The Healing Place

Angie sat up in bed, staring at a picture of her mother beside the clock radio on the bedside table.

“Hey, honey-girl, it’s late. You should be asleep.” He smiled, remembering the first time he’d caught her with a flashlight under her covers, reading a Trixie Belden book; advanced reading for a kid barely out of kindergarten.

Her brow furrowed as he sat beside her on the bed. He brushed his knuckles against her temple. “Something wrong?”

“When’s Mommy coming home?” A single tear trickled down her cheek.

Regret swamped him when he thought of all the woulda’, shoulda’, coulda’ things he might have done to keep his marriage alive. He hated that Angie had to pay the price for her parents’ failure.

“Remember, Mommy’s gone to stay with Grandma.”

He couldn’t bring himself to tell her Denise now lived with another man. According to Denise’s mother, the guy was still in college, twelve years younger than Denise. The kid had taken Denise to Europe and the Bahamas, while Angie spent her days with doctors and specialists.

Anger crowded Mark’s mind and he tried to fight off the resentment. He wasn’t ready to ask God’s forgiveness for these emotions, but without God, he believed he would fall apart. And he needed to remain strong, for Angie’s sake.

“Mommy may come to visit us, sweetheart, but she won’t be living with us anymore.” He’d told Angie this before, but she couldn’t seem to accept it.

Neither could he.

Heavenly Father, where are You? How much more can I bear?

In the quiet, Mark heard a still small voice speaking within his soul.

I’m here, son. I’ve never left you.

“But why doesn’t she call us?” Angie asked, her bottom lip quivering. “Doesn’t she love us anymore?”

He scooped Angie into his arms and hugged her tight. As he breathed deeply of her warm, sweet skin, he tried to calm his troubled thoughts. “Of course she loves you. Maybe Mommy’s extra busy and hasn’t had a chance to call.”

Yeah, right. Too busy with the preschooler to call her sick daughter.

Their dogs, Tipper and Dusty, curled up beside Angie—no barking or wagging tails. It was as if the hyper Maltese and toy fox terrier knew Angie was ill and they protected her the only way they knew how.

“Can we call her?” the child persisted, snuggling deeper beneath the flowered comforter.

He’d tried to reach Denise numerous times, but his ex-mother-in-law refused to give him the new phone number. “I’ve already called your grandma and asked her to tell Mom you want to talk to her.”

Thanks, Denise, for leaving me to figure out how to keep from breaking our daughter’s heart.

Angie sighed, with relief or sadness, he wasn’t certain. “Is she mad at me? Because of the brain tumor?”

“Nooo, honey!” He cupped her pale cheek with his hand. “It’s not your fault Mommy left. You had nothing to do with it. She’s fine. I don’t want you to worry about her, okay? Just think about getting better.”

“Can’t you be friends again?” Angie suggested. “Maybe you could say you’re sorry and Mom would come home.”

If only it were that easy.

“We would both have to want that, and right now, Mommy doesn’t.”

In all honesty, he didn’t want it, either. Not after the pain Denise had put him through by leaving him for another man.

Angie nodded, her hollow eyes a haunting remnant of the bouncing girl she’d once been. He’d give anything if it were him who was sick, instead of Angie.

“Dr. Shields is nice,” she told him.

He flashed her a smile. “Yeah, Emma always was nice. And very smart. She knows just what to do to help you get better.”

What a blessing they had found Emma. The moment he’d seen her standing in her office, he’d felt complete trust in her abilities. Though she’d been reluctant to accept Angie as a patient, Mark had no doubt God had sent them to her. With her help, and through God’s grace, they would get Angie well again. He refused to believe anything less.

Mark fingered the thin braid at Angie’s right temple. His throat clogged with tears when he thought of how kind the nurses from Angie’s last surgery had been, making a big deal over an inch-square of long hair because it was all Angie had left on her head. The neurosurgeon had shaved the rest off, replacing it with a melee of stitches.

“Don’t worry, Daddy. It’s gonna’ be okay,” Angie whispered and patted his hand.

Mark blinked. She was comforting him?

The center of his being swelled with hope. If she could have faith, then so could he.

He kissed her cheek and murmured against her ear. “I love you, honey.”

“I love you, too, Dad.”

Tears blurred his vision.

Please, God, don’t take her from me. He prayed the words over and over in his heart.

