Lorna Michaels - A Candle For Nick

Kent sighed. “There are no guarantees, but the chances are good. Maybe not this year, but eventually.”

“Then I can hope for that.” She smiled but he sensed it was forced. “At least he can watch baseball on TV.”

“The Yankees.”

Her eyes flew to his, and she tensed again. “Yes, how do you know?”

“He told me. We were talking after I examined him this morning.”

“He wants to grow up to be Rick Howard.”

“Reminds me of myself at the same age, only I wanted to be Reggie Jackson.” Kent smiled, but Mallory didn’t smile back. Instead, she stared into her tea cup. She picked it up, but her hand shook and she set it back on the table.

Hoping to distract her, Kent changed the subject. “How are your parents?”

“They’re fine. They’d have been here but my dad’s recuperating from a knee replacement.”

“I’m sorry. I know that’s a painful operation. I’m sure they’re here in spirit.”

“Yes. I have a lot of support from back home. My business partner, Lauri Gold—”

“You have a business?”

She smiled. “A florist shop. Buds and Blossoms.”

“I’m surprised. If I remember correctly, you talked about going into psychology.”

“If I’d gone with that, I’d still be in school.”

Her perfume wafted across the table to him. The same scent she’d always worn. He cleared his throat. “Hard to be in school with a kid to raise.”

“Yes.”

“You’ve done a good job, Mallory. Nick’s a great kid.”

“Thanks.”

He wanted to keep her talking, to know about the Mallory of today, so he asked more questions. The room was quiet, strangely intimate, and he felt the pain and outrage he’d carried all these years slipping away. Melting in the warmth of her presence. Maybe this was one of the vivid dreams he used to have of her, dreams that left him aching, wanting.

Finally, she glanced at her watch. “It’s after two.” She stifled a yawn. “Won’t your wife worry?”

“My…? I’m divorced.”

She stared at him for a long, charged moment, then dropped her gaze. “I’d, um, better get back to Nick’s room.” She began gathering the cups.

“Sure.” He helped her clear the table, and they walked back together.

She stopped in the doorway to Nick’s room. “Talking to you helped a lot,” she said softly. “Thanks for getting me through this night.” She reached out, almost touched his arm, then abruptly dropped her hand. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

Mallory stepped inside the room, listened as Kent’s footsteps receded down the hall, then shut the door. Divorced, she thought as the full implication sank in. Oh, no.

Two days later, Mallory sat in Nick’s room, entering information in her laptop. She’d met several other mothers of young cancer patients, and one had suggested she keep a daily log of Nick’s progress.

Nick was feeling better. This afternoon he was engrossed in a baseball game on TV. “Not the Yankees,” he’d complained, “but better than nothin’.”

“Nothing,” Mallory corrected automatically.

“Aw, Mom.”

As she continued typing, Mallory heard the commentator say, “A high pop fly to short right field.”

“Come on, get it,” Nick urged.

Mallory looked up, pleased by the excitement in his voice.

She glanced at the TV screen. The right fielder jogged in, lifted a glove and bobbled the ball.

“Aw, man, can’t you hold on to the ball, you jerk?”

“Nick,” Mallory chided. “Watch your language.”

“Geez, Mom. Don’t you ever get excited about a ball game?”

“Never…well, hardly ever.”

“Dad did.”

“I know,” Mallory sighed, as the next batter struck out.

“Sure. You and Dad knew each other forever.” He grinned when she glanced up at him. “Tell me the story of how you met.”

Her fingers poised on the keyboard. “I thought you were watching the game.”

“Mom, hel-lo. End of inning. Commercial break.”

“You’ve heard the story a hundred times.”

“Yeah, but I like it better than listening to someone go on about oatmeal.” He pointed to the screen, where a family was cheerfully devouring their breakfast, and broke into the endearing little-boy grin she loved.

How could she turn him down? She saved her file and turned the computer off. “Okay, when your grandpa became the rabbi at Beth Jacob and we moved to Valerosa, our house was across the street from your Brenner grandparents. The first morning we were there I went outside to check out the neighborhood when I saw this kid across the street, scowling at me.”

“What did he say?”

“He said, ‘My mom said the new rabbi has a kid named Mallory. Are you Mallory?’ And when I said yes, he said, ‘I thought Mallory was a boy’s name. You’re a girl.’”

“Yeah, he was disappointed.”

“He was, but I fixed him. I chomped my gum, blew the biggest bubble I could and popped it, and then I said, ‘Yeah, so what? I can run as fast as you.’”

Nick chuckled. “And he said, ‘Prove it.’ And you beat him to the corner.”

“Well, almost. It was a tie, but I guess he was impressed because he said, ‘You’re not bad for a girl. Wanna see my bug collection?’”

“And you said, ‘Sure, got any scorpions?’”

“I did, and from then on, we were best friends.”

“And you grew up, got married and had me and lived happily ever after, well, until—” He broke off and turned. “Oh, hi, Dr. Berger.”

“Hi, pal.”

“We were talking about my dad,” Nick said as Kent strode into the room and sat beside the bed. “Did you know him, too?”

“I did,” he said evenly and shot a glance at Mallory. The warmth and caring she’d seen the other night in the doctors’ lounge were gone. Today his gaze was cold, almost angry. Why? What did he have to be mad about? Surely he couldn’t be jealous that she’d married Dean, not after all the promises he’d made and broken.

“Feeling better, hmm?” Kent asked Nick. When the boy nodded, he said, “We’re going to give you another chemo dose tomorrow.”

Nick’s face fell. “The one the other day made me awful sick. Do you have to?” His voice trembled, and Mallory pulled her chair closer to the bed.

“Yeah, we do,” Kent said, his voice gentle. “Remember you told me you and your mom were going to beat this disease?”

Nick swallowed. “Yeah, the two of us, we’re a team.”

“Well, I’m on the team now, too. You could say I’m the manager.” He put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “The opposing team has these blasts—big, fat white blood cells they’re using against us—and the chemo zaps them.” Mallory saw that Kent had Nick’s full attention as he continued. “We’ve adjusted the chemo so you won’t be as sick this time, but we have to use it. It’s our strongest weapon. Okay, pal?”

“Okay,” Nick said in a small voice.

“Good. See you tomorrow.” He rose. “Nine-thirty.”

Kent left the room without speaking to Mallory and strode toward the nurses’ station. Resentment seethed in his veins. The anger that had dwindled the other evening had returned full force when he’d overheard the conversation about the happy Brenner family.

He stopped at the counter and made an entry on Nicholas’s chart. He’d spent many sleepless nights wondering about Mallory’s marriage to Dean Brenner. How “sudden” was it? How much had been in the works even while Mallory was supposedly in love with him?

She was here now and one day when her son was better, he’d ask the questions. And by God, before she left Houston, he’d have some answers.

Mallory paged through a copy of Good Housekeeping as she sat in the waiting room of the clinic. After only a minimal reaction to his second dose of chemo, Nick had been discharged from the hospital. Mallory was relieved. Not only was Nick feeling a little better, but she only had to encounter Kent once a week when he checked Nick and went over the results of blood tests.