lead to a cure. But midway through med school, I realized I didn’t like being closed up in a sterile lab, that I’d rather work directly with patients. A fellow student—a, ah, a friend, actually—helped me realize that diagnostics was a better fit.”

  She’d said her mother was a diabetic. Had some diabetes-related disorder caused her death? And the way she’d said “friend” made Phillip think that the fellow student had been more than a friend. Much more. If she felt like sharing details, so be it. If not—

  “One thing led to another,” she continued, “and the specialty branched out when I transferred here.”

  “Transferred to Oakland? From where?”

  “Baltimore.”

  Even the city’s name seemed difficult for her to say. Had the so-called friend inspired the transfer?

  “How long have you been with Garrett Regional?”

  “Almost two years.” Her forefinger traced the rim of the glass, which emitted a quiet zinging sound. “My brother had already moved here. Work, and distance, makes it hard to see my dad and other siblings as often as I’d like, but at least Pete is nearby. He’s the best big brother, ever.”

  He’d spent enough time with the man to believe it. “Your other siblings . . . brothers? Sisters?”

  “There are four of us. Pete is the oldest. Next came Joe. Then Miranda.” She leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “I’d never tell them, of course, but Pete’s my favorite. Always has been. Always will be. Without him, I don’t know how Dad would have made it when we lost Mom. Pete chose the casket. Ordered the headstone. Wrote the obituary. Organized the service. After the customary get-together at the house, he cleaned the place, top to bottom, then took Dad on a cross-country drive. They were gone nearly three months. And when they came home, well, let’s just say that time away made it a bit easier for Dad to adjust to life without Mom.”

  “Three months.” Phillip watched as she sipped her lemonade. “He must have had an understanding boss.”

  “Actually, the captain made it clear that he didn’t approve of Pete’s time off. That’s how he ended up here in Western Maryland, working as a paramedic for a private ambulance service instead of a firefighter.”

  “Based on his partner’s behavior, I would say he is well liked by coworkers.”

  Emily laughed softly. “I’ve never met anyone who doesn’t love him. And if I did? I wouldn’t trust that person!”

  It was obvious she cared deeply for her family, Pete in particular. Cared deeply for her patients, too. He admired her loyalty. Disloyalty had been at the root of his every major argument with Rebecca. Regardless of subject matter, or whether he’d been in the right, not once did she take his side. In the privacy of their house, it might not have cut as deeply. But at church? In her parents’ home? In his shop, in front of customers? As the midwife brought Gabe into the world? He hadn’t understood it then, and if he allowed himself to dwell on the memory, it still irked him.

  Emily sat forward again, looking concerned. “What’s wrong?”

  He’d never been much good at hiding his feelings. His mother, the bishop and the other elders, even young Gabe often teased him about the way his face revealed his every thought and emotion. He didn’t like the uncontrollable, angry thoughts that surfaced about Rebecca. She’d been quiet. Frail. Sickly. Her mood swings weren’t entirely her fault.

  He gripped the tumbler. “Just wondering how Gabe is doing. He looked paler than usual when we left. And then the low-grade fever . . .” A necessary lie, he told himself, blended with a bit of truth.

  Smiling sweetly, she patted his hand. “Don’t worry, Phillip. He’s safe, and in good hands. By the time we get back, the test results I ordered will be in. And his grandmother is with him, don’t forget.”

  He might have said something flattering about his mother if Cindy hadn’t returned, this time balancing a large oval tray on her shoulder. After delivering their plates, she told Emily that Hobert said “hey,” and that he’d stop by in a bit to collect his weekly hug.

  “If you need anything, anything at all,” the girl added, “just holler.” And with that, she returned to the hostess stand.

  If he’d blinked, Phillip might have missed the way Emily paused and, hands folded on the table’s edge, closed her eyes. Afterward, she wasted no time picking up her knife, cutting off a bite-sized chunk of
veal. Deep down, he knew that he ought to follow suit. He was about to when she said, “It’s so good, isn’t it?”

  He quickly took a bite, hoping that he could agree. Truth was, he’d taken better meals in the comfort of his own kitchen, expertly prepared by his mother. But “Yeah, it’s pretty good” was what he said.

  “I’m not eating all of this.” She glanced toward the kitchen, then leaned forward to say, “I need to save room for Hobert’s spectacular cheesecake.”

  “He’s a chef and a baker, too?”

