My Kind of Christmas by Robyn Carr
By the time the doctor was finishing, an hour and twenty minutes had passed. Before a bandage could cover it, she dared a closer look at the wound. “Wonderful!” she said under her breath. Megan already looked a world better than she had.
“Flirt,” the doctor said. “Let’s get her to recovery. And, Angie, follow me.”
She wasn’t sure why he wanted her, but she already knew she’d follow him anywhere.
He stripped off the gown, cap and mask and she mimicked. Then he went back to that computer. He indicated a stool beside him and she sat.
“We’ll let her wake up, get a little oriented, then you can go get her mother. Now, what did you think?”
“Denise was right—like magic. Just watching those stitches—how long did it take you to be so fast, so perfect?”
“Years and years of stitching pigskin and other practice fields. All that during residency—med students just float around, studying different medical services—three months here, three months there. But while magic is flattering, did you see what was happening? The separation of the skin from the deep dermis? The lifting of the lid?”
She nodded. It was fabulous.
“I do face lifts, scar repair, reconstruction, a number of things. The most satisfying to me is when I can take a patient from the fear and loneliness of disfigurement to a more normal appearance. Have you ever seen the face of a child who’s had a run-in with a vicious dog?” He shook his head sadly. “To be able to use my skills to help an impoverished child is gratifying. I was glad of the outcome today and hope she is, as well.”
She nodded, mesmerized.
“Dr. Temple tells me you have plans to take a break from med school to do some time in the peace corps,” he said. “Do you mind if I ask why?”
It took her a moment to find her voice. “I want to make a difference. Like Dr. Temple does,” she said, her voice hardly above a whisper.
“Dr. Temple is able to give time to movable hospital organizations that travel places where locals would otherwise not be able to have the life-saving surgery they require. Near and far—from rural U.S. towns without neurosurgeons or facilities to international sites. There’s a community of doctors who like to balance their practices with some pro bono work.”
“How does someone like me volunteer?” she asked.
“One goes through a rather lengthy application process. Many doctors give a year or two to humanitarian efforts ranging from Doctors Without Borders to UNICEF. Some of us have a week here and there to give and are more inclined to privatized efforts. There is a senator’s wife, an R.N., who puts together three or four projects a year and she recruits a number of specialists. We’ve gone as far as India and Africa with her nonprofit traveling hospital. I like to go to my home country—a poor village south of Mexico City.”
“Do these groups need someone like me?” she asked earnestly.
He looked at her levelly, his black eyes intense but his smile gentle. “These groups need doctors, Angelica,” he said very softly, using the Mexican derivative of her name. “If you want to make a difference…”
“You’ve been talking to my mother,” she said, but she smiled.
“Has your mother been harping on you to go back to school?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Think about that option. Dr. Temple brags about you, about your future and your determination. About your potential. It’s just a suggestion. As a med school dropout you’ll never be allowed to run those sutures. And you’ll never be able to afford to give as much as you want to give.”
She bit her lower lip against saying what she wanted to say—that she wished desperately she could be the one to help, to do the most difficult, taxing job, to fix the scarred face of a child who couldn’t otherwise have the help, that she envied his ability to do such intricate work.
“My great-grandmother used to tat. Make lace,” she said.
His grin broadened. “I know what it is to tat. It’s a very delicate pastime. Did you learn it?”
She shook her head. “Not yet,” she said. “But I think maybe I will.”
“You’re very young. You have so much time, thank the saints. I didn’t get to medical school until I was twenty-eight—it was an uphill battle.”
“And why did you choose plastic surgery?”
“Because it’s difficult and beautiful. I love the challenge and the outcome. It called to me.” He turned to the computer and logged on. “If I can help with your decision in any way, please call me. For now, go see if Megan is alert. When she is, you can find her mother. One night with the nurse in the hotel, a checkup in the morning to make sure she’s stable, then you can take her home with some postsurgical instructions.”
Even though he seemed distracted by his typing, she said, “Thank you, Dr. Hernandez. You’ve done so much today, for Megan and for me.”
He turned and gave her his attention again. “Keep in touch.”
* * *
After making sure Lorraine had some solid breakfast in her belly, Patrick took her back to the surgical center with a to-go coffee. He excused himself to make a phone call. As he paced up and down the sidewalk between the building and the parking lot, he phoned Marie.
“Well, hey,” she answered. “You’re calling from your cell phone.”
“I’ve got good reception. How are you doing?”
“I’m having a good day today. I did a very brave thing—I made a deposit on a house.”
“A....house?”
“That’s right. Small but very nice, near my parents and brother and in a very good school district on the likely chance I’m still here in a few years. I can’t wait to show it to you, Paddy. I think you’re going to love it.”
“You couldn’t wait for me to get there?”
