The Cinderella Hour (20 page)

Not far, but out of earshot—unless it was a startled cry.
Wendy wouldn’t awaken soon, Thomas thought. Her concern for Eileen had
exhausted her.

“I’m assuming it’s all right for them to cuddle?” he asked
Mira. “No risk of contagion?”

“I think it’s all right. Never say never, but . . . yes.”

“Prognosis?”

“Good, I think. The next few hours will tell. If you’d brought
her to the clinic, I would have insisted on keeping her overnight. She’ll
definitely need a second dose of parenteral antibiotics and probably additional
fluid as well. Both of which you can give her. You can monitor her and keep me
posted.”

“If it’s best for you to take her, you should. I’ll explain
it to Wendy.”
Somehow
.

“I have to be at Vivian’s a little before ten tonight. But
between now and when I need to leave to be there on time, I’d be happy to watch
Eileen here. If she’s stable over the next few hours, I won’t take her with me.”

“I’ll ply you with food, coffee, anything you like.”

“I’m fine, Thomas. You don’t have to feed me. Or entertain
me.” She glanced around the living room. “I can thumb through ICU journals.
Play with dolls. Catch up on my coloring. You must have things to do.”

“Not a thing. Since Sunday morning, my life has been Wendy.
When she’s sleeping, my only responsibility is to be close by.”

“It seems to be going well.”

“We’re taking it one nap at a time. Sit, Mira. Talk to me.”
Prove to me, he thought, that these feelings aren’t real. Let’s prove it to
each other. And if such proof wasn’t forthcoming? Impossible. “Will you?”

“If you’ll talk to me, too.”

“I will.”

Thomas told her about his life since Sunday morning, a life
devoted to the traumatized little girl. The only regret Mira heard was for
Wendy, the enormous loss she had suffered. And the job from which Thomas had
taken an indefinite leave and the boundless personal freedoms he had always
enjoyed?

They were not, it seemed, losses at all.

“You and Daniel must have been very close.”

“We saw a lot of each other four years ago. Daniel’s wife
spent the last six weeks of her life in the ICU.”

“What happened to her?”

“She was hit by a drunk driver. We knew she wouldn’t survive,
but we hoped to give her unborn baby a chance.”

“So you kept her alive until it was safe for Wendy to be
born.”

“We did everything we could—especially Eileen herself. Yes,
that was her name. She never awakened. But you could feel her fighting. She
held on until what we believed was the second week of her seventh month. Her
dates were off. The baby wasn’t that old. But she was a fighter like her
mother. And her father. Daniel would never have left Eileen’s bedside, or Wendy’s
incubator in the Neonatal ICU, if we hadn’t insisted.”

“But Eileen wasn’t alone. You were with her, and with Wendy,
when Daniel wasn’t.”

It wasn’t even a question. She
knew
.

“Whenever I could be. Yes.”

“That’s why Daniel wanted Wendy to be with you. He knew you’d
care for her now the way you cared for her and Eileen then. She’s lucky to have
you, Thomas.”

“I hope so, Mira.
I hope so
. I feel lucky to have her.
Lucky . . . and terrified.”

“That’s why she’s so lucky.”

“Well.” Thomas shook his head. “Let’s talk about you. I saw
you at the Harvest Moon Ball. I smiled, and I thought you smiled back. A moment
later, you were gone.”

“I was sure you thought I was Vivian.”

“Why would I think that?”

“Because, from a distance, people often do.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“It happens all the time.”

“It shouldn’t. Not to anyone who’s paying any attention.”

He was definitely paying attention—to her. It was his forte,
Lacey had said. Intensive care at work and at play. And someday, she had predicted,
a not-so-savvy woman would fall very hard for Thomas Vail. The landing would be
lethal. Even a savvy heart might not survive.

But the free fall would be magnificent.

“What are you thinking?”

That you’re not going to let me crash to earth. We’re not
going to let each other crash.
“Nothing I can explain.”

