Читать книгу Dance with the Doctor - Cindi Myers, Cindi Myers - Страница 8

“SISTER, DEAR, if you lived a more normal life, this kind of thing wouldn’t happen.”

Darcy helped her older brother, Dave, wrestle the snowblower from the snowbank where it had skidded and stopped working. “I do—” puff “—have a normal—” puff “—life,” she said. “At least it’s not abnormal.”

“If you had a normal life you’d store your snowblower in your garage instead of using the space for a dance studio. Then parts wouldn’t rust and you wouldn’t have to call me to come to the rescue.”

“You love playing the big, strong hero and you know it.” She folded her arms over her chest and watched him tinker with something on the snowblower. “Can you fix it?”

“What do you mean, can I fix it? Of course I can fix it.”

“Can you fix it today? In time to finish my driveway before my evening classes?”

“No, I cannot.” He reached in and yanked something loose and held it up. “I’m going to have to order this part. Depending on how hard it is to find or how long it takes to ship from the factory, you may be shoveling for a few weeks.”

She groaned. Not that she wasn’t capable of shoveling out her driveway, but it took a lot longer than running the snowblower, not to mention she almost always ended up hurting her back. “I don’t suppose you’d let me borrow your snowblower in the meantime?”

“I’m not even that generous with my girlfriend, much less my sister.” He straightened and wiped his hands on his pants. “Maybe you ought to put on one of those belly dancing costumes and see if you can persuade some big, strong guy to shovel for you. Either that, or pray it doesn’t snow again between now and whenever the part comes in.”

“Or I’ll just shovel it myself. And speaking of girlfriends, how is Carrie?” Dave and Carrie Kinkaid had dated on and off for five years. Lately it was definitely more on than off.

“Carrie is fine. She dyed her hair red and it looks great. I told her it was like dating a new woman without all the first-date trauma.”

“You’re such a romantic. When are you two going to get married?”

“Why should we get married? Things are good between us the way they are.”

“You can’t just date each other forever.”

“Why not? Seems like our family does a lot better at dating than marriage.”

Darcy grimaced. Whereas it bothered her that their family had so many failed relationships, Dave seemed to take a perverse pride in their poor track record. “Somebody ought to be the first to break the family curse,” she said. “Why not you?”

“You beat me to it,” he said. “You were a great wife and an even better mom.”

He meant to cheer her up with the compliment, but it only served to remind her of what might have been. “Pete and I didn’t have a perfect marriage.” Toward the end, especially, they’d had big problems, problems that only added to Darcy’s guilt.

“Who does? But you made it work. And I never saw anyone happier than you were with Riley.”

She nodded, afraid her voice might break if she tried to say anything. From the time she was a girl she’d wanted to be a mom. She’d loved babysitting and was always ready to help with her younger cousins. When Riley had been born she’d been over the moon. She hadn’t meant for him to be an only child, but the time had never been right for another baby, though before the accident she’d decided she and Pete should try for another child soon.

Dave left the snowblower and put his hand on her shoulder. “You should have more kids,” he said. “Not to replace Riley, but because you were meant to be a mother.”

She shook her head. “I think maybe … I’m the type of person who’s better off without that kind of responsibility.” How could she bear to love another child, knowing that at any moment she could do the wrong thing—make the wrong choice—and he could be taken away from her?

“That’s crazy.”

“No crazier than you not wanting to marry the woman you love.”

“Right.” He took his hand from her shoulder. “Then I guess we’re just a family of loony tunes. Come on—find me a shovel and I’ll help clear your driveway.”

“Now that’s the way to be a good brother.”

He grinned. “It’s just an excuse to hang around until your adult students start to show up in their skimpy costumes.”

She swatted his back. “Don’t you dare ogle my dancers.”

“Why not? Some of them might like it.”

“I’m going to tell Carrie you said that.”

“She doesn’t care if I look. And don’t try to pretend you don’t like it when men look—otherwise, you wouldn’t dress in those costumes.”

She sighed. “Okay, I’ll admit it. I worked hard for these abs, and I don’t mind showing them off. But that is not all dancing is about.”

“If you say so.”