“What’s up for tomorrow’s schedule?” Angie yawned, her eyelids drooping.

“Tomorrow, we go see Dr. Shields for your first chemo injection.”

Mark had decided not to keep things from Angie. She had a right to know what the doctors were doing to her and why.

“Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll be brave.”

Emotion washed over him and his throat felt like sandpaper. She was the bravest person he knew. “Of course you will. Now, are you ready for prayers?”

Because he didn’t want to jar her too much, he resisted the urge to tickle her like he used to. Instead he knelt beside her bed and waited while Angie folded her arms and began speaking in a hushed voice.

“Heavenly Father, thank You for Tip and Dust and our house and Dr. Shields. Bless Mommy and help her come home soon, and help Daddy and me be brave. And help my tumor die. In the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.”

“Amen.” Mark opened his damp eyes. “Now, lay back and close your eyes again and imagine the tumor in your mind.” He paused, giving her time to begin their nightly ritual—a suggestion from their neurosurgeon. “Can you see it there in your mind?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“And can you squeeze it tight and see it getting smaller, and smaller, until it just disappears?”

“Yes.” A soft murmur. “It’s almost gone.”

“Okay, kill it, honey. Kill it and tell me when it’s dead and gone.”

Long moments ticked by as he watched her brow furrow with concentration.

“There. It’s all dead.” Opening her eyes, she gave him a smile so bright that a lump formed in his chest.

He held her for several minutes, just because he could, just because she was alive and warm and here in his arms, and one day she might not be—

He wouldn’t go there.

When he saw that Angie was asleep, he pulled the covers to her chin and backed out of the room and went to sit in the dark family room.

Alone.

No lights, no television, no wife. Just him, staring at the time flashing on the DVD player until it blurred and he had to blink.

His hands trembled and his breathing quickened. A hoarse cry rose upward in his chest. Cupping his face with his hands, he leaned his elbows on his knees.

Tears flooded his eyes and he wept.

Chapter Three

“Please, take a seat. Dr. Shields will be here shortly.” Sonja directed Mark and Angie into an examination room.

“Thanks, Sonja.” Mark pressed the palm of his hand against Angie’s back, urging her to sit on the vinyl couch, which had a fresh pillow in a stiff pillowcase lying at one end.

A short stool on wheels and one chair sat beside the bed. The room smelled of antiseptic. Jars of cotton swabs and alcohol wipes rested on the counter beside a small sink. Perched beside the door, a magazine rack held the latest issues of the Wall Street Journal, Newsweek, and various parenting magazines.

Angie settled on the bed while Mark slumped in the chair and stared at a picture on the wall. A ski slope in winter. Aspen, maybe.

Feeling Angie reach over and slip her hand into his, he sat up straighter and squeezed her fingers tight. She wore a worried expression and he gave her a reassuring smile. “Don’t be afraid. You’ve got the EMLA Cream on and it shouldn’t hurt at all.”

Thank goodness their neurosurgeon had given them a prescription for a tube of EMLA. The cream’s topical deadening powers worked wonders the numerous times Angie had to be stuck by a needle.

She nodded, but he sensed her tension. He’d lost count of the needle pokes she had endured. She had never become immune to the pain.

Neither had he.

He wished he could take her place and do this for her. It helped him understand how God must feel as he watched his children down on earth, struggling through their trials.

Sonja opened the door and came in carrying a tray with a hypodermic and a vial of amber liquid. The nurse set the tray on the counter, then prepared the injection.

“The doctor will be right in.” She spoke in a cheery tone.

Mark coughed. “Sonja, how long have you worked for Emma, er, Dr. Shields?”

Sonja chuckled. “I’ve known Dr. Shields long enough that sometimes even I slip up and call her Emma. I met her in a science class at the university when she was an undergrad. I went back to school after my husband died, so I was kind of old to be a student. Emma and I were lab partners. I introduced her to her former husband, David.”

“Former?”

Sonja’s eyes creased with sorrow and she shook her head. “I’m afraid they divorced two years ago. It was pretty hard on Emma. David never was a very supportive husband.”

Mark’s insides went cold. He understood firsthand the sadness caused by divorce.

