My Kind of Christmas

Page 22

“I know,” Brie said softly. “I’m not trying to hurt your feelings, but sometimes you’re too pushy. And this isn’t the first time you’ve heard that.”
“Angie didn’t think I was too pushy when I took a two-month leave to take care of her, to help her to the bathroom, read to her and cheer her on during all her painful physical therapy sessions.”
“I think the important difference right now is that she doesn’t need help to do all those basic things and doesn’t like being treated as though she does. If you don’t back way off, my darling big sister, she’s going to run. Run fast and far. You have to let go. You have to let her make her own decision and, yes, even her own mistakes.”
Donna’s voice was uncharacteristically small when she said, “I only want her to be okay....”
“Of course that’s what you want. You’re a good mother. And now I’m going be a good sister. I’m going to get you through this, Donna. Just give me a chance.”
“Because you’re all wise and experienced?” Donna asked, a bit resentfully.
“In a way. I might not have raised a young woman in her twenties, but it hasn’t been all that long since I was one. And I remember how people getting in my space and my business made me crazy. I know that when I was determined in a certain direction—like dating some idiot who didn’t deserve me—criticism of him would only make me more determined. I remember when I was planning a wedding and all my sisters had advice about what I should do—always exactly what I didn’t want to do—and it made me furious…and mean. It made me mean. If you stretch your memory, I know you’ll remember being in that place—young, idealistic and determined. And damn angry when anyone tried to change your mind.”
She was quiet for a moment. Finally she said, “Creepy Calvin.”
“Ah,” Brie said with a laugh. “Your practice fiancé!”
“Engaged for four months. Mom and Dad hated him and asked me what I saw in him. Jack didn’t like him. My girlfriends kept asking me if I’d lost my mind. What was I thinking?”
“Maybe you were thinking you could make up your own mind. So let me ask you something—if everyone had backed off, would you still have done it? Accepted his lame-ass proposal?”
“Oh, undoubtedly. But I would have broken it off sooner. I hung in there for a couple of months after I realized he was a controlling, small-minded doofus just because I couldn’t bear the thought of anyone saying they tried to warn me.”
“And what would you have liked your friends and family to have said to you instead?”
She thought for a moment. “Oh, something along the lines of, ‘You’re a smart woman, Donna. You’ll do what’s best for you.’”
“There you go,” Brie said. “Practice that.”
Chapter Ten
Nothing could have prepared Patrick for the experience of taking Angie, Megan and Lorraine to Davis for an appointment with the plastic surgeon. He had offered simply because he wanted to spend the time with Angie and because he was curious to see for himself the evolution of this special project she’d taken on. And the revelations were stunning.
When they arrived at the Thicksons’, he was struck by their poverty. This was a hard-working family, yet they lived in a small, poor farmhouse that looked as if it would collapse if he kicked the right stud. Then there was his first full-face view of Megan’s scar, and he’d had to concentrate to keep from wincing. The angry line that ran from her mouth to just under her eye made her look almost clownish. And she wore an expression of despair that he wasn’t sure was an expression of her sadness or just the result of her tugging facial muscles. Even when she smiled, she looked forlorn. Angie was right—she could not go into her teenage years like this.
The drive to Davis was quietly lighthearted. There was a lot of talking among the women. There was a little song-singing and laughing. Megan nodded off for a while—she’d been up very early for the trip. And as they neared Davis, he could feel the nervousness settling in. Certainly Megan and Lorraine pinned desperate hopes on this visit, but Angie was his main concern. He knew she must be so afraid of failing at this—more than at any other challenge she’d taken on. Looking over at her as they drove, he could see that fear weighing on her.
But when they got to Dr. Hernandez’s office, Angie’s confidence was back. Despite the nervous pink splotches climbing up her neck, her voice was strong and confident. That’s the thing with overachievers, something he knew only too well—people always thought it was easy for them, that it was effortless, or lucky. She flushed slightly as she explained why they were there but she forced her voice, which trembled a bit, to be strong.
Angie had told him she felt academically and intellectually strong but struggled with feeling socially awkward. He wondered if anyone else noticed her slight hesitancy when she spoke, her pinkened cheeks. She was determined, but he could tell it wasn’t easy, selling her case to the doctor’s office staff. She’d blushed a little the first time she had talked to Paddy, but it had passed so quickly he had forgotten about it. Around her friends and family, she seemed so self-assured. But in this setting, with Megan and Lorraine depending on her so thoroughly, it was clearly a struggle to keep up that appearance. He could sense in her an overpowering urge to duck and run. But she fought it valiantly.
After a brief wait, the nurse escorted them all to an exam room and even Patrick went along—he didn’t want to miss anything. He was determined to be her extra set of eyes and ears, to pay close attention to the details. And no one questioned his presence within the group.
She smiled in relief, comfortable when she met Dr. Hernandez. “This is Megan, the girl we spoke about,” Angie said. “And this is Mrs. Thickson, her mother, and Patrick Riordan, who brought us here, a very good friend.”
