Irene Hannon - A Father for Zach

“No strenuous activity involving your feet for the next six weeks.”

“I suppose climbing up and down ladders falls into that category?”

He folded his arms across his chest. “Definitely.”

She stared down at her elevated foot, which was surrounded by ice packs.

“Are you gonna put on a cast?” Zach interjected. “You know, the kind people draw on?”

“Nope. That’s the good news.” The doctor smiled at him, then redirected his attention to Catherine. “A hard-soled, sturdy shoe should do the trick. You need to protect your toes from further injury while they heal.”

“I have some hiking boots.”

“Those will work.”

Good thing she’d thrown them into a box at the last minute instead of giving them to charity, as she’d been tempted to do, Catherine reflected. Although looking at them had evoked a bittersweet pang and reminded her of happy times never to return, the thought of cutting that link to David had been more painful than dealing with resurrected memories. So she’d kept them.

“Now let’s talk treatment.”

The doctor’s voice drew her back to the present, and she shoved her melancholy thoughts into a dark corner of her mind.

“Expect quite a bit of bruising and swelling. Prop your foot on a pillow when you’re sleeping, and stay off it as much as possible for the next few days at least—no prolonged standing or walking. Keep your foot elevated above your head, if possible. That will help reduce the swelling. For the first couple of days, put ice on it for fifteen to twenty minutes every hour or two. You can use a plastic bag filled with ice, but be sure to put a towel between it and your skin. Take an over-the-counter pain reliever if you need it. Any questions?”

“No.”

He tipped his head. “I have one. Why did you ask about ladders a few minutes ago?”

She combed her fingers through her hair and expelled a frustrated breath. “I’m renovating a house I just bought that I plan to turn into a B and B. We’ve only been here three weeks, so I haven’t gotten very far. And my first guests are arriving August 1.”

“Are you doing the work yourself?” His eyebrows rose in surprise.

“Yes. Or I’d planned to, anyway. It’s mostly cosmetic. Nothing too heavy, but it does require a lot of climbing up and down ladders.” She sighed. “I guess I’ll have to find someone to help if I want to be ready for opening day.”

“I can help you, Mom,” Zach volunteered.

She smiled and reached out to take his small hand. “I know, Zach. And you’re a good worker. But I’ll need someone a little bigger, too, to carry heavy things and climb the ladder.”

“If you’re in the market for an extra pair of hands, I’d be happy to give you the name of my brother-in-law,” the doctor offered. “He’s new on the island, too. I know he has some training in carpentry and painting, and he’s already done some work at our church.”

Catherine sent him a grateful look. “That would be great. Thanks.”

The doctor pulled a prescription pad out of his pocket and jotted a couple of lines. Stifling a yawn, he gave her a sheepish grin and handed it over. “Sorry about that. I just got back from my honeymoon yesterday, and I’m fighting a little jet lag.”

Honeymoon.

The word conjured up a poignant image of white beaches, palm trees and a tall, sandy-haired man with love and laughter in his eyes.

It also reminded Catherine where she’d seen the doctor before. She’d played at his wedding two weeks ago. He’d looked quite different that day, in a tux instead of a white coat. Besides, her attention had been on her son, not the bride and groom, whose happiness had brought back bittersweet memories.

Somehow Catherine dredged up a smile. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks. Let me help you off the table.”

He freed her foot from the ice bags, waited while she gingerly swung her legs over the edge and supported her as she fitted her feet into her sandals.

“Is someone waiting to drive you home?”

“We drove ourselves,” Zach piped up.

The doctor frowned. “Driving in your condition isn’t the best idea.”

It was all Catherine could do to hold her tears at bay now that her foot was flat on the floor again—and throbbing with pain. How could two little toes possibly hurt this much?

Summoning up a shaky smile, she brushed his concern aside. “I don’t have far to go. Besides, my car’s an automatic, and my right foot is fine.”

“I’d feel better if you were a passenger instead of a driver. Isn’t there anyone you could call?”

She didn’t miss the subtle glance he cast toward her wedding ring.

“No.”

At the finality in her tone, he capitulated. “Okay. I’ll have one of the aides take you to your car in a wheelchair. But no more driving for a few days. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Five minutes later, as Catherine maneuvered herself into her car with the help of the aide, she thought back to the doctor’s question about whether there was someone who could assist her.

She wished she’d been able to answer in the affirmative. That she could pick up a phone and call the man who’d been the center of her world for eight glorious years.

But she was alone now, except for Zach.

And she always would be.

Because a broken heart was a whole lot harder to heal than two broken toes.

Nathan braked to a stop on the side of the bike path as he approached Surfside and pulled out the directions he’d jotted down when Catherine Walker had called last night. Her street should be the next one on the left, he concluded, pocketing the slip of paper.

The three-mile bike ride from Nantucket town hadn’t taken him nearly as long as he’d expected, so he slowed his speed as he turned off the main road and headed down the dirt lane. The houses here were spread much farther apart than the ones in town, and all were constructed of weathered clapboard. Although they were too far from the beach to offer a glimpse of the sea, they had a wide-open vista of the blue sky and felt a world removed from the tourist crowds and noise. He liked that.

He had no trouble spotting the house his potential boss had described. It was a bit unusual in that it consisted of two clapboard structures joined by a breezeway. The one on the left was a story and a half, Cape Cod in style, while the smaller section on the right appeared to be one level.

Unlike the houses closer to town or in ’Sconset, it didn’t boast lush, well-tended gardens and tall privet hedges. Instead, it seemed to blend into the open, windswept terrain, as if it was a natural part of the landscape. He liked that, too.

Leaning his bike against the rail fence that separated the property from the dirt road, he walked up the gravel path to a front porch rimmed with budding hydrangea bushes. After ascending three steps, he rubbed his palms on his jeans and knocked on the door.

“Hey, Mom, he’s here!”

The sound of a child’s voice drifted through one of the front windows, which was open two or three inches. That was followed by the sound of eager, running footsteps. And a woman’s voice.

“Wait for me, Zach. I’ll open the door.”

Zach.

Nathan had only the space of a few heartbeats, while he listened as a lock was slid back and a dead bolt turned, to process that name and come to a startling conclusion.

But it was more warning than the woman who opened the door was granted.

Stunned, Nathan stared at the wary violinist. The mother of the friendless, blond-haired little boy.

She stared back.

Several beats of silence passed.

Her son recovered first. A wide, welcoming smile split his face as he beamed up at the visitor. “Hey, Nathan! It’s me, Zach, remember? From the wedding. You gave me your cake!”