He was about to ask more, but Emma opened the door and came in, carrying a clipboard. Dressed in a white blouse and black skirt, she wore a white doctor’s jacket over the top, buttoned mid-way up the front. Her blond hair was pulled back in a tight knot at the base of her neck. She wore wire-rimmed glasses low on her nose. Even with the severe hairstyle, he remembered how stunning she could look when she let her hair down and smiled.

The moment she entered the room, he felt as though he’d come home. Safe. Like a breath of fresh air after being locked in a tiny closet for six months. Her presence soothed his jangled nerves, offering hope in a weary world of fear.

Old feelings of affection crowded his heart. Wow, it was good to see her!

His gaze darted to her left hand where a gold wedding band circled her fourth finger.

How odd.

She’d been divorced two years, yet she still wore her ex-husband’s ring. After two years, he would have thought she would be over the guy. He was definitely over Denise. He realized his priorities had changed since Angie’s birth, but Denise hadn’t changed one bit. Somehow, the distance between them had grown to unrecognizable proportions.

Mark looked away but couldn’t help wondering if Denise had hocked her garish wedding ring at a pawnshop. No doubt, she could get a tidy sum for the diamonds.

At one time he hadn’t cared. Now he wished someone in this world loved him enough to wear his ring. But even if he found that special someone, he doubted he’d have time to build a relationship. Angie was his first priority and kept him more than busy. He couldn’t afford the luxury of a romance right now.

“Hello.” Emma glanced at him, then turned to smile at Angie.

“Hi, Emma.” His voice sounded unusually low and he cleared his throat.

Pen in hand, Emma sat on the stool and began scribbling notes on her clipboard. “Angie’s blood count looks good right now. This blood test was performed yesterday?”

She peered at Mark over the rim of her glasses, her clear blue eyes showing a dazzling depth of intelligence and—

Barriers.

“Yes, at the blood lab,” he said.

Her gaze returned to the clipboard. “Okay, after each injection, we’ll monitor Angie’s white blood cells to make certain they don’t get too low. If they do, we’ll skip one treatment to give her blood levels time to recover, then pick up again the following week.”

“I understand.” Mark nodded.

“I don’t. How come?” Angie asked.

Ever inquisitive, Angie had been on the Internet with Mark last night, reading all they could find out about brain tumors and treatments. She’d even commented that she wanted to be an oncologist like Dr. Shields when she grew up. Mark prayed Angie made it to a very old age.

Emma gazed at Angie with a hint of respect. “That’s a very good question. I’m glad you asked. The drugs we’re giving you kill the bad cells, but they also kill good cells.”

Angie’s brow wrinkled. “And we can’t let too many good cells die, right?”

Smart kid. Pride surged through Mark. With Angie’s intelligence, he was certain she’d make it through med school, if given the chance.

“Right,” Emma said.

“But what if the chemo doesn’t kill my tumor?”

Mark held his breath, waiting for Emma’s response.

Emma’s mouth opened and her gaze softened, but she didn’t speak right away. She seemed to choose her words carefully. “We have other options. We can use radiation, but we’re not to that point, yet. Let’s just take it one day at a time, all right?”

Angie smiled and nodded. She looked so trusting as she watched Emma.

Mark’s body tensed without him willing it. What if they had to resort to radiation? Brain cells didn’t recover from radiation and Angie could lose much of her cognitive ability. What damage would the chemo cause? Her neurosurgeon had told him that once she finished her chemo protocol, she’d have a forty percent chance of never giving birth to her own child. Sometimes he wondered if the treatment was worse than the illness.

Realizing his breathing had quickened and his heart was pounding, Mark tried to calm his troubled mind. One day at a time. Right now, they were fighting for Angie’s life.

“Will the chemo make me sick?” Angie asked.

Emma lifted one brow. “I see you have your father’s intelligence.”

“And her mother’s beauty.” Mark smiled at Angie and the little girl beamed.

He mentioned Denise for Angie’s benefit.

Emma’s focus shifted to the alpine picture over his right shoulder and he couldn’t help wondering if the mention of Denise bothered her. What a fool he’d been all those years ago to dump Emma for a pretty girl whose father had connections in the business world. Prestige had meant everything to him back then.

“Certain foods react with the drugs we’re giving Angie and can create a problem. Do you have the list of things she shouldn’t eat?” Emma asked.

“Yeah, we’ve got it and I’ll make sure Angie follows it.”

“Okay, pumpkin, you ready?” Sonja came over to the bed, then reached to help Angie sit back.