He dodged her next blow and grabbed up the snow shovel. “If you want the driveway done, step out of my way. And be nice to me. I’m the only man in your life right now, so you might want to keep me around.”

“Sure. But only for your muscles.”

“You know you love me.”

“I do love you.” Sometimes it was nice to have a little testosterone around the house, even if he was related to her. Men, like children, had a different perspective on life. She hadn’t always agreed with Pete’s point of view about things, but sometimes he had helped her see a situation in a new light, and that was probably healthy.

But the opportunity to hear the male perspective wasn’t a big enough benefit to risk another botched relationship. She might joke with Dave about breaking the family curse, but she believed in that curse. Maybe she and Dave and the rest of her relatives weren’t meant for the lifelong monogamy she’d always idealized, in the same way some people didn’t have a talent for math or a good sense of direction.

She’d never been much of a gambler, but since the accident all she wanted was to play it safe. If that meant being alone, well, there were worse things in the world. Whoever said it was better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all didn’t know what he was talking about.

THE STUDENTS ARRIVED for their Wednesday afternoon dance class in a rush of cold wind and chaos. Most of them, including Taylor, walked up the hill to Darcy’s house from the bus stop, and surged into the studio, wrestling off backpacks, coats and shoes, chattering like a flock of parrots. Darcy stood to one side and watched, letting the energy and vitality of these young people wash over her.

When their conversation had subsided to a low murmur, Darcy stepped to the front of the room and clapped her hands. “Today we’re going to start learning the routine you’ll perform for your parents and friends in April,” she announced. “Everyone in your places so we can get started.”

Music up, Darcy led the way through the first few moves of the routine she’d choreographed with the girls in mind. The moves were simple but lovely, challenging enough to keep them entertained and to impress their families, and a foundation they could build on if they decided to continue studying belly dance. She watched in the mirror as they practiced the moves, the girls all smiles. Next to her, Taylor was grinning so broadly Darcy wondered it didn’t hurt.

“What kind of costumes will we wear in the show?” Debby asked from the back row as they practiced moving their hips in a figure-eight pattern.

“You can wear a skirt or pants and a top, and a hip scarf with coins,” Darcy said. “Something similar to what the adult dancers wear.”

“My mom said she’d make me a pink costume,” Jane’s daughter Hannah said.

“Where do you get a costume?” Zoe asked. “Can you just buy one?”

“You probably already have some skirts and tops at home you can use,” Darcy said. “Your moms—or dads—can decorate them with sequins or beads.” She smiled at the thought of Dr. Mike sewing sequins on a tiny top.

“What color costume do you want, Taylor?” Hannah asked.

Taylor shrugged.

“Well, what’s your favorite color?” Hannah persisted.

“Purple.”

While the others discussed the merits of skirts versus pants and sequins versus beads, Darcy was aware that Taylor had become very quiet. Her smile had vanished, and she seemed almost to have shrunk into herself. “Is something wrong, sweetie?” Darcy asked.

Taylor shook her head, not meeting Darcy’s eyes.

Clearly something was wrong. “Are you worried about your costume?” she asked. Maybe Taylor thought Mike would object to her wearing one. Or that a dad wasn’t qualified to help her put one together. Darcy bent low, and whispered, “I’ll help you find the right thing to wear. Don’t worry.”

Taylor nodded, though she didn’t look much happier.

“Darcy, will you dance for us, please?” Liz asked.

“Yes, please! We want to see you dance!”

The other girls added their pleas.

Darcy had planned to finish out class with a version of Simon Says using dance moves, but it would be fun to perform for the girls. She could show them some of the things they’d be able to do if they continued to study and practice. “All right,” she said. “Everyone sit on the floor at the back of the studio and I’ll dance for you.”

“With the sword,” Kira said.

“Not with the sword,” Darcy said. “With a veil.” She plucked a large gauzy blue silk one, spangled with sequins, from a shelf near the door. “Now just give me a minute to find the right music.” She felt a familiar tickle of excitement low in her stomach. Nothing like performing for an appreciative audience to make a dancer want to do her best.

