With the mouse hovering over the Send key, Tammy paused to pray for the recipient of her message. After three years of fighting to live, young Jimmy Williams was now looking forward to college, to marriage, and all those other monumental moments.
But did he know Jesus, the Giver of life? Hopefully her verse, added at the end of her email, would stir his heart. Though ultimately, that was God’s job. Hers was to obey and to share His truth, a truth that brought hope out of the darkest of circumstances. Her role as an organ procurement coordinator placed her in the perfect position to help do just that.
She hit Send, closed her laptop, and slid it into her computer bag. Smiling, she gazed through her office window. Such a lovely, sunny afternoon, and she had the rest of the day off. Maybe she and the kids could go for a bike ride before dinner.
The distinct click of her boss’s footsteps approaching caused Tammy’s neck muscles to tense. The woman was born with a scowl, and grace wasn’t part of her disposition. Disciplinary measures, however, were—especially those aimed at Tammy.
Straightening, Tammy smoothed a stray lock of hair behind her ears and focused on her open door. A moment later, Ellen appeared, lips compressed so tight they practically disappeared.
Her pencil-thin eyebrows pinched together. “I need to speak to you. In my office.”
Tammy nodded and stood.
Ellen turned on her heel, her sharp footfalls echoing down the hall.
Tammy rubbed her temples. If this job weren’t so important, she’d quit.
Breathing deep, she dropped her phone into her back pocket and slipped out. She plodded down the hall and into Ellen’s office.
Ellen looked up, her expression firm. “Close the door.”
Tammy did, lingering near the entrance for a moment. Swallowing, she crossed the room and settled into the leather chair across from her boss. “Is something wrong?”
Ellen raised folded hands to her mouth and rubbed her upper lip with her knuckle. She studied Tammy as if attempting to search her brain. Or annihilate it.
“I just got off the phone with Dr. Bolton, the chief of physicians’s relations at Children’s Memorial.”
Tammy held her breath.
“Dr. Prague has filed a complaint.”
Tammy’s face burned. With a nod, she cleared her throat. “I should have handled the situation better. We had a twelve-year-old—”
Ellen raised her hand. “I don’t care what the circumstances were. What I want to know is, did you tell him,” she glanced at a paper in front of her, “and I quote, ‘I would think you’d be interested in saving lives, Doctor, not filling beds’?”
“I apologized immediately. It was a stressful night. The hospital was understaffed and . . . irritable. As I started to say, we had a twelve-year-old potential donor, but we were waiting for the family to arrive in order to gain consent. Dr. Prague said he needed the bed. I explained to him how many lives could be saved if he would wait. He grew frustrated and . . . unpleasant.”
She paused and flattened her hands on her thighs. “I should’ve taken a moment to regroup, but I didn’t. I spoke harshly and immediately regretted it. I apologized. I realize my response was inappropriate and unprofessional. It won’t happen again.”
“I seem to remember hearing that exact phrase not long ago when you were unable to meet with a donor family due to . . .” She looked back at her papers. “Childcare issues.”
“That was two and a half years ago, ma’am, and I found someone to take the call for me.”
“There have been other issues.” She closed the file and folded her hands on top of it. “Is it true you recited a Bible verse before offering the customary moment of silence?”
“Well, yes, but that’s—”
“And two months ago, your insistence on praying with the Jung family led to quite an emotional upheaval.”
So that’s what this was about. What it had always been about. Ellen hated anything to do with Christianity. Tammy included. “Mrs. Jung asked me to pray with her, ma’am.”
“And when Mr. Jung, the donor’s grandfather, grew agitated? Did you consider his feelings as well?”
Tammy breathed deeply and exhaled slowly. “I was trying to bring comfort and hope to a grieving wife.”
“You’re an organ donor procurement coordinator, Ms. Kuhn, not Mother Theresa. Your job is to recover organs, not proselytize. Remember that.” She leaned forward. “Because contrary to what you may believe, you are not indispensible.”
“I know you want to see them, Mom.” With the phone pressed between his ear and shoulder, Nick poured a cup of coffee. “And I want to help make that happen. How about if you come here? You could spend the weekend.”
Nick’s mom sighed. “We’re launching our Summer at the Leir next week, and my boss has us all pulling extra hours.” She worked at a local art gallery, and with all the debt her new husband brought into the marriage, probably needed every penny of overtime she could get.
“What if we plan something for this summer? The boys and I can come down, spend a week.”
“Marianne will fight you on that.”
“This summer, I promise. We’ll go to Lake of the Ozarks, do some tubing. Maybe rent some jet skis.”
“There should be a law against what Marianne’s doing, turning your boys against everyone like that—cutting off the entire family.”
