The Healing Place by Leigh Bale Page A

her like a silver bullet to her heart. “We were married eight years. Now we’re divorced. End of story.”
    He opened his mouth to pursue the subject, but she flipped on the garbage disposal, cutting off any further questions.

Chapter Ten

    T he following Tuesday, Emma couldn’t deny the dread that settled in her stomach. Mark and Angie were coming in for a treatment and she caught herself looking at her watch repeatedly.
    She had been so rude to Mark last week when he’d asked about her divorce. Up to that point, she had thoroughly enjoyed having dinner in his beautiful home, helping out when he injured his hand, teaching Angie to make gravy.
    Discussing her divorce had not been on the agenda. It would have lead to other topics she wasn’t prepared to address. Instead, she’d finished cleaning the kitchen, mumbled an excuse about getting up early in the morning, and beat a hasty retreat.
    She tried to tell herself she didn’t care if she saw Mark and Angie today. Sonja would give Angie her treatment. Emma would pop in afterward to ask how the Marinol was working, then get on with her job. She didn’t want to see them.
    Who was she kidding? She could hardly wait to see them. That was the problem.
    “Oh, just shoot me.” She leaned her head against the palm of her hand.
    “Did you say something, Dr. Shields?” Darcy asked from behind the front reception counter.
    “No, I wasn’t speaking to you,” Emma snapped.
    Darcy flinched and ducked her head over her keyboard.
    Emma walked down the hall, determined to forget Mark would be here any minute. She shouldn’t be so sharp with Darcy. Maybe she should apologize.
    She kept walking.
    By ten-thirty, Sonja came to advise her that Angie was finished with her treatment and that she and Mark waited in the examination room.
    Emma inhaled a deep, steadying breath. Angie was just a patient and her father an old school friend. Nothing more.
    “Hello,” Emma greeted them as she entered the room and closed the door.
    Mark sat on the bed, holding Angie on his lap. Dressed in black slacks, he also wore a white shirt and yellow tie. He must have come from work. Clean-shaven, he had combed his hair back. He looked good.
    Angie curled against his chest, her flowered hat lying next to Mark’s thigh on the bed. She sniffed and wiped her nose, her eyes red and puffy.
    Emma’s heart tore into a thousand pieces.
    “What’s the matter, sweetie?” Emma asked. “Didn’t the Emla Cream work today?”
    Mark gave Emma a reassuring smile. “It worked fine. She’s upset because the rest of her hair is falling out. It had just started to grow back.”
    Angie hiccupped and rubbed her eyes before she pointed at her right temple. “See? My braid fell out. The kids in my neighborhood run away when I go outside. They say I’m a sick-o and they don’t want to play with me. Carla’s gone back to Nebraska, so now I have no friends at all.”
    Sympathy filled Emma. It must be so difficult for Angie to live with this illness.
    “Would it do any good to have me come and talk to them and explain that your illness isn’t contagious?” Emma asked.
    Why had she offered that? Dumb, dumb, dumb!
    Mark shifted his weight and gave a sad smile. “That’s very generous, Emma, but I don’t think it’s necessary. I can explain it to them.”
    “Will my hair grow back, Emma?” Angie asked with a sniffle.
    Emma.
    “Angie, you shouldn’t call an adult by their first name,” Mark said.
    “It’s okay, Mark. I give Angie my permission to call me Emma, if it’s all right with you.” Somehow, she didn’t mind.
    Mark nodded and Angie mustered up a small smile.
    “Now, back to your question. Of course your hair will grow back, honey. You’re beautiful, even without your hair. Some top models shave their heads on purpose. Many people consider it quite lovely.” Emma read between the lines. Angie longed for her mother’s approval. Without her hair, she believed her mother wouldn’t love