Wade accepted the milk. “I don’t,” he said, glancing toward the waiting room, “but she might like one.”
“You’re a nice boy,” Marsha said when he took it from her.
Nice. Yeah, right, he thought, remembering what had happened to the engineer. But “Thanks” is what he said.
Sitting beside the girl, Wade peeled back the spout of one carton and slid a straw into its opening. “You want me to see if I can get ’em to cough up some doughnuts or something?”
She sent him a hint of a smile. “No, I’m not hungry.” After taking a tiny sip, she looked straight into his eyes and said, “You’re very nice. Thank you.”
Wade nearly choked on his chocolate milk. All his life, he’d been hearing what a loser he was, and twice in as many minutes, two people had told him the exact opposite. What a joke, he thought, because if they knew him…if they’d seen him earlier tonight, at the cemetery, they wouldn’t think he was so nice!
“What’s your name?” the girl asked.
“Wade,” he said, nervously opening and closing the milk carton. “Yours?”
“Patrice McKenzie.” She tilted her head slightly. “Do you live near the hospital?”
He shook his head. “Ellicott City. How ’bout you?”
“I live in Freeland, on a farm.”
“A farm? With cows and pigs and horses and stuff?” He grinned. “No kiddin’.”
That made her laugh—just a little—but it made Wade feel good to have brightened her mood, even slightly.
The ER doors swooshed open, interrupting his thoughts. “Patrice?” a woman wailed. “Patrice, baby, where are you?”
The girl jumped up so fast, she nearly spilled her chocolate milk down the front of her pink sweatshirt. “Right here, Mom.”
Wade figured the man and woman who bundled her into a group hug must be her parents. From the looks of them, the news about her brother wasn’t good. Then Patrice started to cry. The misery seemed to start deep in the core of her, ebbing out one dry, hacking sob at a time and racking her tiny body.
As Patrice’s family trudged out of the ER arm in arm, Wade realized little Timmy must have died. He hung his head. Maybe he should’ve tried to scare up something sweet for her to eat, even though she’d said she hadn’t wanted anything. Because the way things looked, no telling how long it might be before—
“Hey, kid.”
Wade got to his feet. “Yeah?”
“Sorry, but we lost Mr. Delaney, ’bout fifteen minutes ago.”
Wade pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger.
The nurse he’d spoken to earlier put a hand on Wade’s shoulder. “The cops are on their way now, to tell the family. You might want to get over first chance you get, see if there’s anything you can do for ’em…since you’re a friend of the family and all.”
Friend. Shame burned hot in Wade’s gut. Funny, he thought, that until the nurse said “friend,” he hadn’t understood what the word hypocrite meant.
“How’d you get here?”
“Walked,” he fibbed, knowing if he said “hitch-hiked,” he’d probably be in for a safety sermon. The nurse seemed like a nice enough woman, but Wade was in no mood for a lecture, no matter how well intended.
“So, how you gettin’ home?”
Wade shrugged. “Same way, I guess.”
“I could call you a cab….”
Shaking his head, Wade got to his feet. “Nah. I’ll walk. It’s not far.” You’re gettin’ awful good at fibbin’, he told himself. Better watch it.
Truth was, there were thirty miles between here and his house, but he’d walk every step of it. It’d do him good, having all that time to think.
The nurse frowned. “This isn’t the best neighborhood, so you keep your eyes peeled, y’hear?”
Wade fought the impulse to exhale a sarcastic snicker. Nothing was going to happen to him; bad things only happened to good people.
“Okay, then, if you’re sure….”
He nodded, and the nurse headed back into the ER, leaving Wade alone in the waiting room.
Alone, and feeling more lost than he’d ever felt in his life.
Chapter One
Present day, Halloween Eve
As he stepped off the elevator, Wade glanced at his watch, then ran a hand nervously through his hair. He’d never honed the ability to keep an emotional distance from his patients; especially when the patient was a kid.
Knowing it would be the toughest visit of his rounds, he’d saved this patient for last. Just outside her hospital room, he took a moment to get his head on straight. Then, one hand on the door handle, he froze as a whisper-soft voice from inside the room said, “And may God bless Emily and speed her recovery.”
Wade grimaced. Fat lot of good your prayers are gonna do, he silently scolded this patient’s mother, ’cause if the Big Guy exists, He ain’t listening.
Only yesterday, Wade had spent nearly eleven hours in the OR with little Emily Kirkpatrick. He couldn’t help but wonder what kind of God would stand idly by as a six-year-old endured such intense and constant pain. Now, shaking his head, he forced a bright smile and shoved his way into the child’s room.
“Dr. Cameron,” Emily’s mom said, hands still clasped in prayer, “how good to see you.”
Humbled by the gratitude on the mother’s weary face, Wade felt himself blush. “How goes it, Mrs. Kirkpatrick?” He grabbed Emily’s chart from the plastic slot attached to her door, tucking it under his arm as he met the woman’s eyes. “Get any sleep last night?”
“Oh, I managed to catch a few winks. How about you? You’re the one who spent eleven hours in the operating room.”
Long ago, he’d accepted that now and then, he’d run across someone who seemed to have turned nurturing into an art form. Mrs. Kirkpatrick was one of those people. “Slept like a baby,” he answered.
Laughing, Emily’s mom grabbed her purse. “If you don’t mind, I’ll run down the hall and grab a quick cup of coffee while you’re examining Emily.”
“Take your time,” Wade said, dragging a chair closer to Emily’s bed.
Emily opened sleepy eyes. “Hi, Doc.”
He perched on the edge of the chair. “Hi, yourself, kiddo. How y’doin’?”
Emily
