Home Again - Page 32
Hilda bustled out of the room and closed the door behind her.
Madelaine leaned down and whispered in Tom’s ear. “Keep fighting, Tom. Keep working hard. You’re going to be fine.” She knew that most members of the medical community didn’t agree; but Madelaine believed in the power of the mind and spirit to heal the body. At least, she wanted it to be true.
Tom’s eyes fluttered open. “Hiya, Doc,” he said in a scratchy voice. “It feels like someone drove a monster truck over my chest.”
She smiled down at him. “Guilty as charged. I hit a good man when he was down.”
“You women libbers … you’re all the same.”
She laughed quietly. “Women libbers. Now, there’s a phrase I haven’t heard in a while. You’re dating yourself, Tom.”
“Believe me …” He coughed and rubbed his throat. “In my position, you’re proud of getting older.” Then he touched her hand, so gently that for a second she didn’t even recognize what he’d done. “Stay for a while.”
She saw the fear
in Tom’s eyes, the emotion he was trying so hard to hide beneath a shield of jokes and easy comebacks. “When will Susan be here?”
“After work. Not too much longer.”
Madelaine picked up the phone and dialed the rectory. The housekeeper got Francis on the line.
“Hi, Francis,” she said softly. “Could you pick Lina up from school?”
“You bet. You want me to take her out for dinner?”
’That would be great,” she answered. “I’ll be home in a few hours.”
She hung up the phone, then reached backward and pulled up a chair. Sitting down, she leaned close to the bed. “Last night you were telling me about your daughter’s riding lessons….”
Francis stood beneath the old oak tree on Pacific Street. Pale sunlight streamed through the yellowing leaves, creating a tangle of gold on the grass.
The bell rang. Within moments kids spilled from the brick building, loping down the wide cement steps. In the center area they split into lines and fanned out, walking toward the row of buses that were parked in the driveway.
As he’d expected, Lina was among the last to exit. She was walking with that hard-core group of hers—they looked like a bunch of refugees from a Red Cross emergency station.
He stepped away from the tree and waved at her. “Lina! Over here.”
He knew the instant she saw him—she smiled instinctively, then copped an attitude. Murmuring her goodbyes to the crowd, she hitched up her oversized jeans and ambled toward him, her chopped hair bouncing with each step, her backpack hanging limply from her left hand. The canvas fabric grated along the cement sidewalk as she headed his way.
He smiled at her. “Still hanging out with the honor roll, I see.”
“Tsk, tsk—that’s not a very Christian comment.” She gave him an arch look. “Besides, some of them are perfect Catholic candidates … They dig the missionary position.”
Francis could feel the heat crawling up his cheeks. He saw Lina’s wicked grin and knew she saw his blush. “I miss the days when I could wash your mouth out with soap.”
“You never did that.”
“No, I missed my chance, and now it’s too late.”
“I’ll rinse with tequila, how’s that?”
He stopped suddenly and turned to her. “That’s not funny.” He knew he should say more, but things were going well—she didn’t seem to be angry at him for siding with Madelaine on her birthday. He didn’t want to rock the boat. Coward, he thought, cringing inwardly, but still he didn’t say more. “What do you say we get something to eat and rent a movie?”
Lina sighed. “Mom tied up in the paperwork of sainthood again?”
He put an arm around her shoulder and drew her close. “You’re acting like a snot-nose teenager.”
“I am a teenager.”
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