ON WEDNESDAYS, Mike closed his office early. Most of the time he and Taylor did something special together. They went to the movies or out for pizza. Now that she was in dance class, he missed her more than he’d imagined. The office seemed emptier without her chatter, and he felt at loose ends, wondering what she was up to, and if she was all right. In a few more weeks he’d adjust to the change in routine, just as he’d adjusted to her return to school after her last hospitalization and her overnight visits with her mother. But for now her absence left him unsettled.

Nicole stopped in the doorway of his office. “Your last patient is ready,” the nurse said.

Grateful for the distraction of work, Mike headed for Exam Room One, where nine-year-old Brent Jankowski waited, along with his mom, Sarah, and three younger sisters. “What’s up with you today, Brent?” Mike asked, glancing at the boy’s chart.

“I have a cold.” Brent sniffed.

“I hate to bother you with such a silly thing.” Sarah looked up from tying her youngest’s—Emily’s—shoe. “But you did tell us we should come in for any sign of illness at all.”

“Yes, it’s smart to be careful.” Mike put his stethoscope to Brent’s chest and listened. There, under the normal lub-dub of the heart was a soft, sighing sound—a leaky heart valve. It was just the sort of defect that could lead to bigger problems down the road. Even something as routine as a common cold could turn more serious for Brent, as it had for Taylor. Fortunately, advanced diagnostics had caught the problem earlier and new treatment protocols promised a more favorable outcome than Taylor’s.

Mike moved the stethoscope to listen to the boy’s lungs, then checked his ears and throat. “There’s bronchitis setting in,” he said. “I’m going to prescribe a heavy-duty decongestant. We’ll try to avoid antibiotics for now, but if he starts running a fever above a hundred, call me right away.”

“All right. Thanks.”

As he typed the prescription into the computer, he marveled at Sarah Jankowski’s calm. He started imagining worst-case scenarios every time Taylor sneezed. Maybe Sarah’s blasé attitude came from having four children instead of only one.

He’d wanted more children, despite his long work hours, but Melissa had been as reluctant as he was to take time off from her job and felt one child was plenty.

He saw the Jankowskis to the front desk, then glanced at the clock. He still had a few minutes before it was time to pick Taylor up from her class, but it wouldn’t hurt if he arrived early.

When he pulled into the driveway and switched off the car he could hear music coming from the garage-turned-studio. He could make out drums and some kind of high-pitched instrument, maybe a flute. Smiling to himself, he slid out of the car. He’d just peek in, try to catch a glimpse of Taylor dancing without her realizing he was watching.

Snow crunched under his feet as he followed the path to the studio. He slipped through the foyer to a second door behind which the music throbbed. He eased it open and peeked inside.

But instead of watching Taylor and the other students, he found himself staring at Darcy, her back to the door, performing for a wide-eyed group of girls.

Moving slowly and gracefully, Darcy swayed in rhythm to the music, hips rolling, arms tracing patterns in the air. The exotic music, the sparkle of sequins and shimmer or silk, even the faint incense in the air, worked a spell on Mike. He felt as if he’d plummeted through a trapdoor from his everyday life to this erotic new world. Darcy twirled a veil around her, hiding, then revealing the curve of her hip, the smooth paleness of her bare back, the gentle roundness of her belly, the swell of cleavage above the sequined bra top. Mike’s heart pounded and he had trouble breathing, but he made no attempt to turn away.

His life was so devoid of the feminine. The sexual. He wasn’t the type of man who looked at magazine centerfolds or visited topless bars. He hadn’t dated since his divorce, his life consumed by work and caring for his daughter. The sexual side of him was there, but it wasn’t convenient or practical to think about it. Watching Darcy, he was thinking about it now.

The tempo of the song increased. Drums pounded and flutes trilled. Darcy whirled, hips bouncing, the bells on the blue scarf knotted over low-slung blue velvet pants chiming furiously. Mike stared, mesmerized, as she undulated and shimmied, hips, then stomach, then chest. Trying to regain his composure, he lowered his gaze to the floor, watching her feet, but this was no help; Darcy even had sexy feet, small with high arches and pink-painted toenails.