There probably was, but attempting to do anything about that would only mean more lawyers’ fees—at $200 an hour. Faced with contempt charges, she’d act nice for a month, or week, then revert to her poisonous tactics.
Gaining full custody was the only answer.
While Mom continued to vent, Nick made the boys’ lunch, per Marianne’s instructions. Ham and cheese for Payton. Peanut butter and jelly for Jeremy, each ingredient packed in different containers so they didn’t touch. Bagel wrapped separately, so it wouldn’t get soggy, a plastic knife to spread everything. Sure, he could have pushed back on this one, tell Jeremy he needed to eat what Nick gave him, but he’d learned to pick his battles. Right now, how his boys chose to eat their food wasn’t high on the list.
Footsteps and angry voices clamored down the stairs. “Where’d you put my DS?”
“I didn’t have it.”
“Quit lying.”
“I’m not!”
“Whatever.”
Nick chuckled. Some things never changed. “Listen, Mom, I’ve gotta go. Can I call you tonight?”
“Sure, Sweetie. We’ll figure something out.”
Returning the phone to his pocket, he faced his boys, skin-stretching smile in place. “You hungry?”
With a shrug, they slumped into opposing chairs at the kitchen table. Payton wore his usual frown while Jeremy rested his chin in his hands. His pudgy cheeks bunched beneath his eyes.
“What’ll it be?” Nick pulled various breakfast items from the cupboard. “We’ve got bagels, granola bars, and oatmeal.”
Jeremy grimaced. “Mom always makes eggs and sausage.”
Right. Looked like Nick needed to return to the store. Or start a food war. “Sorry, kiddo, but this is all I’ve got.” Although there was still ice cream. No. That’d be bad. Very unfatherly. “But maybe . . .” He sifted through leftovers in the fridge. Not much and everything else needed to be cooked first. “How about crackers and peanut butter?”
Payton rolled his eyes.
Jeremy flung his spine against his seat back and crossed his arms. “I want to go home.”
Nick returned to the table, leaned forward, and looked his boys in the eyes. “Listen, guys, I know I may not do things the way you’re used to. I know you miss your mom, but I’m doing my best. Can you . . . can’t we . . .” Where was the father’s manual when he needed one? Gazing toward the ceiling, he fingered his dad’s dog tags, wondering what it would’ve been like to have him around, to learn from him, learn what it means to be a dad.
He clamped a hand on each of his boy’s shoulders. “Let’s make the best of it, all right? Who knows, you might even have some fun.”
Jeremy huffed. Payton’s scowl wavered. Progress. Now if Nick could find a way to inch their gloomy expressions into a smile. A stack of graham crackers and a handful of raisins helped. While Jeremy turned his breakfast into an art project, Nick readied their backpacks by the door.
A memory of Payton’s first day of school surfaced. Standing on the stoop, wearing his favorite superhero T-shirt, his eyes had danced. “Will you walk with me and Mom to the bus stop, Daddy?”
“Of course, bud.”
What Nick wouldn’t give for a do-over. Lord, please show me how to reach Payton’s heart. Restore our relationship.
“Dad, look. It’s a monster.” Grinning, Jeremy held up a cracker slathered in peanut butter and raisins.
Nick laughed and ruffled the boy’s hair. “You’re quite the artist.” He shot Payton a wink, and for once, getting a smile in return.
By the time they headed out the door fifteen minutes later, Jeremy had even laughed at two of Nick’s jokes.
The mirth fizzled when they reached the end of his driveway where Payton stopped. “You’re seriously not going to walk us, are you?”
Nick kept walking. “Won’t kill you. I promise. But don’t worry, I’ll try not to mortify you. And I won’t go past the bus stop.”
Jeremy’s school was a fifteen-minute bus ride from Nick’s neighborhood, stops included. Payton’s was a mile walk east—and the primary reason Nick bought his house. He’d had a crazy fantasy that he and Marianne could share custody.
The naivety of the newly divorced.
Outside, his neighbor Howie lugged his garbage can to the curb. “Morning.”
Nick waved. “Hey, Howie.”
He smiled at the boys. “Fellas, good to see you.”
They glanced up before staring at the ground again. A single dad himself, Howie gave Nick a conspiratorial nod—one that said, “I’m with ya, man.” Sauntering over, he met Nick and the boys on the curb. “So, you guys are coming to the barbecue tomorrow night, aren’t ya’?”
Nick studied the boys’ faces, the slight smile on Jeremy’s, the absence of a frown on Payton’s. They didn’t seem vehemently opposed to the idea. “We’ll see what we’ve got going on.” Most of the neighbor children would probably be there. Hanging out with other kids would help loosen the boys up. Maybe even motivate them to come back.
“You know Rhonda’s planning on coming, right?” Howie wiggled an eyebrow.
