Rebecca Russell - The Substitute Fiancée

She noted the generous amount and kissed him on both cheeks. “My hero. Thank you.”

“You’re more than welcome. Say, since Mac seems to have deserted us, why don’t we—”

“Oh, Mr. Nashco,” an elderly woman dripping in diamonds called out as she approached him. “You simply must come meet my darling niece Gracie.” She turned to Jessie. “You don’t mind, do you, dear?”

“Of course not.” Jessie nudged him toward the determined woman. “And thanks again for the donation, John.”

The woman practically dragged him off, giving Jessie a much-needed respite from the entertaining but exhausting banter with the infamous prosecutor.

Where had Mac disappeared to? She scanned the crowd for a sign of him, but only because he supposedly had fetched a drink for her, not because she wanted to spend time with him. The more they were together, the higher the risk she’d slip up and reveal her true identity.

In search of something cold to drink, and a diversion, she approached a group of kids hovering around the linen-covered tables laden with exotic finger foods and sparkling bowls of punch.

She poured a cup of the pink liquid for herself and took a long drink. “Hey kids, why the long faces?”

One tall, older boy shrugged, another mumbled under his breath.

The young guests seemed more pale and thin than normal, but what really stood out was their complete boredom.

“I thought this was going to be a real party,” a young girl with big brown eyes offered.

“Yeah,” the mumbler added. “This is lame. I’d rather be back at the hospital playing video games with my buddy.”

The tall boy elbowed the “mumbler.” “Did y’all forget it was our idea to come tonight?” The spokesman for the group turned to Jessie. “We get so tired of not being able to do anything to help. Lots of our friends can’t leave the hospital, but we’re in remission, so we talked our parents into bringing us with them tonight. They had to fill out all sorts of papers so we could and now it looks like it was all for nothing.”

She didn’t doubt their sincerity but was still confused. “It’s wonderful that you want to help. What was your plan?”

The tall boy shrugged. “We figured if we talked to some of the guests about how we got sick and what we need to get better, that people might understand and give even more. But it’s harder to go up and talk to strangers than we thought.”

Jessie’s heart went out to the brave young souls who had obviously been through more than most kids their age, and to their parents. How did a mother or a father deal with watching their loved one suffer daily as well as live with the fear of losing their child at any moment?

She wanted to do more to help than make a monetary donation, but what? “These people do care or they wouldn’t be here tonight,” she offered. “And I think they’d love the chance to talk with you, but they have no idea that’s why you’re here, so we need to get their attention somehow.”

She glanced about the room for ideas. At the end of each table sat a balloon bouquet made up of one Mylar balloon and half a dozen of the latex. “Come on, kids. Follow me.”

She untied one bouquet and, carrying it like the Olympic torch, headed for an empty corner of the ballroom.

All but the two older boys followed, no doubt too cool for any activity that involved balloons. The rest of the kids, three boys and seven girls ranging from ages six to twelve, she guessed, gazed at her expectantly. “Have you everdone balloon relays?”

All shook their heads.

“Pick a partner, face each other, and form two lines.”

As they positioned themselves, she freed two of the latex balloons from the bunch and tied up the ribbon streamers so no one would trip. “Now, the object of the game is to carry the balloon between you and your partner’s bellies to the wall and back to the beginning of your line. You can’t use your hands. Got it?”

Heads bobbed up and down. Wide eyes sparkled with excitement. Faces beamed.

Jessie helped the first four get into position and then gave the signal to begin.

The kids clapped and cheered for each other as teammates squished the balloons between their bodies and tried to move forward. The balloons fell and were retrieved and repositioned many times. Both groups made it back to the line about the same time and the next four kids took off.

Jessie observed the little brown-eyed girl glancing at one of the older boys. When she failed to get his attention, she hurried over and raised her arms. He shook his head and grinned, then scooped her up and headed over to the game, with the other boy following.

“Squirt here wants me to help her, says she can’t go fast enough by herself. Is that okay with you?”

“Of course,” Jessie replied. “And your friend here can help, too.”

The “mumbler” picked up a small boy and waited for their turn.

To keep the game moving, Jessie helped retrieve the dropped balloons and repositioned them between the bellies. Within minutes, her high heels morphed into torture chambers. Another balloon escaped, but her feet protested the idea of one more chase.

Forget glamour. The kids were having too much fun. The shoes had to go, she decided, and kicked them off. The carpet felt like a caress against her aching bare feet; her toes wiggled with delight at their newfound freedom. Why hadn’t she done that earlier?

As the relays continued, Jessie noted the grins that covered the kids’ faces. Whether or not her idea worked to draw attention to the children, at least for a little while they had forgotten their reality of doctors, hospitals and treatments.

A hand gripped her elbow, leaving every nerve ending exposed and screaming for more than an innocent touch. Only Mac had that effect on her, much to her surprise and dismay, and she had nowhere to hide.

She was busted.

“What’s going on, Jenna?”

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