The music ended abruptly, with a drumroll. Darcy froze, arms over her head, breathing hard. The girls erupted into applause. “That was so awesome!” Taylor gushed. “Dad, wasn’t that fantastic?”

All eyes turned toward the door, including Darcy’s. Mike felt as guilty as a schoolboy, but tried not to show it. He stepped into the room. “That was … very impressive,” he said.

Taylor ran to greet him, swinging on his hand. “Wouldn’t it be great if I could do that?”

The thought of his little girl shimmying and undulating to exotic music, dressed in a skimpy costume, made Mike queasy. Of course Taylor had to grow up someday, but she was only ten ….

His thoughts must have shown on his face, because Darcy laughed. “Go easy on your father, Taylor. Dads have a hard time thinking of their daughters as all grown-up.”

She couldn’t know how especially hard it was for him, after having once faced the very real possibility that Taylor would never grow up at all.

He turned to her. “I hope you don’t mind that I watched your dance. I got here early and heard the music and thought I might catch a glimpse of Taylor.”

“Of course I don’t mind,” she said. “I’m used to performing for an audience.”

“Do you do shows often? I mean, for the public?”

“I dance at a restaurant in Denver—Arabica—most Friday evenings. You’re welcome to come watch anytime.” Her eyes sparkled. Was she flirting with him?

He smiled. “I might do that sometime.” Not that he would, but there was no harm in pretending. It felt good to interact with a woman who wasn’t the mother of one of his patients or Taylor’s teacher.

Other parents began arriving and Darcy turned to greet them. There was a flurry of donning coats and finding backpacks, then calls of “Goodbye!” and “See you next week!”

Then Taylor was at Mike’s side, tugging at his hand. “Dad!”

“What is it, hon?”

“I forgot to take my meds before class.” Worry made a deep V between her brows. “I thought about it on the bus, but then when we got here I was so excited …”

“It’s okay.” He patted her shoulder, as much to reassure himself as her. True, the medications were supposed to be taken at regular intervals, but there was nothing to be done about it right now. Later, at home, he’d emphasize to Taylor again the importance of keeping on schedule. Maybe he could set up a reminder on her phone. “You can take them now.” He turned to Darcy, who was closing the studio door behind the rest of the parents. “Could Taylor have a glass of water?” he asked. “She needs to take some pills.”

“Pills?” Darcy looked at Taylor, who blushed and stared at the floor. “Of course. Come up to the house with me.”

DARCY LED the way up the path to her house, hurrying her steps, aware of the anxiety radiating from the girl at her heels. Taylor looked so ordinary and healthy—why would she need to take pills?

“One glass of water, coming up,” she said once they were in the kitchen. She got a glass from the cabinet, while Taylor opened her backpack on the kitchen table. Mike stood just inside the door, hands shoved in his trouser pockets, studying the photograph in Kali’s arms.

“The boy looks like you,” he said.

Darcy turned from the sink, glass of water in her hand. “Excuse me?”

Mike nodded at the picture of Pete and Riley. “The boy looks like you. He has your eyes.”

Darcy handed the glass to Taylor. “That’s my son. Riley. And his father, Pete. They were both killed in a car wreck two years ago.” There was no easy way to reveal this tragedy—better to say it straight out.

“Oh.” He was clearly shocked. “I’m very sorry.”

“Thank you.” The kindness in his eyes touched the tender spot inside her where the pain was still raw. She looked away, focusing on Taylor. “What kind of pills do you have to take?”

Taylor pulled a pill case from her backpack—the plastic kind with multiple compartments. “This is Gengraf and that one is CellCept. This is prednisone, that’s quinine and this one is Zantac.” She rattled off the names of the drugs as if she was reciting a list of favorite music groups or the names of relatives.

“You take all these every day?” Darcy asked, stunned.

“Most of them three times a day—the prednisone and quinine only once. I was taking some drugs five times. Dad says as I get older, I should be able to get down to taking meds only twice a day, and some of them I should be able to stop altogether.”

Darcy swallowed a calcium pill at breakfast and the occasional pain reliever for cramps. She couldn’t imagine a life of ingesting what amounted to the stock of a small pharmacy every day. Mike was frowning at the array of pills laid out in front of his daughter. “Why does she need all this?” Darcy asked.