“I had to jump on it! It’s a foreclosure and came at an excellent price and the repairs are not too extensive. In fact, this is going to sound a little crazy, but getting this house in shape, it gives me something to look forward to.”
As he paced, he ran a hand through his hair. “Damn, I wish you could be just a little more flexible....”
“In what way, Paddy? I have to have a home. I don’t want to live with my parents forever.”
“I had this idea that maybe I could convince you…” Unsure of how to word it, he let his voice trail off.
“Convince me of what?”
“I have to ask you something. Do you ever dream about Jake?”
“Oh, no! You, too?”
“You do?”
“Oh, Paddy, I conjure him, that’s what it is. I miss him. I’m going to miss him for a long time—probably long after I’m over him! So you see him, too?”
“I’m not convinced I conjure him. What does he say to you?”
“It’s all memory stuff. It’s private moments. And sometimes he tells me I’m pretty. The thing that disappoints me and makes me cry and know that it’s my conjuring—he never talks about Daniel and he was gaga for his son. What does he tell you?”
He took a breath. Better to be honest. “To take care of you and Daniel.”
“Aw, how sweet is that! And I know you’ll always be there for me, Paddy.”
“I’ll be there in less than a week. When do you close on that house?”
“Within thirty days. We’re putting a rush on the closing to see if I can get the keys right away. I was hoping that just after Christmas I could get moving on the interior. Listen, I can’t wait to show you, but I completely understand if you want to reconsider spending Christmas here in a little motel down the street from my parents.”
He was quiet for a moment before he said, “I’m looking forward to seeing you, Marie. I miss you.”
“And, Paddy, I miss you, too! I just don’t want to take you away from your family.”
“Say, how’s it going with that little girl? Did you work out the surgery thing?” Marie asked.
“I told you about that?”
She laughed. “In detail. I donated to the cause.”
“You did?”
“Absolutely! I don’t know if you even realize it, but the way you talked about that young woman, Angie, it was with such tenderness, such respect and admiration. I really hope you don’t lose track of her. She might be just the kind of woman you should stay in touch with. Did the little girl get enough funding for the surgery?”
“I’m standing outside the surgical hospital now, waiting for the operation to be over.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful! You’ve made my day!”
“Marie, how much money did you give the cause?” he asked.
“It’s not important, Patrick. Just a little something from Jake.”
“Jake?”
“There was a widow’s benefit and life insurance. I put some of it in a college fund, some down on the house and I thought—this is important to Paddy, Jake would approve. I admire you, Patrick. What a great way to spend some leave. Spreading some goodwill, paying it forward.”
“I have to get back to Charleston soon.”
“Of course—but you’ll find out your new assignment soon, right? I know there’s no big gray boat in Oklahoma City, but maybe you’ll get something awesome, like Hawaii. I wouldn’t mind visiting Hawaii.”
“Marie…”
“What?”
He took a deep breath. “Listen, we should be together. Me and you. If you can’t do any more Navy, I get that—it’s not your fault. Let’s mull this over a little. We’ll talk about it at Christmas and decide. I can get out of the Navy.”
“Paddy, are you thinking this way because of Jake?”
“No, I—I mean, maybe part of it has to do with Jake. But I really want to be close to you and Daniel. I want to be able to look after you properly.”
“And I don’t know what I’d do without you, but…”
“Is there any possibility you could live in Charleston again?” he asked. “Because I admit, I want the best of both worlds. I want you and Daniel and I want the Navy and that damned plane. Marie, I really care about you.”
“And I really care about you,” she said. “Listen, Patrick, it’s too soon for me to think about the next man. Probably years too soon. Right now I feel like there can never be another man for me. As much as I love you, you’re my best friend, Paddy. I don’t want to go back to Charleston with you. The memories there…”
“It’s too soon, I know. You need time. But think, Marie—this is sensible. Practical. Logical. We’re in sync, you and I. I want to do the right thing for us. That’s all.”
“Sometimes I forget,” she said quietly. “You suffered a grave loss, as well. But that doesn’t make us destined to be together, Paddy. Listen, will you do something for me? Will you text me when the little girl is out of post-op, when the doctor says the surgery was successful?”
“I’ll call you,” he said.
“Sure, just let me know.”
“I’ll call you,” he repeated.
“Then we’ll talk soon. You’re wonderful to help with the surgery. You’re almost the most wonderful man in the world.”
“Almost?” he asked with a laugh.
“It’s good if you keep trying for perfection! Goodbye, Paddy.”
Fifteen
By just after lunch Megan was settled in a queen-size bed in a Marriott in Davis. Her nurse was with her, as was her mother, but it was Angie she wanted to speak to. “You saw it?” she asked. “All of it?”
“I did,” Angie said. “It was amazing. Once the swelling and bruising is gone it’s going to look wonderful. I think you’re going to be very happy.”
