Leigh Bale - The Healing Place

As he sat, he winked at her.

Emma looked away.

“Oh, no,” she groaned softly, then covered the sound by taking a hurried sip of juice.

“Mark, since you’re the late arrival, how would you feel about coordinating the food and paper goods for the barbecue?” Don asked. “We’ll also need you to take a turn manning the hamburger and hot dog booth.”

“Sure,” Mark agreed. “I’ve already got the head count. I can pick up the supplies anytime and store them in my garage. I’ll get the food the day before the event.”

Mark Williams was donating free time to Make-A-Wish? She could hardly believe it.

“Great! Dr. Shields, would you be willing to assist Mark?”

Her mouth dropped open and she answered in a halting tone. “Ooo-kay.”

She didn’t have a choice. She had committed to help. How would it look if she said no to her first assignment?

Don loosened his tie as he paced in front of the Dry Erase board at the front of the room. “I’ve contacted Channel 6 News to see if they would include a short broadcast the week before the event asking people to donate their frequent flyer miles to Make-A-Wish. Since it’s for a good cause, the news people are willing to do a real nice piece for us. They thought it might be more effective to interview a parent and one of our Wish Kids. Mark, I don’t mean to pick on you, but how would you and Angie feel about being interviewed by them?”

Mark sat back, his white shirt stretching taut across his muscular chest. “Let me check with Angie tonight. I don’t think she’ll mind. I’ll give you a call after I’ve had a chance to ask her.”

“That would be fine.”

The meeting proceeded, but Emma heard nothing more. Her ears felt clogged, like she was under water. Breathing deeply, she tried to steady her pounding pulse.

Anxiety attack. That’s what her doctor called this crazy, muzzy feeling when she was sure she’d implode. He’d given her pills to take for it, but she was determined to cope without drugs.

Breathe deeply. Everything’s okay. You can handle this. Really, you can.

The meeting finally ended and Emma stood on shaky legs, prepared to bolt out of the room.

“Emma!” Mark called to her.

Gritting her teeth, she waited while he rounded the table and came to stand close beside her. Too close.

She took a step back.

“I didn’t know you were on the committee, too. When did you join?” he asked.

“This is my first meeting. You could say I was brought in as part of a conspiracy.”

One of his brows quirked and he laughed. “Conspiracy, huh? That sounds rather sinister.”

When she glanced at Mark and saw amusement playing across his face, she smiled. She couldn’t help it. Mark’s laughter was infectious and, with a bit of surprise, she found his presence strangely comforting.

“Angie’s one of their Wish Kids,” he said. “I wanted to be involved, to give back to a wonderful group. I thought I could help make a difference, like so many people have made a difference for Angie and me. I can’t begin to thank all the wonderful people who have stepped in and blessed our lives. My business partners, church members, social workers, neighbors.”

He moved closer and her eyes widened.

“You,” he said.

Staring at the top button on his Oxford shirt, she backed up a step. His gratitude disarmed her. If he only knew what she had done to her own son, he would never want her to doctor Angie.

He stepped closer and she felt cornered. He reached out and put his hand on her arm. Panic lodged in her throat.

“We can wait to pick up the burgers and hot dogs until the day before the barbecue,” he said. “Would you be able to go shopping with me for paper plates, napkins and plastic utensils the day after tomorrow?”

“The day after tomorrow?” she repeated in a vague tone.

“Yeah, it’s Saturday. You don’t have to work, do you?”

She didn’t have to, but she always did work on the weekend. “No, no, I don’t have to work.”

She looked at his face. Ah, such nice eyes, crinkling when he smiled. She twined her fingers together, her heels sinking deep in the thick carpet.

He smelled good. Nice and spicy, yet not overpowering.

She stepped back again and her shoulders met the wall with a little thump. She’d forgotten how tall he was.

“I can pick you up,” he offered.

She licked her dry lips. “Okay, how about eleven?”

“Good, we can catch some lunch afterward. What’s your address?”

Lunch. What was she getting herself into?

As she gave him the information, he scrawled her home address and phone number on a scrap of paper. Folding it, he then tucked it into his front shirt pocket.

Great! So much for keeping her distance. Now he knew where she lived and how to reach her at home.

“How’s Angie doing?” She shouldn’t have asked, but she really wanted to know. It was her job to ask questions and monitor the girl’s progress.

A frown pulled at his brow. “She’s as good as can be expected, but she’s throwing up and quite weak. I know you said it’s normal to feel sick right after a treatment, but I hate to see her like this. That’s why I was late tonight. She was sick in the car, so I got it cleaned up and then bought her a sand bucket to carry around when we travel.”

“A sand bucket?”

“Yeah, she takes it with her to help prevent accidents. Angie likes it because it has little pink seashells on the rim and it’s smaller than the mop bucket.”

How ingenious. Pretty sand buckets in the car.

“How’s her appetite?” Emma asked.

A labored sigh escaped his lips. “Not good, but Mrs. Perkins tries hard to get her to eat during the day while I’m at work.”

“Mrs. Perkins?”

“Our neighbor. She’s a widow who watches Angie for me. Usually, she only takes in babies, but Angie isn’t up for a busy summer day-care program. She doesn’t have that kind of stamina. Instead Mrs. Perkins lets her do puzzles and read, and help tend the babies. Angie can lie down and rest anytime she wants. It’s a good, quiet place for her, although Angie tells me the babies cry a lot.”

“Ah.”

He gave a sad smile. “You know with the brain tumor, all of a sudden, we belong to a club we don’t want to belong to. Angie just wants to be a kid. I wish I could give her a normal childhood.”

Emma understood. When Brian had become ill, she’d joined that club, too. She opened her mouth to tell Mark about it, but caught herself just in time. “I’m sorry, Mark. I hope we can give you your wish very soon.”

He flashed a brilliant smile and her stomach flipped somersaults.

“You’ve been great, Emma. So many people have helped us. When I got home from work tonight, I found that one of the men from my congregation mowed my lawns this afternoon. His wife brought dinner in and took our dirty clothes to wash. I know those things seem trivial, but it lifted a big burden from me. There are so many good people praying for us.”

“That’s very kind of them.” She could hardly speak around the lump in her throat. She found herself wishing kind members from her congregation had been there when Brian had died, but her husband didn’t like structured religion and she’d gone inactive. No one at church had followed up with her to find out why she wasn’t attending anymore and she had too much pride to ask for their help during those dark days before and after Brian’s death. Would it have made a difference?

The other committee members had left the room, moving toward the main foyer in the outer reception area. The sun had gone down and the wide picture window looked black and vacant.

Just like her heart.

“I was sorry to hear you were divorced,” Mark interjected.