A Family for the Children's Doctor

“But I don’t want to read another book!” Isabella Bonaventura was being stubborn just now. Caprice knew it, and indulged it, as her daughter jerked her hand away from her mother’s and plopped down in a black fake leather chair, her back to the windows overlooking the runway. “And I don’t want to draw pictures or write another story.” She folded her arms irritably across her chest and pulled her face into an angry frown, huffing out a melodramatic sigh. “I’m bored. I want to go back to the hospital.”

The hospital, meaning home. They were staying in one of the visitors’ suites at the Golfo Dulce Hospital just outside Golfito—a strikingly beautiful area with modern amenities. Many children were coming in which apparently kept Isabella better occupied than she was doing today. Poor child was bored out of her mind, waiting, and Caprice couldn’t blame her. So was she! “We’ll go as soon as he gets here,” Caprice replied for the tenth time in twenty minutes.

“How much longer will th-that be?” Isabella shifted in her seat to look out to the runway. “I don’t see any planes landing.”

Caprice glanced at her watch. The plane was already over thirty minutes late, which, loosely translated into kiddie hours, was about a lifetime. Or so it seemed, anyway, to both child and mother. “Should be any minute,” she said, keeping her fingers crossed that would be the case.

Any number of the Operation Smiling Faces crew had volunteered to watch Isabella. So had Josefina, Isabella’s Costa Rican caregiver. Caprice had refused the offers, though, and now she was beginning to think she should have taken somebody up on one of them. But she spent so much time away from her daughter as it was, she simply didn’t want to be separated from her. Of course, Isabella had an opinion in the matter, too, and hers was not anything like Caprice’s.

But in a sense Isabella’s mood was to be expected. Yesterday, her eighth birthday, hadn’t been a good day either. Caprice knew these few days were going to be rough. Birthday time and holidays were always when Isabella’s father forgot her. Which he always did.

“Can I get something to d-drink?”

“You just finished a guava juice,” Caprice said, her patience stretching out to a most tenuous thread.

Isabella regarded the empty bottle, made an annoyed face, then looked back at her mother. “I wanted fresco de maracuyá,” she said, forming the words with deliberate care.

Passionfruit. A local favorite, and right about now that sounded good to Caprice, too. What sounded better, though, was hearing Isabella attempt the language. “But they don’t have that here, sweetie,” she said, knowing that wouldn’t make any difference. Isabella was tired, bored, impatient and nothing short of a miracle was going to change her mood. Except, perhaps, a mother’s best bribe. Caprice smiled. “The plane will be here in just a few minutes, then we’ll be going. We’ll stop for ice cream on the way back to meet Grant.” Dr Etana “Grant” Makela, her resident GP and short-hop pilot.

“Ith cream?” Isabella said, suddenly forgetting her mood now that something had caught her interest.

“Say it properly,” Caprice instructed.

“Ith…ice cream.” Getting the words out was an effort, but when she had, Isabella looked pleased with herself.

Sometimes it was still a struggle, but most of the time her daughter was able to work through her speech difficulties, thanks to a great speech therapist back home. And thanks to Isabella herself, who was determined to get it right and go beyond anything expected of her. She worked harder than any child should ever have to, and sometimes Caprice feared all the struggles and work would deprive Isabella of her childhood. It was a difficult balance, keeping everything in its proper perspective. But so far Isabella seemed fine with the rigors and the balance.

Her daughter still had a little trouble with some of her words, especially when she was tired or excited. Overall, though, the difference was nothing short of a miracle. From a little girl who had shied away from people and never spoken to the Isabella who existed right now. A miracle of grand proportions and Caprice’s inspiration for these trips to Costa Rica.

She was grateful the therapist had released Isabella to come along to Costa Rica for a month. She’d traveled with her before, but only for short trips. Two weeks at the most. And Isabella didn’t always come along on some of those shorter trips because of school commitments. But on this, the timing was perfect. School was out on holiday. One thing Caprice would never do was interrupt her daughter’s regular routine, but this trip was interrupting nothing except several weeks of play, which she could do as well in Costa Rica as she could in California. And she seemed to have more friends here. So it couldn’t have worked out better. Except for Isabella’s birthday, that was. The residual mood from that was spilling over into this debacle of a trip to the airport, since Isabella was usually much more cheery than she was being now.

“Vanilla ice cream,” Caprice said, knowing what came next.

“Chocolate. I want chocolate!”

“But I thought you liked vanilla best.”

“You like vanilla best, silly,” Isabella squealed, her dark mood finally lightening.

“But I thought I was the one who liked chocolate, silly. ”

“No, you don’t. I do!”

“Are you sure?” Caprice asked, laughing.

“Are you sure?” Isabella retorted, laughing, too. They played word games, light banter back and forth as practice exercises. Caprice guided Isabella through the difficult words and as they were having fun and Isabella relaxed she always, without fail, got them right. A year ago, Isabella had barely spoken. Two years ago, she never did unless she’d had to. Now there was no stopping her.

Damn that Tony, Caprice thought, as the light-hearted mother-daughter banter continued for the next few minutes. He threw away the best child in the whole world because she embarrassed him. All because she’d been born with a cleft lip and palate.

She thought back to the day of Isabella’s birth. The excitement, the expectation during all those months of pregnancy—she hadn’t wanted to know if it was a boy or girl. She’d wanted to be surprised. Then all she’d seen after she’d heard the doctor say it was a girl had been a beautiful daughter. All Tony had seen had been a facial deformity.

His loss, the idiot. “We’ll both have chocolate,” Caprice said, pulling her daughter into her arms for a hug. Tony’s loss, her gain. And such a wonderful one.