Lying on the pillow, Angie handed Mark her flowered hat. He noticed Emma’s gaze slid over the little girl’s bald head where pink scars circled the top right side. Hopefully, her thick hair would eventually grow back and no one would notice.

Emma didn’t show even a glimmer of repulsion. Instead a flicker of empathy filled her eyes.

Ah, she’s not as indifferent as she wants us to believe.

Sonja lifted Angie’s shirt, exposing the porta-catheter installed for administering the chemo injections. The neurosurgeon had warned that, if they didn’t use a porta-catheter, by the time Angie turned eighteen, the veins in her arms would collapse. If not handled carefully, the powerful medicine could burn her skin bad enough to require a plastic surgeon to repair the damage. A patch covered the EMLA Cream, which Mark had applied to Angie’s skin thirty minutes earlier. Angie shouldn’t feel any more than a bit of pressure.

“Is it gonna hurt?” Angie’s voice wobbled as she looked at Emma.

Tenderness filled Emma’s eyes. “No, sweetie, it shouldn’t.”

Setting her clipboard aside, Emma slipped her glasses off and tucked them into her pocket before carefully peeling back the Emla patch. She accepted a piece of gauze from Sonja and wiped the white cream off.

“Okay, lie still.” Emma’s voice soothed.

Mark tensed. Angie clung to his hand, her pulse hammering against her throat.

“Honey, I’m here.” He cupped Angie’s cheek and looked into her eyes. Bending at the waist, he lowered his face to lean against the pillow. She whimpered and Mark kissed her forehead, speaking calming words to her.

“All done, sweetie,” Emma said. “You can sit up now.”

Both Angie and Mark breathed with relief. As Emma drew near, he caught her scent, a combination of warm skin and some elusive floral fragrance. Inhaling deeply, he tried to forget why he was here.

“It didn’t hurt a bit. Thanks, Dr. Shields.” Angie smiled, showing one tooth missing in front.

What a difference. Now the dreaded injection was over, Angie almost seemed her old self again.

“You’re welcome.” Emma’s mouth curled as she disposed of the needle in a box labeled Hazardous Waste.

Placing a small dot bandage over the needle prick, Sonja helped Angie lower her shirt and patted the little girl’s shoulder. “You did just fine, kiddo. Do you want to come select a prize from my stash out in the office? I got it special just for your visits.”

A grin spread across Angie’s face and she nodded. Sonja took her hand as Angie slid off the bed, then they left the room. Mark picked up Angie’s hat and slapped it against his thigh. Emma put her reading glasses on, then picked up her clipboard, jotting more notes.

“Thanks, Emma. I really appreciate this. I can’t begin to tell you how much.”

“You’re welcome. Angie’s a great kid.” She showed a wistful smile.

A wisp of golden hair slipped free of the tight knot at the back of her neck and curled against her cheek. He longed to reach out and feel the texture of it.

“Yeah, she is.” He hesitated, wondering how to say what was on his mind. “Look, Emma, I sense you’re uncomfortable with me here. Is it because I was such a dope back in high school?”

Her gaze glanced off his. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Sure she did. There was no need to pretend. It occurred to him that she was doing her best to hide her injured feelings. Maybe it was a defense mechanism. No, she didn’t want him here, but she had put aside her wounded pride to help Angie.

Sudden respect filled him, along with a protective impulse. He shouldn’t have reminded her that he had dumped her for Denise all those years earlier. “You’ve turned out to be an amazing woman, Emmy.”

Her eyes widened and she looked startled. “I’m a doctor, Mark. This is what I do.”

“Still, I want you to know I’m grateful.”

She laughed, a harsh sound with no humor. “Believe me, you’ll get my bill.”

He chuckled but sensed her deep sarcasm. “Thank goodness for health insurance. So far, the medical bills are nudging half-a-million dollars, the deductibles large enough to cross my eyes.”

After college, he’d worked hard and invested well, but the divorce settlement had drained a large portion of his wealth. He’d been lucky Denise wanted cash and let him buy out her half of the house. To save Angie’s life, he’d sell everything he owned and live in a pup tent in the park. Whatever it took. Money didn’t mean anything to him now. Not if he lost his daughter.

“You’ve changed since high school, Mark.” Her brows pulled together in a perplexed frown.

