Well, sure. Of course they could. Although she’d spent her early childhood in Woodlawn, an Irish-American neighborhood in New York, her family had eventually relocated to Kansas—one of Tornado Alley’s hardest-hit states. There, she’d learned to weather storms, not dwell on them. When tempests hit, neighbors pitched in to put back the pieces of shattered lives.
A high-pitched sound rattled through a nearby client’s tracheotomy tube. Christie grabbed the woman’s shaking hand and squeezed. Elizabeth had Stage IV esophageal cancer. She didn’t need a reminder of the dangers she faced.
“We focus on the positive, Mr. Roberts.” She laced her fingers with Elizabeth’s, relieved when the woman’s trembling eased.
His square jaw clenched. “And ignore reality? That seems a bit misleading, doesn’t it, Miss Bates?”
“It’s Ms.,” she corrected, mostly because she was getting good and riled now. What did this man think he was doing? These people lived with far too much reality as it was. They came here for fellowship and support, not a lecture.
“Well, Ms. Bates, the truth is that all trees want to live. It’s just the luck of the draw that some make it and others don’t.”
Heat spread up her chest and rose to her neck. She glanced down. Darn. Those red splotches betrayed her at the worst times. If only she looked as cool and controlled as Eli. She forced herself to meet his eye and caught a brief, tortured look before he averted his face. Interesting.
A ruckus in the corridor distracted her, reminding her that they hadn’t shut the door. A pack of kids rushed past on their way from one activity to another.
“Daddy, Daddy.” A young escapee wearing wet swim trunks raced inside. He launched himself onto Eli’s lap, the smell of chlorine clinging to him.
“I swam without my floaties today.” With his missing front teeth, the child’s grin was irresistible. Christie joined in the group’s chorus of oohs and aahs.
Deep dimples appeared as Eli’s face relaxed into a broad smile. Where was this side of the man moments ago when he’d rained doom and gloom on her meeting? His joyful expression and the affectionate way he ruffled his son’s hair did something strange to her heart. She checked out his ring-free left hand. Had his wife died? That could explain some of his behavior, as well as why John wanted him to stay at the meeting. But he looked young to be a widower, no older than his early thirties.
“Sorry,” an older woman called from the doorway. “I went to get Tommy a towel, and when I came back, he was gone.”
She barreled into the room and gave Christie an apologetic wave.
“It’s all right, Mary,” Eli said. “He does that to me, too.”
Tommy squirmed at his father’s stern expression. “What do you say to Mary?” he prompted and took Mary’s proffered towel.
Tommy studied his swinging flip-flops. “Sorry, Mary,” he said, a lisp turning his s into a th. “I won’t do it again.”
“Right.” Eli hugged Tommy then began drying him.
Tommy pointed at Christie. “That’s how I met her.”
With his hair no longer plastered to his face, the youngster looked familiar. She took a moment to recall how she knew him. Since her meeting was so off track, she couldn’t see the point in forcing the group back into meditation anytime soon. Besides, Elizabeth was smiling and happy, clearly enjoying their energetic visitor.
Eli’s face tightened once more. “You know Ms. Bates?”
The towheaded dynamo wriggled off his father’s lap and scampered over to her. “She gave me an oatmeal bar with raisins.” He scanned the treat table and turned from his father to Christie, face bright and expectant. “Can I have one?”
“If your father says so.” Why hadn’t she recognized the adorable imp earlier? A couple of months ago, he’d burst into their meeting and wolfed down half the pan. She matched Tommy’s grin. “But be careful—last time you almost took out a tray of Jell-O.”
“You stopped me before I crashed.” Tommy flapped the sides of his towel and jumped up and down. “But that lady with the blue hair was mad. She said I had to leave.”
Christie stifled a laugh. Tommy had a point. The former receptionist had been a bit of a grump. “Not to worry. She was angry at everything.”
Tommy’s blue eyes grew round. “Even Jell-O?” He lowered his terry-cloth wings. “But it wiggles.”
Elizabeth’s tracheotomy made a humming sound, her warm smile about to steal Christie’s heart. No way she was letting Tommy out the door yet. Kids had a more positive effect on people than a whole book full of inspirational quotes.
“Exactly.” She nodded solemnly. “Now hold on to one end of the towel. I’m going to show you something grand before you get your dessert.” She sent Eli a questioning look. Tommy had been very patient waiting for his answer.
“How did you two meet?” His light tone held an undercurrent of tension. “And, yes, Tommy, you can have the oatmeal-raisin bar.” He held up his index finger. “Just one, though.”
Christie pulled the other end of the towel, spinning Tommy free of the absorbent cloth.
“Again!” Tommy shouted when he rewrapped himself.
“Answer your father first, Tommy.” She turned him to face his parent.
“I ran away from Mary ’cause I wanted to show Becca my drawing of Scout. Only I got lost and came here instead.” Tommy scratched his freckled nose before turning back to her. “Please spin me, Miss—” He shook his small head, brow furrowed. “Miss—”
“It’s Christie. Hey, everyone.” A preteen girl with brown hair in a tight bun wandered into the room and returned the group’s waves. She wore jeans over a black leotard and had a bag embroidered with sequined ballet shoes slung across her shoulder. “I met her when we picked you up, remember? So why did you run away? Again. You know how much it upsets Dad and Mary.” Despite her admonishment, her tone was mild.
“Becca!” The boy wrapped his arms around his sister’s legs. “Did you see me swim without my floaties? Do you want an oatmeal bar? It’s healthy and Dad said we could.”
“I didn’t see you because I was still in dance. But that’s awesome, Little Man.” Becca fist bumped Tommy. “And, yeah. I’ll have a snack. So starved.”
“How was dance, Becca-Bell?” Eli’s arms opened wide, his gaze expectant.
Some members of the support group began speaking in low-pitched voices, the word Yankees punctuating their discussion. No doubt they were debating the team’s chances tonight. It was a crucial game that Christie was interested in herself. Yet this family fascinated her, as well.
“The same,” Becca mumbled, fidgeting with the latch on her bag. “And please don’t call me that anymore. Remember?”
He slowly lowered his arms, a crease appearing between his brows. “Does that fastener need to be fixed?”
Becca
