Читать книгу A Candle For Nick - Lorna Michaels, Lorna Michaels - Страница 9

Dr. Sanders picked up a sheet of paper. “I’ve spoken with Dr. Berger’s nurse, Catherine Garland. She wants you to call.” He handed her the paper and rose.

Mallory stared at him blankly. What was she supposed to do? Get up. She got to her feet, watched the papers she held scatter over the coffee table. “Oh,” she murmured.

Dr. Sanders looked concerned. “Mallory, are you all right? Do you need some water?”

“No, I’m…okay. Just stressed.” She gathered the papers and stuffed them in her purse. With an effort, she pulled herself together and shook the doctor’s hand. “Thank you for everything.”

Dr. Sanders put his arm around her and walked her to the door. “Dr. Berger will keep me informed of Nick’s progress, but if you want to ask questions or just talk, I’m a phone call away.”

She hugged him. Voice breaking, she said, “I’ll remember. Thanks.”

She got Nick from the waiting room and drove home, and was surprised she could control the car, her hands shook so badly. Kent Berger…Kent Berger…

She remembered the first time she’d seen him. She’d had a summer job lifeguarding at the Comanche Trails Resort just outside of Valerosa. On that bright June morning her gaze swept over the Olympic-size swimming pool and stopped at the nearby high board, trapped by the sight of the man halfway up the ladder.

The morning sun shone on him, scattering chestnut highlights through his dark brown hair. He wasn’t tall, perhaps a couple of inches under six feet, but his body was magnificent. Broad shoulders, wide chest covered with curly, dark hair, flat belly, thighs roped with muscle and not a spare ounce of flesh.

Her stare must have drawn him, for he turned his head. From her perch on the lifeguard chair, Mallory’s eyes were even with his. Their gazes locked, and everything else faded—the noisy shouts and splashes of children, the odor of chlorine, the North Texas heat. She saw nothing but the dark eyes that captured hers, felt nothing but the sudden pounding of her heart.

He smiled, a slow, lazy curving of his mouth that she felt as intensely as if it had touched hers. Barely realizing what she was doing, she lifted a finger to trace her tingling lips. He held her gaze a moment longer, then continued up the ladder…and the world came back into focus.

He strode across the board, and Mallory held her breath. He bounced, then rocketed through the air in a powerful jackknife. The breath left Mallory’s lungs in a whoosh as he plunged downward and cut the water with barely a splash. He reminded her of some ancient god, plummeting from heaven to earth.

In a moment, he emerged from the water, swam to the side and pulled himself out. Shaking the drops from his hair, he glanced toward her…and winked. A warmth that owed nothing to the June sunshine spread through her body.

High-pitched shrieks distracted her, and she turned. Two toddlers were fighting over a toy sailboat. One grabbed the boat and darted away, heading toward the deep end of the pool, dangerously close to the edge.

Alarmed, Mallory scrambled down from her chair, but the man she’d been watching was ahead of her. He strode forward and blocked the little boy’s path. Startled, the child stared up at what must have looked like a giant to him and began to wail. But the man squatted down to eye level with the little boy and said something to him. Within seconds, the child’s tears vanished and he broke into a grin. The man took his hand and led him back to his mother.

Most guys would have cringed at facing a screaming two-year-old, but not this man. Later, Mallory learned he was a pediatrician….

Wait a minute, Mallory thought now as she braked for a red light. The Kent Berger she’d known wasn’t a cancer specialist in Houston. He was a pediatrician in Chicago. Of course! This had to be a different man.

Relieved at the idea, she drove home, turned on the TV and settled Nick on the living room couch with his ever-present remote, then went into the kitchen and pulled the slip of paper with the nurse’s name and the office phone number out of her purse.

As soon as she heard Catherine Garland’s voice, Mallory knew she was in good hands. Catherine explained that their stay in Houston might be as long as several months. “But you don’t need to worry about living arrangements. The clinic maintains an apartment complex right around the corner where families can stay.”

She could cross that off her list. “My son won’t have to be in the hospital?”

“Probably for a few days. You’ll come to the clinic first, so Nick can have additional blood work and bone marrow testing. We do as much as we can on an outpatient basis. We believe in keeping lives as normal as possible during treatment.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Perhaps the Astros game wasn’t as far-fetched as she’d thought. “What about Dr. Berger? When will he see Nick?”

“When the tests are finished. He’s out of town now but he should be back the day you arrive.”

Even though she’d convinced herself he wasn’t the man she knew, she had to ask. “I’d like to know more about him.”

“He’s wonderful, and I’m not saying that because I work for him. You can ask anyone. He’s truly the best.”