  Small talk. He didn’t hate many things, but idle chitchat was high on the list. Hopefully, she wasn’t one to dawdle over a meal, because Phillip wanted to hear more about Gabe’s condition, and return to the hospital, ASAP. If she didn’t get to the point soon, he’d have no choice but to reintroduce her to it.

  “This is a small place. Most of Hobe’s staff pulls double duty. Cindy waits tables, and as you heard, she’s a hostess and busboy, too.” Emily pointed to the middle-aged man behind the bar, and he waved. “Robert serves drinks, and when things are slow, he’s a dishwasher.”

  Cindy had greeted her by name. And Hobert intended to visit the table to collect a customary hug. If the bartender’s wide grin was any indicator, he thought highly of Emily, too. How many meals had she eaten here to have earned “like family” status? Phillip knew little to nothing about her personal life. If she had a steady beau, he must be a doctor. Who else would tolerate her crazy schedule? Or allow a woman as wonderful—and gorgeous—as Emily to spend so much time alone?

  Cindy paused on her way to a nearby table. “Everything all right, folks?”

  “It’s delicious, as usual. We’d like cheesecake and cappuccino. No rush. Just whenever you get a chance.”

  “With caffeine, of course,” the girl said, winking. She met Phillip’s eyes. “Decaf for you?”

  Although Emily didn’t speak, he heard her unasked question: “Are the Amish allowed to drink caffeine?”

  Oh, how tiresome it was, watching and listening to the erroneous conclusions of others! But who was he to talk? God hadn’t gifted him with mind-reading talents, yet he’d lumped her in with “the others,” though she’d never said or done anything to earn it. You’re a hypocrite, he told himself, because since losing Rebecca, he’d broken just about every Amish rule.

  And yet, he felt protective of the people in Pleasant Valley, whose quiet lives harmed no one.

  “No decaf for me,” he said, eyes locked on Emily’s. “I want to be alert for our, ah, discussion.”

  Cindy’s eyebrows disappeared behind purple-dyed bangs. “Aw, don’t tell me you two are breakin’ up. That’d be a major bummer, ’cause you look so good together!”

  “Breaking up?” he and Emily said together. Nervous laughter punctuated their harmony.

  “Sorry. You know me . . . always jumping to conclusions.” Cindy giggled. “I just assumed that since you weren’t discussing some weird illness or an operation, that you two were, well, y’know, a couple.”

  Later, after driving his mother home and Gabe was fast asleep, he’d try to figure out if he’d said or done anything to give the girl such an idea. For now, he said, “My little boy is Dr. White’s patient.”

  “Mr. Baker is right.” A cool tone replaced the warmth in Emily’s usually musical voice. “We’re mostly here to discuss how we’ll proceed with his son’s care.”

  Mr. Baker. Again. And mostly?

  He blamed lack of sleep or concern about Gabe for the strange questions swirling in his mind: Had Emily expected him to admit that he saw her as something more than Gabe’s doctor? Was that what had caused the sudden shift in her manner? His heart did a wacky little leap at the possibility. That, alone, puzzled him. He’d never felt anything like it, not even the first time he’d kissed Rebecca.

  He pretended to listen as Cindy described her preparations for life in a college dorm. Her enthusiasm proved that she appreciated the new experiences awaiting her. Experiences the girls at Pleasant Valley would never know. A good thing, in his estimation, since the community protected them from the disappointments and dangers so prevalent in the cities and towns beyond their borders. He leaned in, hoping it would appear that he was listening to their conversation. Despite his best efforts, memories of Adam Bontrager seeped past the edge of his consciousness. Adam, who twenty years ago, had been forced to choose between everyone in Pleasant Valley and the Grantsville divorcée who’d hired him to paint her duplex. He thought of Esther, too, who’d suffered banishment a decade later when her father—the community’s bishop—caught her in a passionate embrace with a bachelor who frequented the Fishers’ vegetable stand. Both had known the consequences of their actions. But Phillip couldn’t help but wonder . . . had the choices they’d made for love been worth sacrificing everything—and everyone—else?

  Shunning seemed innocuous, until one considered how many lives it altered. Parents, siblings, other relatives and friends knew better than to speak of the “gone person” except in hushed tones. It was one of the reasons he’d kept quiet about the many times he’d considered moving to Grantsville or Deer Park, to build a new life that didn’t include the tired “Faith cures all ills and eases all pain” sermon. These days, the thoughts hammered at him on a daily basis, because after the operation, Gabe would need easy access to a decent pediatric heart center. No such thing existed in Western Maryland, but in Baltimore . . .

