“You look great, Emma. How’ve you been these past fifteen years?”
She threw a fleeting look at him, then stared at the black stapler on her desk. “I’ve been fine.”
“Do you and your husband have kids?”
She wasn’t about to tell him about her sweet son or her nasty divorce. “What line of work are you in, Mark?”
“I’m a CPA. My firm serves mostly local contractors. It’s busy and lucrative.”
It probably suited him, she thought. As a kid he’d lived in a mobile home on the “other” side of the tracks. With his dad gone, his mother had worked hard to eek out a living for them. All he’d ever talked about was marrying a beautiful girl and making truckloads of cash so he could live a life of style and ease. It looked like he got his wish.
“So, how’s The Doll?” she asked.
He sat back. “You mean, Denise?”
She tried to laugh, to lighten the moment, but it sounded more like a hoarse croak. Her hands were damp and she felt the sudden urge to run from the room and hide. “Yeah, remember? That’s what we all used to call her.”
He shook his head. “No, I never called her that.”
“Oh.”
Was her foot too big to fit inside her mouth?
“We’re divorced.” He spoke in a vacant tone but she caught a flicker of pain in his expressive eyes.
Inwardly, Emma sighed. As a doctor and a mother, she understood the strain a child’s critical illness inflicted on a marriage. She had learned that lesson the hard way.
“I’m sorry.” And she meant it, for the child’s sake.
Anguish filled his eyes, then was gone. Though she had never liked Denise Johnson, she felt bad Mark’s marriage had failed.
Emma shifted in her chair. She didn’t want to feel bad for this man. She didn’t want to care about him or the chaos in his life. She needed him out of her office and out of her life.
Fast.
“Look, Mark, I’m not going to pretend. I can’t take your daughter on as a patient. I’ve already got more than a full load and it wouldn’t be fair to you or—”
He shook his head before she finished speaking. “I can’t accept that, Emma. Angie’s been through so much. If you tell me no, I’ll be forced to drive ten hours round-trip to San Francisco every week. My partners said they’d cover for me, but I don’t think Angie can take the exhausting drive. She has little energy and no appetite. It’d be better if she gets her treatments here in Reno. Can’t you take her as a patient, just for old time’s sake?”
Angie. What a sweet name.
“No, I’m sorry, but I can’t. My staff isn’t prepared to deal with a child’s growth and hormone issues.”
His face fell, his eyes hollow with defeat. He no longer appeared in control. Instead he looked vulnerable and lost. “You’re kidding, right?”
He sounded as though he really couldn’t believe her.
“Mark, I know the limitations of my office.”
He ran a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. “Look, Emmy, I’m…I’m desperate. I’m afraid if you don’t help, I’ll lose Angie. I can’t risk that. She means everything to me. Please, I’m begging you. Don’t turn your back on us.”
He breathed deeply, as if the words had been difficult for him to speak, and she supposed they were. She’d never seen Mark Williams beg for anything. As the senior class president and campus jock, he’d been self-absorbed and conceited. What had changed him? Parenthood, or perhaps something more?
A lump formed in Emma’s throat and she knew irrevocably that he loved his child, just like she loved Brian.
She stood, prepared to walk him to the door. “I don’t think—”
“Daddy?”
A little girl poked her head into the room. Seeing Mark, she walked over and climbed into his lap. Sonja stepped in long enough to smile at the child and close the door, giving them complete privacy.
As her gaze swept over Mark’s daughter, Emma almost panicked.
Angie. No doubt, when she was healthy, she’d be a stunning beauty like her mother. A miniature image of Denise, with small, pert features, wide eyes and silky blond hair. Or at least, from the long braid at her temple, Emma thought Angie’s hair was blond. Most of it had been shaved off, though she couldn’t tell for sure because the child wore a white hat with pink-and-blue flowers on the front.
It was obvious Angie was sick. She was all eyes, surrounded by shadowy circles. Her thin face looked pale and her spindly arms and knobby knees seemed so slight a puff of air could have blown her over.
Just like Brian in his last days.
The image of her son ravaged by illness still haunted Emma. She wished she could erase the cruel memory from her mind.
Angie snuggled close to Mark. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her cheek, breathing deeply of her warm skin.
“Everything okay?” he asked Angie.
“Sure.” She responded in a small voice, her gaze never leaving Emma.
There was such poignancy in watching Mark with his daughter that it brought a throbbing pain to Emma’s chest. How she missed the feel of her son in her arms, his simple prayers at bedtime, his warm kisses good-night. Even her ex-husband’s constant criticism hadn’t bothered her then.
An overwhelming impulse to help protect Angie rose up inside of Emma. She tightened her hands, forcing herself to resist the urge.
Mark made the introduction. “Angie, this is Dr. Shields.”
Angie smiled, her pixie nose crinkled, her hollow eyes showing a sparkle of delight. She lifted a frail hand and fingered the end of the long, thin braid at her right temple. “Are you my new doctor? Daddy says you’re gonna make me all better.”
Thanks for making this tougher, Mark.
Emma clenched her fingers around the armrests before she answered. “Well, uh, no, I can’t really—”
A horrible, swelling silence followed.
Mark frowned and looked away, coughing as if he had something stuck in his throat. Finally he patted Angie’s leg and stood, taking her hand. He wouldn’t meet Emma’s eyes. “Come on, honey, we’ve got some other doctors to visit today.”
He led Angie to the door. The little girl clung to one of his fingers, her hand small and vulnerable. He turned to give Emma one last desolate glance. If she didn’t know better, she would say he looked near to breaking down in tears. She’d never seen him cry and never wanted to. His tortured expression injured the deepest recesses of her resolve. For all her desire to have him get his comeuppance for dumping her all those years ago, she didn’t like watching him beg. Nor did she wish to see him lose his little daughter.
As Mark twisted the doorknob, a sinking of despair filled Emma. Urgency built within her to help them.
“Thanks for your time, Emmy,” Mark said. “It was good to see you again.”
He sounded desolate. Emotion played across his face. Grief and—
Fear.
How many times before Brian’s death had Emma felt those same emotions?
“But, Daddy, I thought you said Dr. Shields would take care of me. What’ll we do now?” Angie asked in a loud whisper.
Emma flinched.