The Healing Place

Because he didn’t want to jar her too much, he resisted the urge to tickle her like he used to. Instead he knelt beside her bed and waited while Angie folded her arms and began speaking in a hushed voice.

“Heavenly Father, thank You for Tip and Dust and our house and Dr. Shields. Bless Mommy and help her come home soon, and help Daddy and me be brave. And help my tumor die. In the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.”

“Amen.” Mark opened his damp eyes. “Now, lay back and close your eyes again and imagine the tumor in your mind.” He paused, giving her time to begin their nightly ritual—a suggestion from their neurosurgeon. “Can you see it there in your mind?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“And can you squeeze it tight and see it getting smaller, and smaller, until it just disappears?”

“Yes.” A soft murmur. “It’s almost gone.”

“Okay, kill it, honey. Kill it and tell me when it’s dead and gone.”

Long moments ticked by as he watched her brow furrow with concentration.

“There. It’s all dead.” Opening her eyes, she gave him a smile so bright that a lump formed in his chest.

He held her for several minutes, just because he could, just because she was alive and warm and here in his arms, and one day she might not be—

He wouldn’t go there.

When he saw that Angie was asleep, he pulled the covers to her chin and backed out of the room and went to sit in the dark family room.

Alone.

No lights, no television, no wife. Just him, staring at the time flashing on the DVD player until it blurred and he had to blink.

His hands trembled and his breathing quickened. A hoarse cry rose upward in his chest. Cupping his face with his hands, he leaned his elbows on his knees.

Tears flooded his eyes and he wept.

Chapter Three

“Please, take a seat. Dr. Shields will be here shortly.” Sonja directed Mark and Angie into an examination room.

“Thanks, Sonja.” Mark pressed the palm of his hand against Angie’s back, urging her to sit on the vinyl couch, which had a fresh pillow in a stiff pillowcase lying at one end.

A short stool on wheels and one chair sat beside the bed. The room smelled of antiseptic. Jars of cotton swabs and alcohol wipes rested on the counter beside a small sink. Perched beside the door, a magazine rack held the latest issues of the Wall Street Journal, Newsweek, and various parenting magazines.

Angie settled on the bed while Mark slumped in the chair and stared at a picture on the wall. A ski slope in winter. Aspen, maybe.

Feeling Angie reach over and slip her hand into his, he sat up straighter and squeezed her fingers tight. She wore a worried expression and he gave her a reassuring smile. “Don’t be afraid. You’ve got the EMLA Cream on and it shouldn’t hurt at all.”

Thank goodness their neurosurgeon had given them a prescription for a tube of EMLA. The cream’s topical deadening powers worked wonders the numerous times Angie had to be stuck by a needle.

She nodded, but he sensed her tension. He’d lost count of the needle pokes she had endured. She had never become immune to the pain.

Neither had he.

He wished he could take her place and do this for her. It helped him understand how God must feel as he watched his children down on earth, struggling through their trials.

Sonja opened the door and came in carrying a tray with a hypodermic and a vial of amber liquid. The nurse set the tray on the counter, then prepared the injection.

“The doctor will be right in.” She spoke in a cheery tone.

Mark coughed. “Sonja, how long have you worked for Emma, er, Dr. Shields?”

Sonja chuckled. “I’ve known Dr. Shields long enough that sometimes even I slip up and call her Emma. I met her in a science class at the university when she was an undergrad. I went back to school after my husband died, so I was kind of old to be a student. Emma and I were lab partners. I introduced her to her former husband, David.”

“Former?”

Sonja’s eyes creased with sorrow and she shook her head. “I’m afraid they divorced two years ago. It was pretty hard on Emma. David never was a very supportive husband.”

Mark’s insides went cold. He understood firsthand the sadness caused by divorce.

He was about to ask more, but Emma opened the door and came in, carrying a clipboard. Dressed in a white blouse and black skirt, she wore a white doctor’s jacket over the top, buttoned mid-way up the front. Her blond hair was pulled back in a tight knot at the base of her neck. She wore wire-rimmed glasses low on her nose. Even with the severe hairstyle, he remembered how stunning she could look when she let her hair down and smiled.

The moment she entered the room, he felt as though he’d come home. Safe. Like a breath of fresh air after being locked in a tiny closet for six months. Her presence soothed his jangled nerves, offering hope in a weary world of fear.

Old feelings of affection crowded his heart. Wow, it was good to see her!

His gaze darted to her left hand where a gold wedding band circled her fourth finger.

How odd.

She’d been divorced two years, yet she still wore her ex-husband’s ring. After two years, he would have thought she would be over the guy. He was definitely over Denise. He realized his priorities had changed since Angie’s birth, but Denise hadn’t changed one bit. Somehow, the distance between them had grown to unrecognizable proportions.

Mark looked away but couldn’t help wondering if Denise had hocked her garish wedding ring at a pawnshop. No doubt, she could get a tidy sum for the diamonds.

At one time he hadn’t cared. Now he wished someone in this world loved him enough to wear his ring. But even if he found that special someone, he doubted he’d have time to build a relationship. Angie was his first priority and kept him more than busy. He couldn’t afford the luxury of a romance right now.

“Hello.” Emma glanced at him, then turned to smile at Angie.

“Hi, Emma.” His voice sounded unusually low and he cleared his throat.

Pen in hand, Emma sat on the stool and began scribbling notes on her clipboard. “Angie’s blood count looks good right now. This blood test was performed yesterday?”

She peered at Mark over the rim of her glasses, her clear blue eyes showing a dazzling depth of intelligence and—

Barriers.

“Yes, at the blood lab,” he said.

Her gaze returned to the clipboard. “Okay, after each injection, we’ll monitor Angie’s white blood cells to make certain they don’t get too low. If they do, we’ll skip one treatment to give her blood levels time to recover, then pick up again the following week.”

“I understand.” Mark nodded.

“I don’t. How come?” Angie asked.