The Miracle Twins

Inside, the atmosphere was quiet and sophisticated. Tables laid with heavy linen cloths were situated in intimate niches lined with potted plants. Muted murals adorned the walls and waiters wearing crisply starched shirts, black vests and ties circulated around the room.

As they stepped through the door, Lucy hung back, feeling decidedly grubby in her timeworn jeans and white button-down shirt.

“What’s the matter?” Nick inquired.

“I’m not dressed for this place,” she whispered.

“You look like you have plenty on to me.”

“But I’m not…fancy enough.”

Nick took her hand and pulled her toward the maître d’. “You’re fine.”

It was obvious that Nick was a regular customer. The maître d’ greeted him effusively and ushered them to a table near the window. Outside, a courtyard garden had been strung with fairy lights and strategically arranged spotlights.

Lucy was entranced. She’d nearly forgotten that there were places like this in the world. Places where people could feel as if they’d stepped into a fantasy.

“Will this be all right?” the maître d’ asked. Nick glanced at Lucy and she nodded.

“Yes, thank you,” he said.

When the man moved toward Lucy, Nick intercepted him to pull out Lucy’s chair. Lucy couldn’t remember the last time she’d been on the receiving end of such gentlemanly courtesy.

“Thanks,” she murmured, sinking onto the cushioned seat and allowing him to push her closer to the table.

Nick’s hand touched her shoulder, his fingers brushing against her hair as he went to his own chair.

Her mood softened even more at the gesture. When Lucy was on assignment, she made sure her gender wasn’t an issue. She carried her own equipment and stoically put up with rough conditions and the lack of privacy. Nevertheless, she couldn’t deny that Nick’s attentions made her feel special.

Feminine.

Alive.

As Nick settled into his place, she grabbed her menu and held it up in front of her, praying he wouldn’t see the moisture that had suddenly gathered in her eyes.

Dear sweet heaven, what was wrong with her? She’d spent most of the day sleeping, so she couldn’t blame her sensitivity on jet lag.

Telling herself she was just feeling stressed, she fastened her attention on the list of appetizers. Even so, she couldn’t seem to control the letters that swam before her eyes.

“Everything here is good,” Nick said, oblivious to her distress. “But if you order a salad, I’ll personally sic the chef on you.”

His comment made her snap out of her thoughts, but she couldn’t afford to speak just yet. Not when her voice might emerge as a croak.

Was it a coincidence that Nick had brought her here? Or had he remembered that Italian food was one of her weaknesses? She loved everything about it—the intoxicating aromas, the combination of spices, the rich sauces, the fresh meats and cheeses.

“Well, what do you think?”

Quickly blinking the last vestiges of tears from her eyes, Lucy focused on her menu. After reading only the first few items, she expelled a sigh of pleasure. “I have died and gone to heaven,” she said under her breath. At that moment, she vowed to stop worrying about the man who sat across from her, the appropriateness of her attire, or her unusual sensitivity. Her only concern would be which delectable concoction she’d taste first.

“If you look near the bottom of the menu, you’ll see they have a sampler of some of the most popular dishes.”

Lucy’s stomach growled in anticipation.

“There’s also soup, a side salad with a house dressing, bread sticks…. Just make sure you leave room for dessert.”

“Dessert?” she breathed, her eyes already scanning the list on the back cover.

“They have a raspberry lemon cheesecake that will make you weep.”

As if you aren’t on the verge of tears already.

By the time the waiter returned to take their orders, Lucy had managed to whittle her choices down to a somewhat manageable size. In the end, she chose a sampler of lasagna with red-pepper noodles, spinach and walnut ravioli in a white sauce and chicken picatta.

Once the waiter settled a tureen of minestrone soup and a basket of fresh bread in front of them, Lucy eagerly began filling their bowls.

“So when was the last time you had a decent sit-down meal?” Nick asked as she began smoothing herb butter on her bread.

Lucy shrugged. “It depends on your definition of ‘sit-down.’ It’s been at least a year since I’ve had Italian.”

“A lifetime, then, considering your love of Italian food.”

So he had remembered.

“Tell me about the twins.”

To her shame, Lucy realized that she had momentarily forgotten about the babies who were en route to Salt Lake City.

Wrenching her brain away from the way the subtle lighting seemed to caress the angular lines of Nick’s features and bring back to her responsibilities, she asked, “What would you like to know?”

“I suppose you’d better start at the beginning. How did you become their guardian?”

She took her time answering, swallowing a spoonful of soup before saying, “I was reporting on the humanitarian conditions in the war-torn regions of the Congo in Zaire, and I did a series on the orphanages in the area. I’d only been there a week when an orphanage run by a group of Franciscan nuns contacted me. At the time, the twins were just a few days old. Their mother had died in childbirth and the nuns feared that their own meager medical facilities were inadequate for the situation. They were hoping that, with my connections, I could help arrange for the girls’ care in the United States.”

“Yet it’s taken weeks to get them here. What kind of attention have they had in the meantime?”

Her forehead creased as familiar concerns pushed to the fore. “They were transferred immediately to a larger hospital, but it’s taken that long to process the reams of paperwork. I have copies of their medical files for you, but other than simple X rays, they haven’t had any tests to determine if they can be separated. The hospital was more worried about getting the children stabilized. The twins were losing weight and having trouble maintaining their temperature. At one point, Hope, the smaller girl, caught an infection, which set them back a bit.”

“What exactly do you know about conjoined twins?”

Lucy paused, then set down her spoon. Resting her arms on the table, she clasped her fingers together. “To be honest, the research I’ve done has been far from reassuring.”

“Why is that?”

Reluctantly, she met his gaze, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to mask her fears.

“Since my resources were somewhat limited, I was forced to get most of my information from the Internet. With some searching, I was able to find some medical texts, but first I had to wade through page after page of historically dated, sensationalist garbage. The most disturbing are the references to so-called Siamese twins being used in circus sideshows or being kept hidden from polite society.”

“It upsets you.”