She turned off the stove and handed a scowling Becca the last grilled cheese. “Becca, eat something.”
“Dad doesn’t want people knowing.” Becca pushed the plate away. “He won’t let us talk about it with anyone. Even each other. Ever.”
Becca’s frustration touched a chord, her distant behavior toward her father suddenly making sense. Becca didn’t ignore him out of anger—she avoided him out of fear. And Christie should know; she’d done it to her own brother.
She hated thinking about that painful time in her life. But Becca’s reaction to her father’s illness reminded Christie so much of herself at that age. Confused, hurt and lost.
She waved the grilled cheese under Becca’s nose until the girl gave her a reluctant smile and grabbed the sandwich. “Please don’t worry,” she said. “Everything will work itself out.”
“So you can help Daddy!” Tommy’s blue eyes were wide and bright.
“I can’t promise you that.” She looked from a crestfallen Tommy to a narrow-eyed Becca. “But if he gives his permission, you can call me anytime to talk.”
“Anytime?” Becca looked at her intently. “Even really late?”
Her heart squeezed tight at the thought of Becca—scarcely more than a child herself—scared for her father with nowhere to turn.
“As late as you need,” she promised, hoping she wasn’t getting too involved in Eli’s personal life.
Then again, helping kids deal with cancer was her job. If only Eli could see how much his kids needed to talk through their fear, she’d be happy to help. Besides, it wasn’t as if she was getting involved with him. His handsome, anguished face came to mind. Now that was a risk she didn’t trust her heart to take.
The phone rang, breaking the silence. Becca grabbed the cordless. “Hello?” She listened for a moment then shoved the handset to Christie. “It’s Dad,” she said, her voice hollow.
“Thanks, Becca. Hello?” She clutched the phone and paced. The children’s eyes followed her.
“Ms. Bates, it’s Eli. How are the kids doing?”
“They’re great.” She grinned at Tommy as he polished off his sandwich. His gap-toothed smile was really too precious, especially with cheese squirting out of it. “They’re eating sandwiches, and then I think we’ll watch a little TV before bed.”
Becca finished her last bite and carried the dirty plates to the dishwasher. When she returned to the counter, she helped Tommy climb onto her back and carried him to the living room.
“That sounds perfect.” A feeling of lightness overcame her at the husky cadence of his voice. “But bedtime’s at nine, so not too much TV, okay?”
“Nine o’clock. Got it.” She heard cartoon voices from the living room, where Tommy and Becca sat watching a talking sponge on a flat-screen TV.
“How’s John?” She cradled the phone between her ear and shoulder and began cleaning the countertop.
“The same. Stable, but still critical. We’re waiting for some test results. How much longer can you stay?”
She eyed the snuggling siblings, grateful for the company they’d given her tonight. “As long as you need.”
“Thank you, Ms. Bates, for everything—helping with the kids, letting me stay with John.” His voice thickened. “Saving his life. I think I gave you a hard time tonight, and I’m sorry.”
Warmth rushed through her at his admission. “Don’t give it another thought. And please call me Christie. Would you let me know when John’s condition improves?”
“When or if?”
“When. Think positively.”
His laugh wasn’t exactly warm and fuzzy, but then again, it didn’t sound bitter. “You never quit with that faith and hope stuff, do you?”
She grinned as she swiped a damp paper towel across the cooktop. “Nope.”
“Then you’ll have to hope for the both of us.”
“I can manage that. And, Eli?”
“You know. That’s the first time you’ve called me that, Christie.”
Her heart did a little flip. “Oh.”
He cleared his throat. “Sorry. What were you going to say?”
She turned her back to the living room and lowered her voice. “Take care of yourself.” A quiet moment passed. Then another. “Eli, are you still there?”
“Yes,” he breathed. “It’s been a long time since anyone’s said that to me.”
Despite her best intentions, things were getting personal. “Just part of my job,” she said offhandedly, not feeling casual at all.
“Oh. Right. Of course.” His gruff voice returned. “I’ll call you soon. And, Christie?”
“Yes?”
“I’ll see you when I get home.”
For a moment, she warmed to the image. A strong, caring man coming home—to her. Then she shook off the ridiculous sentiment. After tonight, they’d never see each other again. And it was for the best.
She’d vowed to care for support-group attendees. Falling for them, however, was not an option.
* * *
ELI CLICKED OFF the phone and slumped in an upholstered chair in the Bellevue emergency-department waiting room. Beside him, a young mother jiggled a wailing toddler. A large family huddled on a nearby couch, some weeping while others paced. A young man hollered and punched a soda machine until uniformed security officers dragged him away. The air was thick and smelled of antiseptic, illness and despair.
Was it possible to feel both glad to be somewhere and wish you were anywhere else?
He watched the harried nurse at the reception desk briskly sort patients. Her calm, no-nonsense manner reminded him of Christie and the impressive way she’d managed John’s emergency.
He leaned his head against the wall and replayed his conversation with her. The way she’d said his name had loosened something balled up inside him. For a moment he’d imagined himself in another place and time, able to date a woman like her.
He strode to a glass vending machine and glimpsed his reflection.
Fool.
He was a single father recovering from cancer...not exactly the catch of the century.
Hadn’t the desertion of his ex-wife, Jacqueline, taught him anything? Cancer infected more than bodies. It destroyed relationships, too. He might be in remission now. But what if his cancer returned? To protect his children, he’d never let another woman into his life or theirs.
Eli dropped some coins in the slot and grabbed the bag of trail mix that fell to the bottom. He glanced at the clock. How long since the nurse’s last update on John? There was no lineup at her desk. Now was the perfect time to ask.
She looked up from her computer with a weary expression.
“Mr. Roberts, you’re still not allowed to go inside. Family members and caregivers only,” she repeated patiently for the umpteenth time.
“I rode in the ambulance with him.”
The nurse inclined her head, the harsh light casting shadows on her gaunt cheeks. “I’m afraid that’s not enough.”
Eli