and let a friend help out.”
Fletcher smiled. “Thanks. But I really am okay. Once I made the handoff to the ER staff. She’s in good hands here.”
“She’s always in the best hands. No matter where she is. You can trust that.”
“Right.” Fletcher glanced toward the chapel’s nondenominational altar decorated with a basket of white roses and a trio of candles. He knew what Seth was saying. God’s hands. Fletcher had said over and over that he was trusting God with this, with everything. But lately things had been going so wrong. And today he’d carried his unconscious and bleeding mother in his arms.
Are you really listening, Lord?
“Is your father flying in from Alaska?”
“Not yet. Mom’s fending him off; it depends on what we hear tomorrow.” Fletcher caught a glimpse of someone passing the chapel door and stood. “Hey, Seth, I need to go. I’ll give you a call later.”
“No problem.”
Fletcher jogged to the door and peered down the hallway. “Macy?”
She turned, walked back his way. Once again he was struck by her. Hair down around her shoulders, that confident stride . . .
“Hi. I was just —” he gestured toward the chapel —“sitting for a minute.”
“Sure. That’s why it’s there. Quiet, away from all of this.” She glanced around the bustling hospital corridor. “Did you need something?”
“Not really.” He tried to remember why he’d run out here to catch her. “I just wanted to say thank you. Foropening that door from the waiting room and getting my mother back to the ER so fast. Helping her like you did. And for letting me stay there with her. I know there are rules and you didn’t have to do that. Especially since —” He stopped himself.
“Since you pitched me onto a highway and tried to arrest my friend?”
“Yeah.” There was nothing coy about this woman. “I don’t suppose it helps that your Mr. Rush isn’t holding a grudge; in fact, he sent me some basketball tickets.”
“That would be Elliot.” Macy’s expression left no clue if the truce extended to their relationship too.
“Anyway,” Fletcher repeated, “thank you for helping my mom. It meant a lot to me. And to her.”
A hint of a smile crept across Macy’s face. “She’s pretty great. I just came from visiting her. She said the pain meds and nasal packing were making her sound like a cartoon character, and she might start singing football songs any minute.”
“That’s Mom.”
“Well . . .” Macy glanced at her watch. “I should go. I have a class.”
“And I need to get back upstairs. Thanks again.”
“Sure.”
He’d started to walk away when Macy called his name.
“Yes?”
“About the freeway . . .” She crossed her arms over her scrubs. “Even with all of that, I should be grateful. That bullet came really close. You might’ve saved my life. So . . . thank you, Fletcher.”
“You’re welcome.”
He watched her walk away, still not certain where they stood. Maybe they were just even now. If Seth were here, he’d probably say God arranged it: Fletcher kept Macy from harm out there on the freeway so she could be there to open that door for him today. If that was true, then a full truce wasn’t necessary. Even was more than good enough.
It seemed as if Macy’s old Audi drove to the little Tahoe Park house on autopilot. One minute she was stowing her hand and ankle wraps in her gym bag, taking a swig of her vitaminwater, and saying good-bye to her coach. Then, before she knew it, her car was picking its way down this street while she held her breath to see if the For Sale Bank Owned sign was still pounded into the sparse yard. It was.
Macy sighed and lifted her hair away from her neck; even half an hour after leaving her class and despite the cool evening, she was still perspiring. It had been a good workout: rope work, medicine ball, core work, and the bag work and sparring. She’d felt it, cardio and muscle. All toenails intact.
Fletcher smiled. “Thanks. But I really am okay. Once I made the handoff to the ER staff. She’s in good hands here.”
“She’s always in the best hands. No matter where she is. You can trust that.”
“Right.” Fletcher glanced toward the chapel’s nondenominational altar decorated with a basket of white roses and a trio of candles. He knew what Seth was saying. God’s hands. Fletcher had said over and over that he was trusting God with this, with everything. But lately things had been going so wrong. And today he’d carried his unconscious and bleeding mother in his arms.
Are you really listening, Lord?
“Is your father flying in from Alaska?”
“Not yet. Mom’s fending him off; it depends on what we hear tomorrow.” Fletcher caught a glimpse of someone passing the chapel door and stood. “Hey, Seth, I need to go. I’ll give you a call later.”
“No problem.”
Fletcher jogged to the door and peered down the hallway. “Macy?”
She turned, walked back his way. Once again he was struck by her. Hair down around her shoulders, that confident stride . . .
“Hi. I was just —” he gestured toward the chapel —“sitting for a minute.”
“Sure. That’s why it’s there. Quiet, away from all of this.” She glanced around the bustling hospital corridor. “Did you need something?”
“Not really.” He tried to remember why he’d run out here to catch her. “I just wanted to say thank you. Foropening that door from the waiting room and getting my mother back to the ER so fast. Helping her like you did. And for letting me stay there with her. I know there are rules and you didn’t have to do that. Especially since —” He stopped himself.
“Since you pitched me onto a highway and tried to arrest my friend?”
“Yeah.” There was nothing coy about this woman. “I don’t suppose it helps that your Mr. Rush isn’t holding a grudge; in fact, he sent me some basketball tickets.”
“That would be Elliot.” Macy’s expression left no clue if the truce extended to their relationship too.
“Anyway,” Fletcher repeated, “thank you for helping my mom. It meant a lot to me. And to her.”
A hint of a smile crept across Macy’s face. “She’s pretty great. I just came from visiting her. She said the pain meds and nasal packing were making her sound like a cartoon character, and she might start singing football songs any minute.”
“That’s Mom.”
“Well . . .” Macy glanced at her watch. “I should go. I have a class.”
“And I need to get back upstairs. Thanks again.”
“Sure.”
He’d started to walk away when Macy called his name.
“Yes?”
“About the freeway . . .” She crossed her arms over her scrubs. “Even with all of that, I should be grateful. That bullet came really close. You might’ve saved my life. So . . . thank you, Fletcher.”
“You’re welcome.”
He watched her walk away, still not certain where they stood. Maybe they were just even now. If Seth were here, he’d probably say God arranged it: Fletcher kept Macy from harm out there on the freeway so she could be there to open that door for him today. If that was true, then a full truce wasn’t necessary. Even was more than good enough.
It seemed as if Macy’s old Audi drove to the little Tahoe Park house on autopilot. One minute she was stowing her hand and ankle wraps in her gym bag, taking a swig of her vitaminwater, and saying good-bye to her coach. Then, before she knew it, her car was picking its way down this street while she held her breath to see if the For Sale Bank Owned sign was still pounded into the sparse yard. It was.
Macy sighed and lifted her hair away from her neck; even half an hour after leaving her class and despite the cool evening, she was still perspiring. It had been a good workout: rope work, medicine ball, core work, and the bag work and sparring. She’d felt it, cardio and muscle. All toenails intact.
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