“But how is he with kids? My son has had the same doctor nearly all his life, and I’m…well, I’m a little nervous about how he’ll react to a stranger.”

“Oh, Dr. Berger will win him over right away. He specializes in children’s cancer. He was a pediatrician before he started working with cancer patients.”

“Where?” Let her say Boise or Anchorage or someplace I’ve never heard of.

“Chicago.”

Mallory sank into a chair. He was that Kent Berger after all.

She managed to thank Catherine and disconnect before the phone fell from her shaking hands and clattered to the floor.

“What was that?” Nick called from the living room.

“Nothing.” She bent down and retrieved the phone. “It doesn’t matter who he is,” she whispered. All that mattered was that he could make Nick well. She set the phone on the counter and went into the small room she used as a home office.

She sat down at the computer and typed in Kent’s name. Funny, she’d never even imagined doing that before. She’d closed the door on Kent Berger years ago just as he had on her. She’d never let herself wonder where he was and if he were doing something important. Now she had to know.

The search engine turned up dozens of articles in medical journals, some she even recognized, like the New England Journal of Medicine. He’d given seminars and interviews to the media and was considered one of the top specialists in the U.S. on childhood leukemia—acute myelogenous leukemia, Nick’s type, in particular.

So it didn’t matter that she knew him, that she’d once thought she’d spend the rest of her life with him. It didn’t even matter that he’d lied to her about their future. She could handle seeing Kent again. All that was important was that he could make Nick well.

He probably wouldn’t even remember her. She’d been a brief diversion for him, nothing more. To him, their love affair hadn’t been a life-changing event. He didn’t know the aftermath of that long ago summer—Nick.

Should she tell him? No, she thought fiercely. If he found out Nick was his child, he’d turn Nick’s care over to someone else, someone who might be only second best. This wasn’t about Kent’s rights; it was about Nick’s. And with her son’s life at stake, she couldn’t take chances.

Kent Berger may have given Nick life, but he hadn’t been Nick’s parent. But now, please, God, he’d make up for that. He’d save the life of the son he would never know he’d fathered.

Two days later, sitting in her son’s hospital room at Gaines Memorial, Mallory watched Nick’s small chest move up and down. Worn out from yesterday’s plane trip and the clinic visit this morning, he’d fallen asleep as soon as he’d gotten into bed. He’d been stoic in the face of technicians bearing needles and residents poking and prodding, but Mallory had to admit that the clinic itself had a lot to do with his bravery. For a place that specialized in children who were sick, it was remarkably cheerful and welcoming.

As Catherine predicted, Nick was admitted to the hospital that afternoon. Mallory hated hospitals—the sounds, the smells—but she chose to view Gaines Memorial as a battle station in the war against Nick’s disease. She would not let the environment depress her, or Nick, either. She hung up the New York Yankees banner he’d brought along, and as soon as she could, she went down to the gift shop and bought a painting of bright yellow chrysanthemums and a grinning stuffed monkey to liven up his room.

Now Mallory glanced at her watch. Still a long time before the doctor was due. She intended to think of Kent Berger as “the doctor,” or if necessary as “Dr. Berger, without a first name.” Nothing personal. She would not remember summer nights in his arms, the taste of his lips, or the scent of his skin.

She stood and paced the small room. If she was jittery, she had every right. Today, or tomorrow at the latest, the verdict on her son’s future would be delivered.

She had plenty of time to call her parents, Dean’s parents, and Lauri and let them know how the day had gone. With another glance at Nick to assure herself he slept peacefully, she left the room, found a small waiting area down the hall and took out her cell phone. She checked to be sure she could use her cell in this area of the hospital, then dialed.

Her calls took a good fifteen minutes. She had so much to say, and yet so little. But she could give the people waiting at home some reassurance. She’d brought Nick to a good place. She hung up and, trying to ignore her aching feet, headed back to his room.

A nurse hurried out of his door. Was something wrong? Propelled by fear, Mallory dashed forward, then halted in the doorway, unable to take another step, as a hauntingly familiar voice reached her ears.

He sat by the bed, his head bent close to Nick’s. He was talking baseball and he had the boy’s full attention.

He must have come directly from the airport because he wore a white dress shirt that contrasted starkly with his tanned skin. His shoulders were slightly broader than she remembered, his chest wider, but no gray marred the thick, dark hair. The hand that lay lightly on the bed rails was the same, too—lean, strong.

He hadn’t changed. And oh, God, she’d never realized how much Nick looked like him. The shape of his face, the way he cocked his head to listen, even the half smile. She’d never let herself notice. Would he?

Please, no, she begged. She must have made a sound of supplication, because he looked up.

And for the first time in eleven years, she stared into his eyes.