“Dr Bonaventura?”

Startled, Caprice looked up from her embrace to the man towering over her. Then she blinked. He was…not what she expected. For some strange reason she’d had elderly fixed in her mind. Along with that image went gray-haired, little wire-rimmed glasses slipping down to the end of his nose, wrinkles. If this was the Dr Adrian McCallan, who’d signed on for two weeks, she’d certainly been wrong.

Caprice straightened up, then stood to greet him. “Dr McCallan?” she asked, surprised by the tightness of her voice. Oh, she’d talked to him on the phone once—cellphone, bad connection, crackly voice. With their combined hectic schedules, they’d mostly e-mailed.

Then there was the matter of his résumé. Accolades all over the place, all that seemed to indicate…well, someone much older than what she was seeing. Director of a large medical practice, head anesthesiologist over thirteen others. Part-time med school professor. Well published in medical journals. Noted lecturer. No wonder she’d expected seventy and tired. But the man extending his hand to hers was half that age and…well, it wasn’t exactly a tired look she saw on him, but it was one she couldn’t quite define.

Next time she was going to request a photo with the résumé.

“It’s good to meet you, Dr McCallan, and I’m grateful you could do this on such short notice. Monica Gilbert, who was set to come out as anesthesiologist, had a pregnancy complication, and I’m so happy to get you at the last minute. Especially someone who specializes in pediatrics. It’s not every day we have a pediatric anesthesiologist join us, and…”

Was she really babbling at him? It certainly sounded that way. Babbling, giddy like a schoolgirl… He already knew the facts, didn’t need a recap. “And thank you.” She clamped her mouth shut before any other foolishness slipped out.

“My pleasure,” he said, his eyes darting briefly to Isabella, pausing for a moment, then returning his focus to her. “I’ve been looking forward to doing this for quite some time and, as it happens, the timing worked out.” He glanced back at Isabella.

Caprice’s first reaction was to bristle. She always did. Call her over-protective, call her over-reactive, and that was fine. She was. But so many people had stared at Isabella before all the corrective surgeries and been horribly cruel to her daughter that her natural tendency was to protect her. And to get riled when someone stared. She knew she was often over the top with her reactions, but that still didn’t stop her. Any mother would have done the same.

Instinctively, Caprice stepped in front of Isabella to shield her from Dr McCallan’s stare. Although he wasn’t exactly staring. It was more like he was trying to make eye contact with a child who still rarely ever did. “We have a long flight ahead of us,” she said stiffly. “I think we’d best be going if we want to get to Dulce by nightfall.” Dulce, the nickname for the hospital.

Isabella peeked out from behind her mother. “Ith…ice cream?” she asked, forming deliberate words as she stared at Adrian’s kneecaps.

Caprice didn’t want to disappoint her daughter, but she also didn’t want to have ice cream with this man. He made her uncomfortable. Because of Isabella, perhaps. Or maybe because he was half the age she’d expected and gorgeous in a way she simply didn’t want to acknowledge. Whatever the reason, she was ill at ease, and glad the normal seven-hour trip by road would be greatly reduced when they took to the air.

“Maybe another time,” she said to Isabella. “I’m sure Dr McCallan is tired from his long trip, and anxious to get settled in.”

“I like ice cream,” Adrian said, twisting his head to see Isabella, who finally met his gaze with a cautious gaze of her own and the tiniest little smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Vanilla. What kind do you like?” he asked her.

“Vanilla,” she said, taking one step away from her mother. “Just like you. It’s my favorite.”

“Then I think we should have vanilla.” He glanced up at Caprice. “If that’s OK with your mother.”

“She likes chocolate,” Caprice said, almost sounding adamant about it. Her daughter was already smitten with this man…smitten enough to change her favorite ice cream flavor for him. It stung some, having Isabella’s attention, and possibly affections, divided just a little. It was only momentary, she knew, but that didn’t lessen the feeling that Isabella was so eager to allow someone else in. It had been just the two of them for so long she’d never thought in terms of anybody else. Especially not a man.

Caprice shut her eyes and drew in a deep breath, willing her sensibility back. Dr McCallan wasn’t a threat. He was merely Isabella’s reaction after another disappointment, courtesy of her father. That’s all. “Chocolate,” she whispered, trying to focus on something other than the man standing mere inches away. “We both like chocolate.”

“I like what he likes,” Isabella protested. “Va-vanilla!”

Adrian squatted down. “And you are?”

“Itha…Ith…Is-a-bella!”

“And I’m Adrian, Isabella.” He extended his hand to her, and she was not at all hesitant to take it. In fact, Caprice thought Isabella clung a little too long to Adrian’s hand. Another aftereffect of another disappointment from her father, she supposed. Isabella didn’t often have a man in her life and Adrian cut an imposing figure to an eight-year-old, as well as to a thirty-four-year-old. Tall, chestnut-colored hair, brown eyes. Friendly brown eyes, the kind that would smile even when his mouth didn’t. And nice, broad shoulders… She almost caught herself sighing over his broad shoulders. But she didn’t, of course. Instead, she took Isabella by the hand and led her down the corridor in the airport terminal, leaving Adrian to follow along behind them.

It was an odd first meeting. More than she expected, and a whole lot less. Not that she was sure what that meant. But Adrian McCallan wasn’t the stodgy old codger she’d thought him to be. Which could be a powerful problem, as it seemed her young daughter was already in full-fledged infatuation, dragging her heels, looking back at him and flirting in the way only an eight-year-old girl could flirt. “You’re getting chocolate,” Caprice said. “And that’s final!”