wear his anger? To keep him with you every minute of every day for the rest of your life?” Nursing school had taught her how to tend to bodies. The year she’d spent in grad school after Kara’s birth had provided her with her advanced nursing midwifery certification. The two years she’d been living full-time at The Lemonade Stand had been a completely different education. “You want to let him mark you that way?”
Tears blurred the hurt-filled blue eyes. “I can’t afford stitches,” the woman said. “I don’t even know how I’m going to pay for the butterfly bandages. I can’t use my health insurance. It’s through his work and he’ll know where to find me....”
Stopping her work, Lynn studied the younger woman. “That’s why you won’t agree to stitches? Because of the cost?”
Regina nodded. “I went to the ATM as soon as I left, but he’d already drained our account. I’ve got a hundred bucks on me, this week’s grocery allowance, and that’s it.”
Regina spoke slowly, sounding as if she had marbles in her mouth, but she made herself understood.
Going for stitching supplies, Lynn pulled on a fresh pair of sterilized procedure gloves. “Your care here is free, Regina,” she said. “I thought you knew that.”
“Medical care, too?”
“Everything. For the first four weeks you’re here, you have access to all services, and pay only what you can afford to pay. If that’s nothing, then nothing is what you owe.” She smiled at the young woman. “Now, are you going to let me take proper care of you and get this stitched?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Regina’s mouth wouldn’t allow a smile, but the relieved look in her eyes spoke volumes.
And twenty minutes later, when Lynn turned over her newest patient to Sara Havens, who would see Regina through the admissions process and get her set up with clean clothes, toiletries and a safe place to sleep, she was fairly certain she’d managed to minimize the damage Regina’s husband’s brutality had inflicted.
At least on the surface.
* * *
“LYNN?” THIRTY-FIVE-YEAR-OLD Maddie Estes, one of only a few permanent residents at The Lemonade Stand, looked upset as she hurried toward Lynn just after Sara escorted Regina out of the three-room health clinic located in the main house.
“What’s up, Maddie?” Lynn smiled at the pretty woman who was three years older than her by birth, but fifteen years younger in mental acuity. Maddie’s developmental challenges, present since a premature birth, caused the sweet, gentle woman to worry over small things.
But with regular weekly physical therapy sessions, Maddie’s motor skills, while slow, were finally within the normal range.
The woman’s hands were flailing as she moved.
“There’s a man here. He’s been waiting to see you for a long time. He looks like he might be getting mad. You know, walking back and forth and back and forth in the hallway and slapping his baseball cap against his hand.”
Maddie emulated the motion with jerky movements, her gaze meeting Lynn’s only for a brief stop as it traveled around the space they occupied—the empty waiting room at the clinic. Lynn held regular, well-check office hours. They’d long since passed on that particular Tuesday in February.
“A man?” Lynn frowned, more concerned by Maddie’s agitation than any visitor she might have. “Did he say who he was?”
After suffering for fourteen years at the hands of a man who’d once adored her but had grown to hate the sight of her, Maddie was extrasensitive to any sign of male aggression. And Lynn was particularly protective of Maddie.
“Grant...I can’t remember what. I’m sorry, Lynn. I know I should remember, but he’s just so upset, and your treatment light was on and I didn’t know what to do so I took him to the bench in the main hall and waited back here for you.”
“Grant Bishop!” Lynn said, remembering. She’d had an appointment with the man almost an hour ago. And had completely forgotten.
He’d called that morning, said he couldn’t get there until four-thirty. And if he had a woman in jeopardy, she’d just made them wait even longer.
“You know him, then? I’m sorry, Lynn, I probably made him mad, but―”
With one hand stilling Maddie’s twisting hands, Lynn looked the woman straight in the eye and said, “It’s okay, Maddie. You did the right thing.” Maddie’s fidgeting stilled instantly.
“And now, can you do a favor for me?”
“Of course!” Maddie smiled. She agitated easily, but she settled easily, too.
“Kara’s in the playroom,” Lynn said, picturing her curly-haired three-year-old with a crayon in her hand and her tongue sticking out of her mouth. “I was supposed to pick her up at six and it’s almost that now. Can you collect her and take her home for me? There’s some leftover macaroni and cheese in the fridge. I’ll be there as soon as I can be.”
“Of course!” Maddie said again, hurrying away down the hall, but turning back before she got far. “Can I give her her bath, too?” Maddie asked.
Lynn liked to reserve bath time—and bedtime story reading—for herself. To keep some semblance of normal family and routine for the preschooler who was growing up so untraditionally in the arms of so many people who loved her.
“How about if we give her her bath together?” Lynn suggested, now conscious of the man waiting for her. Bath time was at eight, as delineated by the detailed schedule Lynn kept on her refrigerator. A schedule that Maddie followed religiously. “I’ll be home in plenty of time,” she assured the short but slender blonde woman.
“Okay, Lynn.” Maddie’s expression was serious. “And we’ll save some macaroni for you, too. You’ll get hungry if you don’t have dinner.”
Bless Maddie. She might struggle to understand the monetary value of coins and dollars, to connect the heating and lighting in her room with a bill that had to be paid, or to ascertain the nuances of human interaction, but she knew how to pay attention. To nurture.
And she was adamant about nurturing Lynn and Kara most of all.
They were lucky to be so loved.
* * *
FOR THE UMPTEENTH time Grant looked at his watch―and pulled his cell phone out of the holster on his belt, just to verify that the time he’d read on his wrist piece was accurate. He’d hoped to get to Darin by suppertime. To make certain that his brother ate. And did it sitting in his chair, not lying in bed.
The doctor had said Darin could get up as soon as he was ready. And he didn’t need his left hand to feed himself. Or to chew and swallow, either.
Almost as soon as he’d returned his phone to its holster, he felt it vibrate. Darin, wondering where he was?
Pulling the cell phone out, he was already answering when he saw the caller ID. Luke Stellar, his right-hand man.
“This is Grant,” he answered as he always did.
