pay.
14
“I’ M SORRY,” M ACY WHISPERED, seeing the phone in Mrs. Holt’s hands. She was supposed to be on her way home; why had she come up here? “I wanted to peek in on you. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“No, you’re not —I’m finished. Come in, please.” She rolled her eyes, pointed at the nasal packing. “Between this thing and the pain medication, Jessica said I sound like an Elmer Fudd cartoon.”
Macy smiled, pulling up a chair. The narcotics had definitely added another layer to the woman’s Texas accent. “Jessica?”
“Adopted daughter in Houston —or that’s how we always think of her.” She lifted her phone and pulled up a photo of a couple in costume. Fletcher and a stunning young blonde wearing a glittery tiara. “It was taken at the Tacky Country Christmas Cotillion last year, a benefit for the Make-A-WishFoundation.” Mrs. Holt smiled. “Those costumes . . . astronaut and princess. It brings back so many memories.”
“She’s beautiful,” Macy admitted with a strange sense of disappointment. Though why she should care that Fletcher Holt had a girlfriend made no sense whatsoever.
“She and her sister, her family, are our neighbors in Houston,” Mrs. Holt explained. “Fletcher and the girls grew up together. Jessica Barclay was always a free spirit, a delight —and a complete handful. The girl could whip up chaos like a tornado. Fletcher has always taken his role as a big brother very seriously.”
Macy glanced at the photo again, wondering if this mother had missed something. The way her son was looking at his princess . . .
“I think . . .” Mrs. Holt rested the phone against her chest, closing her eyes for a moment. “I think it was because Jessica was three when Fletcher first met her. The same age as his sister when we lost her.”
Macy’s throat tightened. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you.” Mrs. Holt shook her head. “And I apologize for rambling on like this. I usually let visitors get a word in; that medicine is playing havoc with my manners.” A smile creased the edges of her lavender-blue eyes. “Any minute I expect to give way to a rousing rendition of the University of Houston fight song. Promise you’ll stop me.”
“I promise.” Macy smiled. “But I really should go. You’re tired, and I have a kickboxing class to get to.”
“Looks like my nurse has a touch of tornado too.”
“Probably.” Macy rose to her feet. “I’m glad you’re feeling better, Mrs. Holt.”
“Please, it’s Charly.” She patted her heart. “And thank you, Macy. You were so kind to me in the emergency department —a blessing, truly. My mother always told me that nurses were angels. You’re proof of that.” Her lips quirked. “Now go give something a good swift kick.”
“Absolutely.” Macy offered a hearty thumbs-up and headed for the door. She knew now why she’d climbed the stairs, come up here. Even in their dramatic, messy encounter in the ER, Macy sensed that Charly Holt was someone special. Even if she got it wrong about angels and blessings —an effect of the medication, no doubt. Macy was nothing close to that. She was a tough survivor who’d learned to land on her feet —no angel, for sure. Still, for that moment, from that mother, it had felt good.
“No more word on the blood tests. Maybe tomorrow.” Fletcher switched his phone to the other hand, shifting position on the chair in the last row of the empty and dimly lit hospital chapel. “She’s anemic, but I guess some of that is chronic. From the leukemia. No plans for a blood transfusion . . . yet.”
“Hang in there, buddy.” Seth raised his voice over some background chatter, making Fletcher think he was probably in Starbucks. Between chaplain duties, no doubt. “I can be over there in forty minutes.”
“No need. I’m okay.”
Seth chuckled. “We all wear that I’m-okay badge. Heavier than it looks. Sometimes we’ve got to unpin it
14
“I’ M SORRY,” M ACY WHISPERED, seeing the phone in Mrs. Holt’s hands. She was supposed to be on her way home; why had she come up here? “I wanted to peek in on you. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“No, you’re not —I’m finished. Come in, please.” She rolled her eyes, pointed at the nasal packing. “Between this thing and the pain medication, Jessica said I sound like an Elmer Fudd cartoon.”
Macy smiled, pulling up a chair. The narcotics had definitely added another layer to the woman’s Texas accent. “Jessica?”
“Adopted daughter in Houston —or that’s how we always think of her.” She lifted her phone and pulled up a photo of a couple in costume. Fletcher and a stunning young blonde wearing a glittery tiara. “It was taken at the Tacky Country Christmas Cotillion last year, a benefit for the Make-A-WishFoundation.” Mrs. Holt smiled. “Those costumes . . . astronaut and princess. It brings back so many memories.”
“She’s beautiful,” Macy admitted with a strange sense of disappointment. Though why she should care that Fletcher Holt had a girlfriend made no sense whatsoever.
“She and her sister, her family, are our neighbors in Houston,” Mrs. Holt explained. “Fletcher and the girls grew up together. Jessica Barclay was always a free spirit, a delight —and a complete handful. The girl could whip up chaos like a tornado. Fletcher has always taken his role as a big brother very seriously.”
Macy glanced at the photo again, wondering if this mother had missed something. The way her son was looking at his princess . . .
“I think . . .” Mrs. Holt rested the phone against her chest, closing her eyes for a moment. “I think it was because Jessica was three when Fletcher first met her. The same age as his sister when we lost her.”
Macy’s throat tightened. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you.” Mrs. Holt shook her head. “And I apologize for rambling on like this. I usually let visitors get a word in; that medicine is playing havoc with my manners.” A smile creased the edges of her lavender-blue eyes. “Any minute I expect to give way to a rousing rendition of the University of Houston fight song. Promise you’ll stop me.”
“I promise.” Macy smiled. “But I really should go. You’re tired, and I have a kickboxing class to get to.”
“Looks like my nurse has a touch of tornado too.”
“Probably.” Macy rose to her feet. “I’m glad you’re feeling better, Mrs. Holt.”
“Please, it’s Charly.” She patted her heart. “And thank you, Macy. You were so kind to me in the emergency department —a blessing, truly. My mother always told me that nurses were angels. You’re proof of that.” Her lips quirked. “Now go give something a good swift kick.”
“Absolutely.” Macy offered a hearty thumbs-up and headed for the door. She knew now why she’d climbed the stairs, come up here. Even in their dramatic, messy encounter in the ER, Macy sensed that Charly Holt was someone special. Even if she got it wrong about angels and blessings —an effect of the medication, no doubt. Macy was nothing close to that. She was a tough survivor who’d learned to land on her feet —no angel, for sure. Still, for that moment, from that mother, it had felt good.
“No more word on the blood tests. Maybe tomorrow.” Fletcher switched his phone to the other hand, shifting position on the chair in the last row of the empty and dimly lit hospital chapel. “She’s anemic, but I guess some of that is chronic. From the leukemia. No plans for a blood transfusion . . . yet.”
“Hang in there, buddy.” Seth raised his voice over some background chatter, making Fletcher think he was probably in Starbucks. Between chaplain duties, no doubt. “I can be over there in forty minutes.”
“No need. I’m okay.”
Seth chuckled. “We all wear that I’m-okay badge. Heavier than it looks. Sometimes we’ve got to unpin it
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