Later that day, Angie sat cross-legged on her hotel bed with Patrick’s cell phone in her hand. He had gone out for sandwiches while she used his phone to give Mel an update. She told her all about the surgery and her front-row view.
“How did you like that?” Mel asked.
“I loved it,” she said, her voice quiet. “It got me thinking…”
“About?”
“What it must feel like to have the power of healing in your hand.”
“I imagine it’s incredibly humbling,” Mel said. “Knowing where to use it, spend it, exercise it.”
Patrick returned shortly after her phone call. They both sat on the bed, eating their sandwiches and sipping their sodas quietly. When they were finished and the wrappers tossed, Patrick laid down on the bed, hands laced together behind his head, staring at the ceiling. Angie was looking off at nothing in particular.
“Tired, babe?” he asked her.
She focused on him for a moment. “Did I ever tell you that I love jigsaw puzzles?” He just shook his head. “Do you?” she asked.
He gave a shrug. “I think I could find something a little more exciting to do.”
She flopped down on her stomach, her chin braced on her hands. “We don’t have all that much in common, do we?”
“Scrabble,” he said with a small smile.
“And maybe one or two other things. But I love jigsaw puzzles. I put one together once that was the size of the dining room table. My mother stopped me before I tried one as big as the family room floor. My family would try a few pieces now and then but it was mainly all mine.”
He ran a hand over her hair. “Got a little OCD going on there, honey?”
“Oh, yeah, piles of it, I’m sure. But I don’t do the kind of fun things you do—I don’t want to speed or jump out of planes or take tight turns. Patrick, have you ever felt your life changed by a few words?”
He was still stroking her hair. And he was thinking, Do what you have to do. Jake’s instructions. “Like what?” he asked her.
“Dr. Hernandez put me in that O.R., let me watch him take apart a face and put it back together. Then he talked to me. He belongs to a small group of medical professionals who donate time and energy to people all over the place. I asked if they could use someone like me and he said, ‘They need doctors.’” She frowned. “I guess I was wrong. I’m going to have to finish school, after all. If I could ever do what he does…”
They were both silent for a while, looking into each other’s eyes. “USC?” he finally asked.
“I guess so. If they haven’t given up on me.”
“You’ll find the best place,” he said. “I have to admit, I like this idea better. You have a lot to offer, Ange.”
“So do you, Paddy. What do you suppose becomes of us now?”
“It sounds like we have a good few days, then begin new lives.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Going to be a doctor! A surgeon! How am I not surprised?”
“Patrick, do you think we’ll… Will we stay in touch?”
He couldn’t stop stroking her hair. “Would that be a good idea?”
“I hate the thought of not ever knowing where you are,” she said. “What are we going to do?”
“Ange, I made a commitment to a man who’s dead. I gave my word. I don’t think there’s anything to do but carry on. I should have fought this thing harder, this thing we have. I never wanted to hurt you, to disappoint you.”
“Just tell me this—are you going to be hurt or disappointed?” she asked.
“I’m going to be grateful,” he whispered. Then he pulled her down beside him. “Come here. Let me hold you. It’s all I’ve got.”
* * *
Angie refused to give up or give in. If there was one way she wanted Patrick to remember her, it was without pity or regrets. She slapped a smile on her face. She teased him and laughed with him; she slept
The ride back to Virgin River was quiet—Lorraine held Megan while she slept, and Patrick and Angie didn’t want to disturb her. When they arrived at the Thicksons’, Angie helped get Megan settled on the couch before leaving them. Her little brothers edged close with caution, peering at the new incision on her cheek.
“How about a beer?” she said once they were back in the Jeep. “It’s been a very long day.”
“My place or yours?” he asked.
“Jack’s?” she suggested. “We can have a beer, catch him up on the condition of our little ward and flip a coin to see where we go next. Maybe we can grab some dinner from Preacher. Neither of us should have to cook tonight.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
They got to Jack’s just ahead of the dinner crowd and jumped up on stools that sat side by side.
“Well, my missionaries have returned,” he said, giving the bar a wipe and putting down a couple of napkins. “What’s your pleasure?”
“Cold draft,” Angie said.
“I heard from Mel that things went very well,” he said while drawing up a couple of beers.
“I don’t think it could have gone better. But, Jack, it was an emotional landslide.”
He leaned both hands on the bar and looked at them. “Well, I’m afraid there’s more where that came from. Ange, your dad and sisters arrived in town this afternoon.”
“What for?”
“Your mom didn’t want to leave you before you were ready to go. And she didn’t want to pressure you into driving back to Sacramento. So Sam came, too.”
“Grandpa?”
He gave a nod. “With the back of his truck full of presents. Looks like Christmas is at the Sheridan house this year. Your other aunts are missing out, but then you were with them at Thanksgiving and it seems to be their year for their in-laws, anyway....”