Midnight, Moonlight & Miracles

“My daughter.”

“Nothing serious, I hope.”

She shook her head. “A checkup with her ophthalmologist.”

“Can you reschedule?”

“I could. But I won’t.”

Before he could ask any more questions, the doctor returned.

“How are you doing, Mr. Reynolds?”

“Good as new, Doc.”

“Glad to hear it.” He pushed his wire-rimmed glasses farther up on his nose then looked at Megan. “Pat is on the phone at the desk. She wants to talk to you.”

“Okay. And unless there’s something else, it’s time for me to punch out.”

The doctor shook his head. “I don’t need you for the stitches. Go home.”

She nodded then walked to the foot of the gurney. “Good luck, Simon. Take care of yourself.”

“Don’t worry about me.” She started to turn and he said, “Megan? Watch out for saturated fat.”

She smiled, a beautiful wide smile, then she was gone. Instantly, he missed her—correction, he missed her sharp wit. For a while, it had taken the edge off his pain and emptiness. The two joined forces and closed in around him. The doctor talked as he injected a local anesthetic, but Simon didn’t feel the prick or hear the words. He needed to get out of here. Megan was wrong—he was a stupid man.

A stupid man who would sign himself out AMA.

It had been a long night. When the sun finally came up, Simon reluctantly admitted that he’d been more stupid than usual. His body was like an orchestra’s percussion section—throbbing, aching, stinging. And it repeated over and over. The slightest movement was agonizing, and he’d walked out without taking the prescription for pain medication the doctor had tried to give him. So he didn’t move more than necessary. But now even he could see he needed help. He needed a nurse.

So he’d called the number on the card for Home Health that the ER doc had insisted he take with him. They’d sent someone right over. In five minutes he’d sized her up and realized she wouldn’t do. She wasn’t Megan. He’d called back and insisted they send Megan Brightwell—or no one at all. The consequences were theirs. Megan had told him she wasn’t available until afternoon. He glanced at the clock on the living room wall. It was afternoon, and he was still waiting.

Leaning heavily on his crutches, Simon lowered himself onto his sofa. He clenched his jaw against the hammering pain as he carefully hoisted his Velcro-and-canvas-splinted leg up, then carefully swung it around and lowered it to the cushion. After letting out a long breath, he vowed never to take for granted the simple bodily function of going to the bathroom. He also made a mental note to decrease his liquid intake to just this side of dehydration so he wouldn’t have to get up again anytime soon.

When the doorbell rang, he swore. “Come in,” he called out, hoping it was Megan.

He watched the front door open and his visitor step onto the wooden floor in the entryway. “Simon?”

“Hi, Janet.”

The attractive, fiftyish woman wearing designer jeans, tailored T-shirt and matching navy cardigan stood motionless, studying him from across the room. Her short blond hair was neatly arranged around her softly lined face. Her normally warm brown eyes stared at him in horror.

“Good Lord, Simon. What in the world have you done to yourself now? I came over because I was afraid of something like this.” She slammed the door, then walked over to him.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Jan.”

“The fact that you’re a mess from head to toe? Or that Marcus died two years ago yesterday?” She came farther into the room and stood by the couch, studying him. “Or do you not want to talk about the decision I was forced to make after the accident?”

“None of the above,” he said, throwing his forearm across his eyes. But that didn’t stop him from seeing the memories. “You’ve done your good deed for the day. You’re off the hook.”

“I was never on the hook. But okay.”

For a moment he thought she’d listened and was going to leave him alone. But when she cleared her throat, he knew it was only the beginning.

“We won’t talk about it now,” she said. “But mark my words, the day is coming—soon.”

“No, it’s not. When are you going to give up on me?”

“Never.”

“Why do you bother?” He removed his arm and looked at her. “I made your daughter miserable.”

“It takes two people to make or break a relationship, Simon.” She sighed and sat on the coffee table to face him. “Donna wasn’t blameless. I’m afraid she had expectations that most men couldn’t live up to. Now we’ll never know if she might have found happiness,” she added sadly.

“I still don’t know why you waste your time on me. Surely you’ve got better things to do?”

“You didn’t give up on me after I lost Hank.”

“That was different.”

“Oh? I loved and missed him. How is that different?”

“I don’t have the strength to explain. It just is.”

“You and Donna were divorced. But that didn’t stop you from calling and coming by when I needed some chore or manly thing done around the house. Did you consider it a waste of time when you took me to lunch or dinner, giving me a reason to put on makeup and get out of the house? What about that line you fed me? That I was your son’s grandmother and that made us family.”

“It wasn’t a line. You’re a good person, Jan.”

“And you’re not?”

She knew the answer to that as well as he did. Why did they have to play twenty questions? He lowered his arm and met her sympathetic gaze. He didn’t want or need her to tell him anything. Marcus had dibs on forgiveness, but he was gone and wasn’t coming back.

“Don’t think you’re fooling me. I know what you’re trying to do,” he said.

Her mouth quirked. “What?”

“I invented the innocent act. It won’t work on me. Have you been taking those classes again?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“I’m sure you do. Those touchy-feely things you like. You know the ones I mean—Armchair Psychology. Ten Easy Steps to a Better Relationship, even with the former son-in-law who made your daughter’s life a living hell.”

“Oh, please. Don’t be so dramatic. And don’t scoff. Those classes are very informative and have made a big difference in my life.”

“Have they helped you get over losing Marcus and Donna?”

“Nothing on earth can do that.” The light in her eyes flickered, then was extinguished. “We both lost our only child. We share the same pain, Simon.”