RICK FLEMING FELT as if he was more than two weeks away from London. Much more than an ocean away. His old job and his family and friends seemed as if they were a world away.
Coming to the Maple Island Clinic was much more than just a new job. The island itself, situated two miles off the coast of Boston, was more than just a new place to live. It felt as if it just might be the end of a journey, one that had taken on the quality of a pilgrimage in his mind.
He’d promised his wife this before she’d died, four years ago. Their daughter had been just a baby, and all Ellie knew of her mother was what Rick could tell her. This was a chance for Ellie to see more of her grandparents in Boston, and for her to call America home, the way that Lara had done. And it was Rick’s chance to learn whether he might call somewhere home, too.
“I hope you’re settling in.” Alex Kirkland, the director responsible for rehabilitation, was ensconced in one of the easy chairs in his office, clearly the spokesperson for the two-man welcoming committee. His co-director, Cody Brennan, who led the surgical team, sat silently to one side.
“Yes, thank you.”
“And how’s Ellie?”
“She’s good. I brought her in to visit the clinic’s daycare center yesterday, and this morning she didn’t even look back to say goodbye to me when I left.”
Alex chuckled. “I know that feeling. I’m really happy that Jake looks forward to spending time in daycare after school while I’m still at work, but he might spare a thought for his dad’s feelings and pretend that he’s sorry to see me go. You’re both settling in at the lighthouse?”
“Ellie loves it. We stayed with her grandparents in Boston for a week before we came here, and on a clear day you can just see the tip of the lighthouse from the roof of their apartment block. She’s been insisting on going up to the viewing gallery every evening to wave them goodnight before she goes to bed.”
Alex and Cody both smiled. Being able—no, encouraged—to talk about Ellie’s needs as part of his own work experience was novel, but Rick had already realized that it was the norm here at the Maple Island Clinic. Two single fathers, who’d wanted to give their children the best, had founded a clinic that combined professional excellence with the very best daycare facilities. This was Rick’s dream job, in more ways than one.
“I’ll be going through your case-load with you over the next couple of days.” Alex picked up a patient file from the coffee table in front of him, slipping effortlessly from childcare to clinic business. “But I’d like to draw your attention to one of the patients I’m considering adding to your list. I think that your background in counseling, as well as physical rehabilitation, might put you in a unique position to help her.”
Rick took the file, opening it and scanning the details quickly, before his eye was drawn to the photograph stapled inside the front cover. One look at the blue eyes, staring candidly at the camera, and he forgot about everything else. Long, dark hair framed a face that no one in their right mind could fail to consider beautiful, but her eyes held something more. The promise that this woman was a force to be reckoned with.
“Fleur Miller came to us before Christmas.” Alex’s voice cut through the spell that seemed to bind Rick to the image. “She was part of a theater group—See the Beat.”
“I think I’ve heard of them. They specialize in theatrical dance and acrobatics.” He remembered them from one of those late-night arts programs that he’d had a habit of dozing through, instead of going to bed.
“Yes, that’s right. Fleur had a bad fall and sustained extensive injuries. They’re all in the file.”
Rick concentrated on the print, trying to ignore the photograph. Severe concussion, a broken shoulder and collarbone, a fractured hip and a knee that had been so badly damaged that the joint had required replacement.
“Is all her surgery complete?”
“Everything major. She has a ganglion on her wrist, probably caused by the trauma of the fall, but that’s relatively insignificant and we’ve decided to wait until she’s moving around without crutches. Cody will take care of it then.”
“She should be almost recovered by now, though. Eight weeks at the Boston Harbor Hospital, and then several more weeks here.”
“Yes, physically she’s doing well. Emotionally, not so much. She’s a model patient, smiles at all the nurses, does what she’s told when the physio’s watching her. But when she’s alone, she just lies down on her bed and stares at the ceiling. We reckon she’s having a good day when we find her staring out of the window.”
Rick frowned. He wasn’t usually mistaken about a face, and he thought he’d seen determination in Fleur’s. “Has the clinic’s mental health team been involved?”
“Yes,