“A pleasure,” the doctor said, nodding at them all. “Let’s get right to it. Let me have a look, Megan, and then I’ll talk to your mother about the details. Is that all right with you?”
Megan nodded and the doctor helped her up on an exam chair that sat high off the ground.
Angie leaned close as the doctor placed gentle fingers on the girl’s face, moving her skin around. He lifted her lower eyelid slightly with the end of a swab, asked her to smile for him, to open and close her eyes. And after just a few minutes he smiled at Megan and said, “I have some ideas, Megan. I want you to go with Sandra while your mother and I talk. Sandra will find you a magazine or you can watch TV. And, Sandra, will you please send Catherine?”
When it was all adults in the room, he began writing and talking at the same time, explaining that it was a simple but delicate procedure to repair the eyelid, and that would prevent vision issues due to severe drying in the future. He said there would still be a scar, but nothing as severe as she had now. Because of the way he would close the wound, it wouldn’t tug or pull at her features, and it would be thin, not unsightly. Because of her youth, he thought it would be unnecessary to adjust the other side of her face at the same time so her features would be symmetrical. There would be some swelling and bruising for a while, but recovery should be uneventful. “The most important thing is this—her skin and tissue, young and elastic, will recover and heal nicely.”
Then a woman came into the room. “Catherine will take you to her office. She can give you a detailed and itemized estimate. We’ve already discussed this and, rest assured, we’ll shave costs wherever possible. We’ll get it down as low as we can. That’s a priority. And you say you’ve already exhausted possible grants and foundations?”
“My aunt has, yes,” Angie told him. “She’s the midwife and nurse practitioner who runs the Virgin River Clinic. She couldn’t find help for Megan anywhere, but we’re not done trying to get it done. And soon, before it gets worse. She’s a beautiful girl.”
“My only girl,” Lorraine said. “She’s kind and smart—I want her to have every chance to succeed in life. I can’t stand the thought that something like a scar from a stupid accident would hold her back. It’s just not fair.”
“We’ll do our best,” the doctor said, holding out his hand to Lorraine. Then he looked at Angie and said, “You have a champion in Dr. Temple.”
She flushed a little at that. “He was my neurosurgeon,” she said, and whenever she said that, she unconsciously touched the shunt scar behind her ear.
“He told me about the accident. And you’re a medical student, he said.”
She nodded. “Only a year, but—”
Hernandez gave a chuckle. “Well, brace yourself.” He put out his hand to Angie. “Why don’t you sit down with Catherine and see what we have. And I’ll be seeing you soon, I hope.” Then to Lorraine he said, “Try not to worry, Mrs. Thickson. I’ve done this before.” Then to Patrick he said, “Nice meeting you. I have a feeling you have a bigger stake in this than driver.”
Far bigger, Patrick thought.
Soon they were all seated in a small office. Patrick, Angie and Lorraine faced the desk while Catherine sat behind it with her computer screen off to the left. As she clicked away, she explained certain things. No fee for the doctor, a very generous gesture. A discount at the surgical center. Operating room staff discounted. Presurgical lab work—sorry, no help there.
“We’ll get the lab work in Virgin River—my aunt Mel might have connections there.”
“We just need the results. I’ll write up the order. There’s one night of post-op observation. We usually have a nurse stay the night and, rather than hospital costs and germs, Dr. Hernandez keeps a room at a local hotel. This is nonnegotiable, given her age, anesthesia and the delicate work—a medical professional has to be on hand to watch for that rare complication. The first twenty-four hours post-op are the most important.”
“Maybe the hotel will donate the room? Maybe I could find a nurse?” Angie suggested hopefully.
“I’ll leave it on the estimate for now, but you’re welcome to ask. Dr. Hernandez might prefer a nurse who has worked with his postsurgical patients before and we have to trust his instincts. His very experienced instincts. So, understanding this might yet come down a bit more, we can do this procedure for as little as five thousand dollars.”
Patrick almost let out a sigh of relief. Five thousand? The limit on his Visa was six times that! He felt it was done, that Angie had won the day, Megan would have surgery soon.
But Lorraine put her hands over her face....
“Don’t panic,” Angie said softly. “We’re going to find a way. I have ideas. We’ll talk about it later.”
“That’s half what the last doctor—”
“We’ll get there somehow,” Angie said. “There are lots of things I can do. Lots.”
Catherine pulled the printed page from the printer. “Normally we schedule and ask for a deposit, but under the circumstances Dr. Hernandez has decided to forgo that technicality.” She attached her card to the estimate and handed it to Angie. “Good luck with this. Let me know how it’s going.”
“Thank you,” Angie said. “Let’s go get Megan and head home. This was a very helpful beginning.”
They were barely settled back in the Jeep when Patrick heard Megan’s quiet voice ask her mother, “Am I going to get the operation?”
Angie turned immediately. “We have a few things to figure out first, Megan. I think I know some people who will help—but now that I know what the doctor can do, it’ll be easier. I know it’s so hard to be patient.”
“It’s hard,” she admitted. “I wish I’d never of slipped.”