Was it that obvious? “Really? How so?”

“You’re so gentle with Angie. I remember you being such a jock, laughing all the time, going to parties. I never imagined you’d be such a softy with a little girl of your own.”

He remembered, too. All those parties he had attended, and Emma hadn’t been invited. He remembered the pain in her eyes when he’d told her he didn’t want to go out with her anymore. The slump of dejection in her shoulders and the hurt in her voice when she’d wished him nothing but the best.

Those days had been focused on one thing only. Get the best grades possible, excel at sports and earn a full-ride scholarship to N.Y.U. so he could get a top job making lots of money. What had it mattered that he’d dumped the school bookworm for a hot babe who happened to be the head varsity cheerleader? When he married Denise fresh out of college, he’d been the envy of every other guy at school.

None of that seemed important now. Except for Brett Anderson, he rarely saw any of his old friends. If only he hadn’t been so superficial. But no matter what Denise did or how difficult his life became, he could never regret having Angie.

“That was a long time ago, Emma. Now, I’m a father with responsibilities. When Angie was born, I started thinking about more than just the here and now. I wanted the best for my child, and that caused me to seek a greater power than my own.”

Her brows arched. “So, you got religion, huh?”

“You could say that. I’d be lost without God in my life. As I recall, you used to be quite religious yourself.”

“Things change.”

He ached for her lack of faith. “Sometimes it’s hard for me to see my life with eternal eyes, but I came to realize that God has my best interest in mind.”

A skeptical frown crinkled her brow and he changed the topic. “When we were in high school, I was just a thoughtless, stupid kid. I hope you’ll forgive me for…for everything.”

“Of course. There’s nothing to forgive.” She bit her bottom lip, staring at the brown carpet.

What had her husband’s name been?

David.

Although they had divorced, Mark couldn’t help envying the man. Emma obviously loved him. Not once in the eleven years they had been married had Mark ever heard Denise say the words, “I love you.”

Not even to Angie, and that hurt most of all.

“I know what you mean about things changing.” He didn’t smile as he spoke. “Life hasn’t worked out quite the way I’d planned it.”

She blinked, as if digesting this information. “I remember you said you wanted to marry a beautiful socialite and be the CFO of some Fortune 500 company. You wanted to make buckets full of money, go into politics and become president of the United States.”

He burst out laughing, thinking how foolish he must have sounded to Emma. Strange that he had never once confided his amitions to Denise. “Not anymore. Now, I’d settle for a quiet evening at home with Angie.”

She chuckled, the sound tripping his heart into double-time. “No fancy restaurants?”

“Let’s just say I prefer relaxing in my own home.”

“Me, too,” she conceded.

A long paused followed and Emma tilted her head, seeming to study him. “It seems so strange to see you comforting a little girl. I never envisioned you with so much compassion, Mark.”

Ah, that hurt, but he couldn’t deny it. “Right now, Angie’s most important.”

Her brow crinkled with thought. “I’m glad to hear that. If it helps any, I like the new you.”

Somehow her words made him want to be even better. For her.

He took a step. “Emma, I hope we can be—”

Angie returned with a Tasmanian Devil sticker planted smack in the middle of her forehead and holding a purple lollipop in her fist.

“Hey, Dad, look what Sonja gave me.” She lifted the sucker and pointed at her forehead.

He rubbed her bristly head gently where the new hair growth was starting to come in. It rasped the palm of his hand. “Yeah, that’s great. Did you remember to say thank you?”

Angie turned to face Sonja. “Thank you. We get to go for pizza now. Dad said he’d take me to lunch.”

“Good for you,” Sonja said. “I’d better get back to work.”

The nurse slipped out of the room, closing the door behind her. Emma removed her glasses. Heavy lashes fringed her eyes, her skin soft and smooth. If not for the weariness in her gaze, Mark would have thought she hadn’t aged a day since high school.

“Just remember, no pepperoni,” Emma warned. “It messes with some of the drugs you’re taking.”

Angie groaned. “But pepperoni’s my favorite.”

Emma’s lips curved into a smile. “Try sausage or Canadian bacon, instead.”

“Yuck!” Angie’s face contorted. “That’s grown-up stuff. Kids like pepperoni.”

Emma’s lips twitched as she suppressed a laugh. “Okay, just plain cheese. Kids like cheese, don’t they?”