“The Gengraf and CellCept are antirejection drugs,” Taylor said, ignoring that the question hadn’t been directed at her. “But they give me leg cramps, so that’s why I take the quinine. The prednisone upsets my stomach, so I take the Zantac for that. The prednisone also used to make my face swell, but not so much anymore.”

She spoke matter-of-factly, as if this was all normal. Darcy continued to stare at Mike. He raised his eyes from the line of pills and met Darcy’s gaze. She was struck again by the sadness there. “Two years ago, Taylor had a heart transplant,” he said. “She’s doing great now, but the medications are an important part of her treatment.”

“A heart transplant.” Darcy lowered herself into a chair at the kitchen table, suddenly too weak to stand. She swallowed, trying to bring moisture into her too-dry mouth. In a voice that to her ears didn’t sound like her own, she said, “So—she received a heart from a donor?”

“A boy.” Taylor popped the last pill into her mouth and drained the last of the water. “We don’t know his name, but he was six years old.” She set the empty glass on the table. “Thank you for the water.”

Darcy closed her eyes, fighting dizziness. That was a mistake. As soon as her eyes closed, scenes from her last moments with Riley flashed in front of her. Riley lying still and small in the hospital bed, the only sound the whir and beep of the machines that kept his heart beating. The Donor Alliance coordinator with a sheaf of paperwork, explaining the donation procedure. The doctors think they have a match for your son’s heart. A little girl.

“Darcy, are you all right?”

She felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up into Mike’s eyes. “Do you feel faint?” he asked. “You’re white as a sheet.”

Darcy shook her head and studied Taylor, who stood apart, eyes wide. “The boy who donated your heart—you don’t know his name?”

Taylor looked at her dad. “I don’t think they ever told us.”

“No,” Mike said. “That information is kept confidential unless both families agree for it to be released.”

Darcy stood, a little shakily. “Maybe you’d better sit back down,” Mike said. “You still seem very pale.”

She shook her head and crossed to the basket beneath the telephone where she kept the mail. She sorted through the stack of bills and flyers and unearthed the cream-colored envelope from the Donor Alliance. “Read that,” she said, handing it to Mike.

He pulled out the letter and stared at it. Darcy kept her eyes on the floral pattern of the tiles on her kitchen floor. She focused on breathing slowly through her nose, inhaling the aroma of basil and oregano from last night’s spaghetti dinner, and the faint strawberry-shampoo scent of Taylor. Taylor, who was standing here today because a boy had died, a boy like Riley.

Mike folded the letter and replaced it in the envelope. “When did your son die?” he asked.

“January twenty-first, two thousand and eight.”

“The same day as my transplant,” Taylor said. She took a step closer to Darcy. “Do you think I have his heart?”

“Except that I never contacted the donor registry,” Mike said. “It’s possible there were two transplants performed that day.”

“Oh.” Darcy hadn’t thought of that. She was surprised at how disappointed she felt.

“Dad?”

Both adults turned to the girl, who looked as if she’d just been caught cheating on a math test. “I … I wrote a letter to the Donor Alliance.”

“You did?” Mike frowned. “When?”

“A few weeks ago. I’ve been thinking a lot about the boy who gave me his heart and … and I just wanted to know.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Mike said, clearly stricken.

“I didn’t want to upset you,” Taylor said. “You always said it would be better not to know my donor’s identity, that the family deserved their privacy. But I really wanted to know.” She bit her lower lip. “I took some stationery from your desk and pretended to be you. I thought if the donor family wrote back and said they wanted to meet me, then I’d tell you and it would be all right.”

“You lied, Taylor,” Mike said. “That’s wrong.”

“But I thought it didn’t really matter, since the donor family never answered.”

“It’s not that I didn’t want to know about the child who got Riley’s heart,” Darcy said. “I just … I guess I was afraid. That it might be too hard.”

Mike put his hand on her shoulder. She wanted to lean into that comforting weight, to draw strength from him. “I’m sorry this has upset you,” he said.

“It’s all right.” Taylor still looked guilty, and a little scared. “Really, it’s fine,” Darcy said. “I’ll admit it was a shock, but if you do have Riley’s heart, I’m glad. Truly, I am.”