  Again he wondered, Would it be worth it?

  Emily’s soft, sweet laughter brought him back to the here and now.

  “You’ll have to send me your address,” she was saying. And handing Cindy a business card, she added, “Once you’re settled in at Frostburg State, give me a call or drop me an e-mail. I’d love to hear how things are going.”

  “I’ll do that.” The young woman tucked the card into her apron pocket and, grinning, hugged Emily. “You’re the best!” she said, and headed for the kitchen.

  Emily waited until she was out of earshot to say, “Where were you a few minutes ago?”

  Clearly, he’d never make it as an actor, not if he couldn’t even hide the thoughts that had taken him far from her exchange with Cindy. “Just thinking about Gabe’s future.” Not the whole truth, but not another necessary lie, either.

  She opened the big black bag on the bench beside her and withdrew a thick folder. Had she made duplicate copies? Earlier, he’d given the pages in the first file a cursory glance, and placed it on Gabe’s bedside table, thinking to give the material a more thorough read once Sarah was home and Gabe was asleep. Or had she tucked the original file into her medical bag when he wasn’t looking?

  “Before we get started, I just want to say . . . I don’t know why you decided to go back to wearing Amish clothes and speaking Pennsylvania Dutch. But when we’re alone, you and I, I hope you’ll feel free to let down your guard. No need to add to your stress when it’s just the two of us.”

  Yes, he admired her caring nature, but didn’t she realize that by making such a genuine offer, she’d made his decision even harder?

  “I appreciate the offer,” he admitted, “but switching back and forth will prove more stressful than choosing one or the other. For now, at least, I must get back to basics. For my mother’s sake. For Gabe’s.”

  She smiled, and he couldn’t decide if sympathy or understanding prompted it.

  “You’ll see that I’ve gathered a lot more information, new information,” she said, sliding several loose pages closer to his elbow. “I also took the liberty of discussing Gabe’s case with a . . .” Blinking rapidly, Emily looked toward the restaurant’s entrance. “With a friend who specializes in pediatric cardiology.”

  The same friend she’d referred to earlier? That got his full attention. “He’s here? In Oakland?”

  She shook her head. “I’m afraid not. He’s in Baltimore. At Johns Hopkins.”

  Some time ago, he’d read an article touting the hospital as one of the best in the world. If this friend could a
rrange for Gabe to see a top surgeon . . .

  “Alex, I mean, Dr. Williams says he can add Gabe onto his surgery schedule if we get him to Baltimore by Monday.”

  So. The friend performed heart surgery. Phillip swallowed his disappointment and decided to focus on the bright side: No way he could compete with a big-city surgeon, which solved the problem of putting a safe emotional distance between him and Emily.

  “Monday,” he echoed. “But . . . but today is Thursday.. . .” Now, Phillip focused on a newly written mental to-do list: time at his shop, completing small jobs; reaching out to customers who expected him to repair additional engines and motors; talk with Hannah about keeping an eye on their mother; could he trust his old truck to make the four-hour trip east, and back again?

  “I’ll help you any way I can.”

  Emily’s offer, he believed, was sincere. She’d earned his admiration for sensing what had caused his hesitation. But even if she could help alleviate the financial burdens associated with Gabe’s care, he couldn’t in good conscience ask for or accept her aid.

  He analyzed the new pages, saw immediately that she hadn’t exaggerated. They contained many details not included in the material he’d already read. What he didn’t see, however, were specifics about the operation itself.

  “How long will Gabe be in the operating room?”

  “Several hours, if everything goes according to plan.”

  “What are the chances they will not?”

  “Slim to none. Dr. Williams is one of the best in the world.”

  Gabe might buy into such empty promises, but Phillip found no comfort in her words.

  “What about afterward? Do you expect complications?”

  She shook her head. “There’s no reason to expect that.”

  “How long will your, ah, friend keep him in the hospital?”

  Had she heard the sarcasm in his voice? Was that why it took a full second or two before she said, “That’s an excellent question, one you should ask Dr. Williams. He agreed to make time in his schedule for a pre-op consult. That’s when he’ll evaluate Gabe in person. And during the exam, you can ask any questions you might have.”