Nick shook his head, shooting his neighbor a warning glare. The boys didn’t need to hear Howie’s philosophy on women and dating. Nor was Nick looking to spend time with the neighborhood flirt.
“I’ll talk to you later.”
Howie chuckled. “I’ll be here.”
Nick laid a hand on each of his sons’ shoulders. Payton flinched and jerked away. Nick sighed and dropped his hand.
One step at a time. They’d soften up eventually, hopefully by the end of their visit. And if not, maybe one day they’d look back on this time, remember Nick’s efforts. Know he loved them at least.
When they reached the bus stop, Rhonda and her daughter were already there. Rhonda’s hair looked like it’d been sprayed with rubber cement, her lashes thick with black mascara. She wore white Capris and strappy sandals; her daughter, ribboned braids.
“Nick.” She slung her leather tote over her shoulder and held out her hand, palm down, like a nineteenth century debutante. “How nice to see you.” Red lipstick smeared a front tooth.
Ignoring her fingers, Nick fought a grimace and flashed a smile instead. “Good morning.” He nodded at Rhonda’s daughter who presented a mirror image of her mother, from her pouty, glossed lips to her fluttering eyelashes.
“So, boys,” Rhonda angled her head and contorted her face in what she probably thought was a coy expression but merely stretched the thick pencil marks in her eyebrows. “You ready for spring break? Only two more days, right?”
The boys shrugged. Payton pulled out his cell phone, loaded with games, while Jeremy bounced from one foot to the other.
“A little crabby this morning, are we?” She shot Nick a wink and dug into her purse. “I’m guessing a couple of kiddos woke up on the wrong side of their beds. We really need to get the kids together sometime.”
Saying no would be rude, but anything else would only fuel Rhonda’s advances, so instead, Nick offered a slight smile and turned to his sons. “Two days before spring break, huh?” He nudged Payton’s arm. “Anything special you want to do next week?”
Jeremy’s face brightened, looking from Nick to Payton, who gave a slight shrug. Just then, the bus arrived, filling the air with diesel fumes.
Payton fist-bumped his brother. “See ya, twerp.”
The moment the doors swung open, Jeremy clamored up the steps. Nick reached out to rustle the child’s hair but missed. “Have a great day, bud.”
The doors swung shut.
Searching for a safe conversation starter, Nick turned back to Payton, but the teen had taken off down the sidewalk.
In an effort to ward off further interaction with Rhonda, Nick focused on his cell. Scrolling through his contacts, he hurried toward his house. Heels clicked steadily behind him, their rhythm doubling his. He quickened his step and looked for someone to speed dial.
The clicking picked up and soon was accompanied by heavy breathing. “Nick?”
He raised a finger, still going through his contacts. He rounded the corner, his driveway in sight, but still fifty feet away. Where were nosy neighbors when he needed them most? Howie was the only one out, and he appeared deeply engaged in unclogging his lawn mower. Not helpful.
He didn’t want to be rude, but he was not going to date this woman. Or meet her at a park, or sample her brownies. He refused to lead her on in anyway.
He lengthened his stride. So did she, reaching him at the mailbox.
There was a snapping noise, followed by a flash of color as Rhonda flew forward. “Oh!” She landed with her limbs stretched out, face planted in the grass. Items spilled from her purse—antiwrinkle goop, a prescription bottle, and hemorrhoid cream. A major too-much-information moment.
Nick rushed to her side. “Need help?”
Grass stains splotched her knees and strands of hair draped over her face and stuck to her lipstick. A few tangled in her lashes. When she swiped them away, she left a trail of red goop on her cheek.
“I’m fine, but thank you.” She straightened, mascara-clumped eyelashes fluttering so fast they looked ready to take flight. The color in her cheeks matched the lipstick smeared across her face.
Poor woman. A bit of humbling did everyone good, but no one deserved total mortification. Squatting, he reached for her purse, ready to help.
“No!” She bolted forward, scrambling for her items like kids for parade candy. Then, kneeling in front of her mess, she inhaled and lifted her chin. “Thank you, but I know how busy you are.” She swept her belongings aside, out of his view.
Nick knew better than to mess with a woman’s personal products. “If you’re sure.”
“I’m fine.” She waved him off with one hand while the other continued to gather her things.
Not wanting to embarrass her further, he turned to leave, casting one last glance over his shoulder. Before he made it to the end of his walk, she’d stuffed everything back in her purse and was hobbling home.
A low laugh caught Nick’s attention, and he turned to see Howie watching Rhonda. Shaking his head, he ambled over. “Still fighting her off, huh?”
Nick shrugged. “She’s just bored.”
“You know there is one way to avoid her for good.”
“What’s that?”
“Get a girlfriend.”
“Not happening, my friend. I’ve had enough relationship drama to last three lifetimes.”