“We don’t know for sure your son was Taylor’s donor,” Mike said.

“That’s true,” Darcy said. The transplant had been performed at Denver Children’s Hospital. The recipient of Riley’s heart could have come from anywhere in the area, even from Wyoming. But the timing couldn’t be a coincidence. How likely was it that two heart transplants had been performed that fateful day?

“What did you say your son’s name was?” Taylor asked.

“Riley. He was big for his age. Maybe his heart was a little bigger too, and that’s why it was a good fit for you.” Darcy glanced at Mike. “Could that be right?”

“Yes, it could.”

“Do you have a picture of Riley?” Taylor asked.

“Over there.” Darcy nodded at the picture of Riley and Pete by the door. “But there’s a better one in here.” She led the way to the living room, and the portrait of Riley in his baseball uniform. “That was taken a couple of weeks before … before the accident.”

“He’s cute,” Taylor said. “I like his freckles.”

“I imagine the two of you could have been friends,” Darcy said. When he’d died, Riley had been at the age where he thought of girls as “icky” but maybe by now he’d see them differently. Darcy swallowed hard. No. She couldn’t let her thoughts dwell on what might have been. Mike had joined them in the living room. “Why did Taylor need the transplant?” she asked.

His sadness intensified. Had she been out of line to ask him to recall what must have been a terrifying time? But it was too late to take back the question now. “When she was nine she developed cardiomyopathy,” he said. “An inflammation of the heart muscle. It’s usually caused by some kind of infection, but we’re not sure what caused it or where it came from. By the time hers was diagnosed, the heart muscle was damaged beyond repair.”

“How horrible.”

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “How could a pediatrician have missed such a serious illness in his own daughter? But it’s not like the flu or an infected toenail. And Taylor isn’t the type to complain.”

“I wasn’t thinking any such thing,” she said. Mike clearly adored his daughter. But she recognized his guilt—those silent accusations that intimated her son would be okay today if she had only been a better parent.

“There’s no danger now,” Mike said. “As long as Taylor’s careful and remembers to take her medication.”

“I was distracted today,” Taylor said, blushing. “I won’t forget again.” She glanced at Darcy. “Dad’s always worried I’m going to overdo it, or that I’ll catch some infection from someone. He doesn’t even like me to go to the mall.”

“He wants to protect you,” Darcy said. “It’s what parents do.”

“I think it’s ‘cause he’s a doctor,” Taylor said. “He sees sick people all day and reads medical journals full of articles about horrible diseases, then he imagines everything bad that can happen.”

That wasn’t it, Darcy thought. Mike knew all the bad things that could happen because he’d lived them. Children weren’t supposed to have to get new hearts to stay alive, but his had. Who could blame him for fearing the worst after that? “You’re lucky to have a father who cares so much.”

Mike sent her a look of gratitude and sympathy. How had she ever lumped him with the arrogant and distant physicians she’d encountered? Though in truth, maybe even those doctors weren’t so bad, and her impressions were colored by the circumstances.

Still, Mike was different. Losing a child, or almost losing one, left scars only someone who had been through the same thing could understand. “Come on, Taylor, it’s time we went home,” Mike said. “Back to your life of drudgery and oppression.”

Taylor rolled her eyes.

Darcy walked them to the door. Taylor ran ahead to the car, but Mike paused for a moment. “Will you contact the Donor Alliance?” he asked.

“Yes. Just to confirm our suspicions.”

“I’m sorry if this has upset you.”

She glanced past him, at Taylor climbing into the backseat of the car. She’d been drawn to Taylor from their first meeting. Was it because she recognized something of her son in the child? “I’m glad you were able to find a donor for her, even if it wasn’t Riley.”

“Thank you.” He joined her in watching Taylor. “She’s right,” he said. “I do worry too much. I can’t seem to help it.”

“Maybe you’ll worry less as she gets older.” And stronger. Surely every year past the surgery meant a better prognosis for Taylor. Mike would see his daughter grow up, and all the worry would be worth that joy. At least that’s what she imagined she’d feel if their roles were reversed.