It Really IS a Wonderful Life: The Snowflake Falls but Hearts in Love Keep a Home Warm All Year Long (4 page)

“Well, I get mad for no reason when I’m coming down with a cold. Maybe that was all there was to it.”

“Maybe.” Josh sat up and Dorie welcomed his spontaneous hug—a rarity these days. “I’m sorry if I made your friend go away, Mommy.”

“If Jamey is a friend, he’ll understand.”

He laid his head on the pillow. Soon soft whines bubbled from a fevered sleep. Dorie studied her boy-man. Sometimes he seemed far too old for his age. At other times, like now, he needed her. How could she fulfill her desire to nurture and yet not smother the man waiting to mature?

That’s why a boy needed a father. Devon took Josh fishing and taught him how to golf. Would that be enough? If she married again, the children would have a father. Jamey’s image loomed in her mind like a hologram.
Ill-timed and way too premature
. Only silly girls coupled their names with guys they’d just met.

Anyway, it didn’t matter. He would never call after the fiasco at the Pizza Barn. She kissed her drowsy prince on the cheek and went downstairs. She threw her skirt into the washing machine, then cleaned up the spew on the living room rug. Vomited egg odor permeated the air, and Dorie grabbed what she thought to be deodorizer. But a white mist floated to the floor. She checked the can. Furniture polish. She’d have to live with it for now. Boomer sat by the front door and pawed at the knob. Any minute now, he’d be scratching at the doorframe.

When Dorie opened the door, Boomer bounded into the backyard and a wet, warm breeze filled the kitchen. She gazed at the thick fog hovering over the village. A soothing voice, like her mother’s, whispered to her soul from the misty clouds.
Time is a healer like no other, so don’t rush yourself. Your life is a cocoon. Trust Me with the metamorphosis. If you try to engineer the process, you’ll come out without your wings.

“You’re absolutely right, Lord.” She closed the kitchen door, then went back into the living room to let in fresh air. Maybe a cross breeze would help get rid of the odors.

When she opened the front door, Jamey stood like a glistening ghost under the porch light, Boomer sitting by his side. “How long have you been out here? Why didn’t you knock?”

He handed her a drenched Mr. Bear. “A few minutes. Your guard dog kept his eye on me. I wasn’t sure if I should ring the doorbell or not. Emma left Mr. Bear at Pizza Barn. I thought she’d be upset when she realized she had lost him.”

“Come in, please. Upset would be an understatement. Thankfully, they’re both asleep right now, but if she’d thought I’d lost Mr. Bear she’d never stop crying. I’d have to call the missing persons bureau.”

Jamey stepped inside, swaying slightly, like an adolescent boy waiting for his date.

“How did you know where I lived?”

“I called Danny and he looked up your audition sheet.”

Facebook had nothing on small-town social networking. “Coffee?”

Jamey slipped off his sneakers. “I’m soaked. Don’t want to ruin your furniture.”

“Not to worry. I’ve waterproofed the whole house. Emma spills everything.”

He followed her into the kitchen.

She hit the start button on the coffee maker. “Won’t take long. I always have a pot ready to go.”

He pulled out a white handkerchief from his jeans pocket, took off his glasses, and dried them as he sat. “Nice place.”

“Thanks.” Though no one criticized her helter-skelter décor, a compliment capped her day. She reached into the cupboard for a mug, and her hand rested on Devon’s collection of football cups. She pulled her hand back out. No. These were Devon’s cups. No one else had the right to use them. She pulled out the black ironstone mug she’d bought last week.

“Anything wrong, Dorie? You seem distracted.”

Jamey hadn’t earned the right to her private thoughts. Not yet. “I’m worried about Josh. He has a fever. I think that’s why he acted so horribly at the restaurant. I apologize for his behavior.”

“Nothing to apologize for. Kids will be kids. At least Emma warmed up to me.”

Dorie poured coffee into the mugs and set them on the table. Devon would have put in a couple of ice cubes and had it half gone in a minute. Jamey tilted his head and peered toward the counter. “Got any sugar?”

“I used the last of what I had to make cookies for Josh’s class. I might have a few packets hidden somewhere.” She dragged her chair to the cupboard, climbed up, and fumbled around the top shelf. “Aha! I struck gold.” She tossed him the three ketchup-stained envelopes, hopped off the chair, dragged it back to the table next to Jamey, and then sat.

