The Prodigal M.D. Returns

Heather kept her voice upbeat and cheerful. “I won’t forget.”

“You forgot this morning,” her mother accused.

“I was in a hurry,” Heather pointed out.

It wasn’t easy keeping the irritation and frustration out of her voice. She certainly hadn’t forgotten her mother’s medication on purpose. Seeing Ben had knocked every thought out of her head. Besides, it wasn’t as if her mother was down to her last dose. There was enough for several more days. And yet, forgetting the medication was just another “failing” to upbraid her for. Her mother never cut her any slack. She’d even taken her to task for some minor oversight the day of Joe’s funeral.

“And tonight you’ll be tired,” Martha declared as if it was a foregone conclusion.

“I’ll go and pick your medicine up during my lunch break.” She saw her mother open her mouth for another go-round. Sometimes she thought that the woman lived for arguments. “Mother, I have to go.”

Heather deliberately turned her back on her mother, hoping that was the end of it. Bending down, she kissed first one girl and then the other. She didn’t think she would have been able to stand it if they weren’t in her life. Hannah and Hayley were what kept her going. What kept her sane.

She hugged them both quickly. “You two be good today and be sure to help your grandmother, okay?”

Hannah made no protest. She merely nodded as a little sigh escaped her lips. In many ways, Hannah was more like her than Hayley was.

“Okay.”

Hayley appeared far less bound to the request, even though she made no protest. Instead, she shrugged her small shoulders and Heather had the impression that her daughter was flinching off the request with the same minute motion.

“Sure, Mama.”

“That’s my girls.” Heather smiled at her daughters. She rose and slid the straps of her purse back up onto her shoulder, then headed toward the front door. “See you tonight.”

“How’s their rash?” The question came across like a demand for information as Martha propelled her wheelchair, following Heather into the living room.

“Gone.” Heather hoped the one-word answer would satisfy her mother. She should have known better.

Martha made a disparaging noise. “I could have told you that and saved you some money.”

“Shayne didn’t charge me.”

“That’s probably because he overcharged you to begin with.”

Heather struggled with a flash of temper, which happened more frequently the longer she took care of her mother. Knowing it would lead to an exchange of words she didn’t want her girls overhearing, Heather banked it down.

“He didn’t overcharge me to begin with, Mother.” Her tone turned frosty. She hated that her mother turned her into a person who was less than compassionate, less than kind. She didn’t like to think she could be stripped of these traits, but her mother always sapped everything out of her. “I’ll see you tonight.” Looking back toward the kitchen, she raised her voice so that her daughters could hear. “Bye, pumpkins.”

To her surprise, just as she turned to make her escape, her mother caught her arm. “What’s wrong?”

She refused to believe that her mother could see through her. That would take some sort of bond, some sort of connection, and they had never had one. “I’m going to be late, Mother, that’s what’s wrong.”

But Martha continued to hold on to her wrist, apparently not satisfied with the answer. “You’re shaking.”

Heather extricated her wrist from her mother’s grasp. She needed to get to work and get a grip. Her mother prevented her from doing both.

“Not enough sleep last night,” she lied, hoping that would be the end of it.

“What do you have to keep you awake at night?” Martha asked. “You’re not the one who’s stuck in a chair, looking up at people all the time. The object of everyone’s pity.”

Heather was tired of being made to feel guilty for something that had never been her fault. And if she stopped to give her mother a pep talk, the way she had countless times before, she would make herself late.

“No, I’m not, Mother. But I have to go to work. We can discuss this later.” And with that, she hurried out the door, closing it quickly behind her. She could still hear her mother’s voice as she went down the porch steps.

With effort, Heather found she could block out the words, if not the sound.

She knew that part of her mother’s bitterness stemmed from being felled by myasthenia gravis, the disease that rendered her legs nearly useless. Heather couldn’t help feeling guilty at wanting to escape, guilty because she hadn’t the time or the inclination to remain a few extra minutes, trying to placate the woman. Her mother was not to be coaxed out of that dark place this morning. There were times, like today, when her mother seemed to enjoy wallowing in self-pity.

Once in her car, Heather started it up and backed away from the house. She hated leaving her girls to witness this. But school was out for the summer and the day care center that Shayne’s wife ordinarily ran was closed this week. Sydney was taking a well-deserved rest, and Heather could hardly blame her. At the same time, it did make things very difficult for her.

She hated asking her mother for favors, any kind of favor. And her mother had grumbled when she’d asked her to keep an eye on the girls this week. One would think that she’d welcome the company instead of remaining alone the way she normally did for a good part of each day.

Heather sighed. She’d given up trying to figure her mother out. Not to mention trying to brighten the woman’s life as best she could. Some people preferred living inside a cave, enveloped by darkness. Her mother was one of those people.

It was only going to get worse.

Heather pressed her lips together. She did not look forward to her mother learning about Ben’s return. Martha Ryan had never had a good word to say about him. Ben’s charm left her cold, perhaps because it reminded her so much of her own husband.

Though she’d idolized her father, Heather couldn’t remember John Ryan ever being nearly as charming as Ben. Or as intelligent, for that matter. Ben didn’t have just street smarts, he had a mind that quite simply left others, including his own brother’s, in the dust. He always seemed to absorb things more easily and quickly. That was why at the age where other students were just graduating college, Ben was graduating from medical school. It had never even occurred to him that he had done anything out of the ordinary.

She sighed as she came to a stop at Hades’s only traffic light. There she went, being his advocate. Why? He didn’t need her taking up his cause, even silently. The very last thing she needed right now was to clutter up her mind with thoughts of Ben. She was years beyond that young girl with the hopeless crush. The girl whose very breath stopped in her lungs whenever he looked in her direction. That had been an entire lifetime ago.

She and Ben had nothing in common now.

Nothing but Hannah, she thought.

Except that Ben didn’t know about that. No one did, not even Shayne, who’d delivered her baby.

Finding herself pregnant had been the scariest period of her life. And then Joe Kendall had come to the rescue. Poor, dear Joe, her lumbering giant who had loved her with the complete devotion of a puppy. Who’d told her that he would work and slave to provide for her, pledging the rest of his life and undying love if only she would agree to marry him.

So she had. What choice did she have, really? Hades was not a condemning community, but being an unwed mother was a stigma she wasn’t willing to endure if she could avoid it. She especially didn’t want her baby coming into the world without a father’s name.

And even if no one ever said a word to her about it, never even appeared to give it a second thought, she knew that her mother would make her life miserable because of her momentary transgression. Worse, her mother would make the life of her unborn child miserable. So she had said yes to Joe and silently vowed to be the best wife she could.

For a while, their marriage had gone well. Joe gave no indication he ever suspected that Hannah wasn’t his. And when Hayley came along, exploding like a fire cracker almost from the moment she was born, Joe had been beside himself with joy.

Heather eased her car toward the north side of town. She could still remember the look in Joe’s eyes when he told her how happy he was. And how grateful he was to her for it.

That was the night before the cave-in.

At least he died thinking she loved him. And in her own way, she had. But she had loved Joe the way she would have loved a beloved friend.