Julia clutched the straps of her black leather pack and squeezed until her knuckles turned white. She eyed her mother, whose arm draped in support and protection around Marthas shoulders. Why hadnt her mother done the same for her?
She choked back the traitorous thought. She hadnt told her mother about Chicago. About that humiliating morning in Anthonys office. Shed simply shown up on her parents doorstep last Saturday morning, a welcome, though unexplained, surprise. Shed resigned from her job at the hospital, closed up her apartment and headed for home. She needed time to think. Time to heal. Time to be safe.
She shook her head and, palm raised as though warding off the threat of danger, backed toward the door. I cant handle a serious case right now. Im sorry Macs in trouble. Im sorry for your whole family. But I cant do this.
Julia spun around and shot out the front door into the crisp autumn air, anxious to escape the pressure, the disappointment, the guilt. Halfway down the front walk to her car, she heard the door shut behind her.
I didnt raise a quitter.
Julia halted at the sound of her mothers voice. On a deep breath, she turned and pleaded with those eyes, part gold, part green, just like her own. Someone else can help Mac. There must be hundreds, thousands, of qualified nurses in the Kansas City area. Reliable, tough
Im not talking about Mac.
A bit of the concern shed seen etched in Marthas face now lined her mothers. What do you mean?
Barbara closed the distance between mother and daughter. Physically, and emotionally. Ive never seen my little girl tuck her tail between her legs and run home to hide before.
Julia held her tongue, not knowing what to say. Shed tried to be cheerful, talk of good times, help around the house. But she could see now that she hadnt fooled her mother for one instant. Im sorry if I worried you. I didnt mean to.
Barbara smiled. Im a mom. Even after thirty years, it goes with the territory. She reached out and brushed one of the short curls that crowned Julias head off her face. I dont know what happened to you in Chicago, but Im sorry it hurt you. You are always welcome at home, and I am always ready to listen, if you decide you need to talk. But, in the meantime, I think you should do something. Keep busy, dont just brood.
Julia clasped her mothers hand and squeezed it tight. I love you for your concern, but I dont think this is the right thing for me to do. She looked up to the house, seeing it as a distant symbol of lost hope and shattered dreams. He needs so much. And I dont just mean nursing care. I dont think I have it in me to give him enough of anything right now.
The answering silence brought Julias attention back to her mothers face. Those hazel eyes looked sad in the grim expression Barbara wore. Martha Taylor has been my friend longer than youve been alive. You and her son Cole were classmates and good friends for many years. That familys in desperate trouble now. Julia sighed right along with her mother. I wont insist on anything that would put you or your feelings in danger. I just want you to remember that, sometimes, giving is what enables us to move beyond the fear or sorrow, and allows us to find a way to heal ourselves.
Julia rolled her eyes heavenward, seeking the strength that seemed to have abandoned her. Growing up hadnt been easy for her mother. But that life experience had given her a wisdom and insight that had surprised her daughter more than once. Maybe she did know something about healing the spirit, about mending a shattered self-image, about piecing together the will to move forward with her life. She looked at her mother, wanting to believe in that wisdom.
I dont remember you being this philosophical, Mom.
I dont remember seeing you in this much pain.
Julia considered the importance of family and friendship, of loyalty and love. She weighed the value of her actions in Chicago and what they had revealed about her true character. Her instincts had failed her, and shed been too stubborn to listen to common sense. She had fallen short of her parents expectations of her, far short of her own expectations for herself.
Maybe she owed them a bit of penance until she could figure out how to make things right again.
If only she wasnt so afraid of making things worse.
But Barbara Dalton hadnt raised a quitter.
All right. She stepped forward and wrapped up her mom in a hug. The tight embrace around her own shoulders might be the only strength shed have to sustain her through this. Ill give you twenty-four hours. Well see how it goes. But you and Martha need to be looking for a backup plan.
She felt the tension in her mother relax. Thank you, Jule.
Embarrassed by the simple gratitude, Julia separated and trudged up to the door. Twenty-four hours, she reminded her.
To do a favor for an old family friend?
Or to survive a sentence from hell?
MAC WAITED A GOOD ten minutes after his mothers goodbye before leaving the sanctuary-slash-prison of his bedroom. At least he thought it was ten minutes. His internal clock seemed to have gone haywire in the same instant the toxic flames and lacerations scarred his throat and tore the sight from his eyes.
Ten minutes. Five. Twenty.
What did time matter to a man who served no useful purpose?
The dull ache behind his left eye was a constant reminder of all he had lost. And no amount of scientific or medical training could bring back the competency of a man who had lived by his senses, his powers of observation, his ability to see something once and identify its attributes. He was a man of science, a man of thought and reason. Hed never worried about how to get from point A to point B. How to find the toilet across the hall. How to pick out socks that wouldnt clash with his jeans.
Hed never thought about living without his sight.
Mac swung his bare feet off the edge of the bed and slipped into the beaten loafers that had become his uniform of late. He inhaled a deep, fortifying breath and stood, steadying himself by grabbing on to the headboard. He waited for the waves of dizziness to pass, knowing damn well these vertigo attacks were a result of panic and disorientation, and had no bona fide physical cause.
Only when his shadowed world stopped spinning did he move. Three steps from the bed to the dresser. He trailed his fingertips along the scarred oak top, sticking a moment where the old varnish had pooled, sliding past the spot where there was no varnish at all. His hand hit a smooth, hard object and glass clinked against glass.
Tempting defeat, he turned his hand, lifted the glass to his nose and sniffed. Nothing. Plain water. Maybe the other
His stomach rumbled in protest at the lone leftover doughnut he had scrounged for breakfast. Despite his abysmal welcome, he hoped against hope that his mother had left a sandwich for him to eat. Restoring the clutter on his dresser, he reached for the door.
Two steps more across the hall to the bathroom. He followed the wall until he hit the dining room. Then he was in no-mans-land as he buffeted from chair to wall to sideboard. When he stubbed his toe on the break in the carpet beneath the archway, he knew hed reached the living room.
He clutched at the molding that framed the arch and paused to get his bearings. He needed to learn the number of steps into the kitchen, or move the bookshelves and recliner so he could simply follow the perimeter of the wall without breaking his foot, his face, or any of those knick-knacks his mother had entrusted to him over the years.