He ripped open the packets all at the same time, gradually raising them higher as the contents poured out, a rhythmic ritual, a preparatory ballet to a savored experience. This man enjoyed his coffee, no doubt pleasured in brief respites of aromatic delights throughout his busy day. Besides theater, they had an appreciation for coffee in common. Had the time come to invest in a sugar bowl?

“Can I bother you for a spoon?”

“Of course. How thoughtless of me.” She pulled out a plastic-coated Cinderella-handled spoon.

“My husband and I always drank our coffee black. Will this do?”

His face reddened.
Oops.
She should have shown a pretense of civility, at least given him Josh’s Orioles spoon.

“I didn’t think you were married.”

“Devon died in Afghanistan a little over a year ago.” For the first time, her eyes remained dry in the saying of it. Dorie cradled her cup, enjoying its warmth.

“It must be difficult for you. I admire your courage.” Jamey took long, protracted sips before continuing. “I’m sorry Josh isn’t feeling well. I thought he didn’t want me paying attention to you.”

Dorie lifted the calico curtain and gazed out the window. White powder filled the air, millions of polka dots against a darkening sky. “Does it always snow in October here? Think it will stay?”

“It’s not unusual to get a little snow this early. Sometimes it stays and sometimes it doesn’t. One nice thing, though, is that we almost always have a white Christmas.”

“Guess I’ve lived in the south too long.” She wanted to ask a gazillion questions of this oddly sensitive guy, so unlike Devon, who seemed attracted to her in spite of her unpredictable existence. And she was drawn to him, even if he had been the twentieth employer to refuse to hire her.

The mingled scents of polish and vomit lingered. Dorie couldn’t think of a thing to say, and if weren’t for the slurps and sliding coffee cups, the proverbial pin dropping would have split an eardrum.

“You’ll like Danny Riley as a director.” He broke the silence first. She supposed the play would be their first topic of conversation, the opener to what might be a request for a date.

“Yes. He seems nice.”

“Are you coming to the read-through Monday?”

“I expect so. Danny wants publicity to be an ongoing process and plans to give me a properties list to work on.”

His color changed from pink to scarlet.

This is it. He’s going to ask me out.

A scream pierced the moment, one that told of enormous pain. Dorie burst out of the kitchen and ran upstairs.

Josh rolled from side to side. “Mommy, my tummy hurts—bad!”

***

Jamey listened for any sign Dorie might be coming back downstairs. Obviously one of the kids had a problem. Did she need help or should he leave. He went to the foot of the stairs. “Everything okay? Anything I can do?”

Dorie came back downstairs, her worry evidenced through her gasps. “I’m sorry. Josh is sick and I need to take him to the emergency room. I called my mother. She and Daddy are on their way.”

“Do you want me to stay with Emma until they get here?”

“Thanks for the offer. No need. My parents live down the street. They’ll be here before I get my coat on.”

Nothing else he could do now, and it certainly wasn’t the best time to ask for a date. He went back to the kitchen, put on his coat, then came back for his waterlogged sneakers. He opened the front door and tipped his hat. “If you can’t make Monday’s rehearsal, let Danny know. He’ll understand.”

Once outside Jamey flicked his forehead. What a dimwit he was. He didn’t even tell her he hoped Josh would be okay. Nor did he mention that Gabe Wellington would be on call, and she couldn’t ask for a better doctor.

The kid getting sick could be God’s way of saying he should stay clear of any romantic entanglement right now, especially with Dorie. A widow. Well, at least now he knew where the father was. She said he’d only been dead a year. Was that long enough to grieve? Maybe she wasn’t ready to date yet.

After starting the engine, he let his mind wander while waiting for the car to warm up. His heart told him he should pray for Dorie and for the kids, but he hadn’t had a chat with God since Pop’s cancer diagnosis. He hadn’t stopped going to church, just stopped praying. Was that a sin? He closed his eyes, but prayer still wouldn’t come.

The right thing, the noble thing, was to simply be Dorie’s friend, probably what she needed most right now. If they dated in her current mental state, he’d only add to her pain when he left for New York.

Was it selfish to want more?

Chapter Five

“Josh needs an appendectomy.” Dorie tapped her fingers while Dr. Wellington reviewed Josh’s chart. Could this creamy-skinned adolescent be a real doctor? When he finally gazed up at her, his pubescent frown only intensified her escalating fears.

