Cynthia Thomason - Rescued By Mr. Wrong

Dr. Foster’s breakfast was interrupted by a knock on the front door. He went to answer and was delighted to see Aurora, who owned Aurora’s Attic Bed and Breakfast, his immediate neighbor and Fox Creek’s newest enterprise.

Martin wiped a few toast crumbs from his chin as he opened the door. “Why don’t I just give you a key, Aurora?” he said. “It’s not like you aren’t as much a member of the family as the girls are.”

Dressed in her typical attire of jeans and a flannel blouse, she breezed by him carrying a white box. “Well, I’m not a member of your family, Marty, and to come in without knocking would just be rude, at least the way I was raised.” She smiled at him. “Besides, you can use the exercise that walking from the dining table to the front door gives you.”

He patted his stomach and thought about putting in an hour at the hospital gym later. At sixty-five, he was in great shape, but his own personal stuffing had settled around his waist since yesterday’s dinner with all the trimmings. He didn’t know how Aurora maintained her wiry, thin figure, especially when he smelled the contents of the box she was carrying. She must not eat her own cooking.

“Are those cinnamon rolls, or are you just trying to break my heart?” he asked her.

“They are cinnamon rolls,” she said, handing him the box. “I thought there might be enough family left to enjoy them this morning.”

“Oh, there is,” he teased. “Wesley and I will polish these off in no time, and Jude will be back from the hospital soon.” He started toward the kitchen. “I’ve got a few minutes. Come on in and have a cup of coffee.”

They sat at the kitchen table where Martin enjoyed a still-warm-from-the-oven roll. “Did you hear from your son last night?” he asked Aurora.

She shook her head. “I didn’t expect to. After he stole that money from me and took off, I figured I wouldn’t hear from William until he’d been arrested or—” her eyes clouded over “—worse.”

Martin wished there was something he could do to make Aurora’s situation with her son easier. She’d taken him in a few weeks ago when he’d gotten out of rehab, but the thirty-year-old had disappointed her again by taking cash and jewelry from her bedroom dresser. At least Aurora had convinced Martin that she’d come to terms with the kind of person William was, and she no longer held out hope that her baby boy would change.

He patted Aurora’s hand. “But yesterday was Christmas. I just thought...”

She gave him an aching sort of smile. “I doubt William even knew it was a holiday. Besides, I had your family to celebrate with. It was a wonderful Christmas with Alex and Lizzie, and Jude falling in love.”

“Yes, it was, but Carrie should have been here. I don’t know what I’m going to do about that one, Aurora. I want her home where I can take care of her. It’s almost like she resents having a doctor in the family.”

“I know how you feel, Marty, but Carrie doesn’t want to be taken care of.”

“She thinks she’s invincible, but I’ve seen her during those times when the asthma attacks severely limited her breathing. Her mother and I watched her carefully her whole life when she played or did chores, or, God forbid, even got near an animal or ragweed. And what does she do? Studies natural sciences and forestry in college and takes a job with the Forest Service where asthma triggers abound.”

Aurora smiled, which always worked to take the sting out of her words. “Marty, you say that as though her decision was her way of rebelling against so much parental interference.”

“I’ve thought about it. You know kids.”

“I’m not saying there couldn’t be an element of truth to your theory, but from what the girls tell me, Carrie truly loves trees and wants to care for the environment.”

“I suppose. But what she chose to do with her life defies all logic. If she should forget to take her pills, or can’t find her inhaler in an emergency...” He ran his fingers through his thick gray hair. “I’m surprised I haven’t lost every hair on my head worrying about that girl. Maggie and I thought she’d eventually outgrow some of her allergies, but they’ve only gotten worse, and Carrie has only gotten more stubborn.”

Aurora took a sip of coffee. “I’m sorry you worry so much about her, Marty.”

He smiled. Of all the people he knew, perhaps Aurora was the one who most understood. “One of these days, if I can pin Carrie down long enough, I’m going to make her do the sensible thing and stay here with me full-time.”

Aurora looked at him a few moments. “Oh, that should work well,” she said.

He chuckled. “I can dream about it at least...”

“Dr. Foster?”

Recognizing the voice of Maggie’s nurse, Martin stood and rushed to the bottom of the stairs. “What is it, Rebecca?”

“Maggie is refusing her food. She’s okay for now, but I thought you might want to come up and have a look.”

Martin turned and nearly ran into Aurora who had followed him from the kitchen. She nudged him forward. “Go. I’ll see myself out.”

He gave her shoulder a little squeeze as a goodbye and headed for the stairs. His life was caught in this awful middle ground. He was committed to the woman upstairs whom he loved beyond reason, and yet he had some strong feelings for the elfish, red-haired sprite of a woman he’d just watched leave. Aurora had come into his life as if she’d been sent to become a rudder for the difficult years he was having now.

And there was no denying the truth any longer. He cared deeply for her.

Less than a minute later, Martin sat at Maggie’s bedside. He took her hand and looked into her eyes, though her gaze was focused, as usual, on an indeterminate spot on the ceiling. “What’s this I hear, Maggie Mine? You don’t like your breakfast this morning?”

His wife looked pale, but otherwise she seemed as she did every morning, caught in the vacuum of her mind, a condition from which there was no escape. Alzheimer’s disease left struggling family members with far more questions than answers, like why did the heart keep beating strong when the mind seemed to have shut out every sound, sight, touch? It wasn’t fair, and to a healing man of science like Martin, it was fate’s dirty trick.

Martin pressed a spoon to Maggie’s lips. “It’s tea, darling, just the way you like it.” Her mouth twitched, but it was more an effort to keep the liquid from going in than a desire to taste it. Martin set the spoon on the nightstand. “That’s all right. You’re just not hungry. We’ll try later.”

Martin checked his watch. He was due at the hospital in forty-five minutes, and yesterday’s snow would make driving difficult. “I have to go, Maggie, but I’m planning to call Carrie in Michigan later today. I told you we all talked to her last night, and she seemed fine, but, I don’t know, I just feel that something’s not right.”

He fluffed Maggie’s pillow. “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. What do I know about intuition anyway? It’s just that, of all our daughters, she is the one most removed from us and the one who most keeps me awake at night. Jude is barely a half mile away in the barn. Alex is a mere three-hour drive away in Columbus. But Carrie, she travels the country, determined to save the forests while I sit here and fret.”

He bent and kissed his wife’s forehead. “I can well imagine what you would say to me, Maggie darling, what common sense advice you would give me. But I can’t change who I am any more than you can change who you are.” He smoothed a hand over her forehead. “It’s up to me now, to worry for both of us. And I’m doing a bang-up job of it.”

* * *

CARRIE OPENED HER eyes to a dull throbbing in her head. The room was still mostly dark, but it was morning. She could see sunlight streaming around the heavy window shades. A digital clock next to the bed read eight thirty. Surely she could take another pain pill now.