“His appendix is hot. I don’t think we should wait. It might rupture.”

With no other options, Dorie reached for the consent form and pen the nurse handed to her.

Dr. Wellington moved over to Josh’s bed.

“Normally, I tell a couple of jokes about now, Josh. But I don’t think you’re in the mood for jokes, are you?”

“I think my tummy will hurt if I laugh.”

“Do you want the hurt to go away?”

“Yeppers.”

“Do you know what an operation is?”

His little eyes grew big. “I think so. That’s when you take a knife and go inside somebody. Do you have to do an operation on me? Will I die?”

“You have a sick appendix, and if we don’t take it out it will get sicker, and then it will hurt more. I’m going to do an operation, but you aren’t going to die. You’ll be so sleepy you will hardly notice. When you wake up, you’ll feel better.”

Dorie squeezed Josh’s hand. “And I’ll be here the whole time, sweetie, praying.”

Josh nodded permission.

Dr. Wellington tapped Josh’s chart. He looked at Dorie and said, “I’ll tell the nurse to get Josh ready. Don’t worry. This is a simple procedure. He should recover in no time.”

***

By the clock, the wait had been less than an hour. By her maternal anxiety, an eternity. There should be a law against excluding mothers from operating rooms. Why couldn’t she don a set of scrubs and hold her son’s hand? She tried praying, but peace eluded her. Dorie dialed her sanctuary.

“Mom? How’s Emma?”

“No different than the last four times you called. Stop worrying. Josh will be fine.”

“What if that adolescent prodigy makes a mistake?” Logic told her the man had to be at least thirty. Still she’d hoped for a sage like her doctor back in Baltimore, his gray hair and reading glasses a testament to years of experience.

“Josh’s pediatrician said Dr. Wellington is the best surgeon in the North Country. He looks more like a first-year medical student.”

“Now you’re exaggerating, Dorie. I happen to know Dr. Wellington is thirty-five. Your father and I play golf with his parents.”

“He removed Josh’s appendix before it could rupture; that has to be a good sign.”

“There’s always a silver lining, dear. Josh is otherwise a healthy boy. In a couple of days, no one will know he’s been sick.”

Dr. Wellington strode into the waiting room, a first responder in surgical scrubs. He didn’t seem quite so young anymore. “Call you later, Mom. Dr. Wellington just came in.”

He lowered himself into a chair next to hers and stretched out his legs. “Your son is fine. He’s got a good sense of humor. When I explained the procedure to him, he asked if he would get a new appendix to replace the old one.”

Dorie burst into hard, deep sobs and fell into Dr. Wellington’s sympathetic arms.

“There, there. Everything’s going to be fine.”

She pulled from his embrace and noticed mascara smudges on his scrubs. “Things are not fine. My husband’s dead, and I’ve had to move to this frozen tundra. How could it snow in October?”

He handed Dorie a tissue from the side table.

“I scolded my sick son for behaving badly when all the time he acted up only because he didn’t feel well. I’m a rotten mother.” A salty tear rolled into her mouth.

“I’m sure that’s not true. He’s going to be fine. You’ll even be able to attend rehearsal Monday night.”

She’d forgotten all about the read-through. “How did you know I was in the play?”

“I recognized your name from the cast list Danny Riley gave me. I’m playing George Bailey. I couldn’t make auditions, but Danny knows what I can do. So I guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other over the next few weeks.”

“Can I see my son?”

“I’ll take you. He’ll be groggy. But don’t worry. That’s normal. Do you want to stay with him tonight?”

Dorie nodded.

“I’ll have an orderly bring in a cot for you.”

“I don’t think I’ll sleep, but thank you.”

“I make my rounds first thing in the morning. Josh should be able to go home by the afternoon.” With that, her angel in scrubs left.

Dorie called her mother, arranged for Emma’s care, then settled into a chair.

***

She’d spent the long night in vigil, watching her son sleep, afraid to close her eyes. The dark morning did nothing to assuage her helplessness. Josh stirred as Dr. Wellington came into the room. Dressed in slacks, shirt, and a white coat, he looked a little older and more the part.

“How’s my patient this morning?”

Dr. Wellington placed the ball of the stethoscope on Joshua’s head.

Josh’s giggles buoyed Dorie’s spirits. “It doesn’t go there, Dr. Wellington.” Josh moved the stethoscope to his chest. “It goes here.”