“Fair enough. How about telling me what you were thinking
while Vivian and Blaine were exchanging their wedding vows?”

Thomas had been watching her then? Trying to read her
thoughts? Apparently. Of course, maybe her expression had been so different
from what a bridesmaid’s expression was supposed
to be that anyone
watching her instead of Vivian would have noticed it, too.

“I’m not sure what I was thinking.”

“It was fascinating,” Thomas said. “Whatever it was. Worried,
but fond. It occurred to me that you were questioning Vivian’s decision to
marry Blaine.”

“No. Definitely not. Worried but fond? Let me try to
remember—oh, I know. I was thinking about a cocker spaniel patient of mine.
Ginger. I’d removed a neck mass the day before. On exam, it felt like tumor.
During surgery, it looked like matted nodes. I wouldn’t have the path report
until Monday.” Mira smiled. “It turned out to be good news. Inflammation not tumor.
Ginger was, and is, fine.”

Thomas smiled for the healthy spaniel and her relieved vet.
Then, no longer smiling, he said, “So you weren’t thinking that Blaine should be marrying you instead of your sister?”

“Me?
No
. Why?”

“Because you dated him first.”

“No, I didn’t. I never dated him. I knew him first, but it
was a professional relationship, not a personal one. Professional meaning
veterinarian to hospital chief of staff, not patient to psychiatrist.”

“The dog project,” Thomas said. “That was you?”

“I was the intermediary. The prime mover was a woman who
brought her two golden retrievers to the clinic where I was working at the time.
They were in excellent health, but, she said, they seemed bored. She’d read
that retrievers thrive on being busy and helpful, and that in addition to
making great companion dogs, they were finding a niche visiting nursing homes
and hospitals. The idea of taking her goldens to a hospital, specifically Grace
Memorial, appealed to her. Her mother had been an inpatient on neurology and
received wonderful care. But the hospital stay could have been better, happier,
if there’d been canine visitors for her dog-loving mom. She wanted me to make
the initial inquiries. She felt I’d have more credibility. When I called, I was
referred to Blaine. He’d just taken over as chief of staff. He liked the idea,
set up a few meetings, and that was that. What made you think he and I had
dated?”

“It was an impression I got from something he said. A mistaken
impression, I would say . . . if you weren’t frowning.”

“Blaine sort of asked me out. At least I think he did. The
dinner invitation was so casual I’ve felt awkward about my reply ever since,
how presumptuous it must have seemed. I wasn’t dating, I told him. In fact, I
said, I was on what might well become a permanent relationship hiatus.”

“That bad?”

“My relationships? Not bad meaning bad men. Or bad breakups.
We’ve always parted on friendly terms. But . . . why am I telling you I have a
track record of failed relationships?”

“Because they’re not failed relationships. You just said you always
parted on friendly terms.”

“You haven’t?”

“Parted amicably with the women in my failed relationships?
Never.”

“Passion.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your women probably felt more passionate about you than the
men I’ve dated felt about me.” She grimaced, shaking her head. “That’s an even
worse admission than having a track record of failed relationships.”

“I have to wonder if the truth is that you didn’t feel
passionate about them.”

It
was
the truth. And there wasn’t the slightest doubt
in his dark blue eyes about how passionate she could be.

No doubt at all. For either of them.

“You’re right,” she said. “I didn’t.”

“Your passions lay elsewhere.”

“Yes. From the moment I was old enough to do so, I spent
every free minute volunteering at veterinary clinics and animal shelters. It
wasn’t until my junior year in college that I even began to date. It suddenly
dawned on me that many of my classmates were becoming engaged. They were bright
women, interested in pursuing careers. They would be less distracted, they
believed, with their marriages in place. There was also the pervasive notion
that if you didn’t get married by the time you graduated, it might never happen.
I’d never been one to follow the pack, but I got swept up in the frenzy.”

“You saw marriage as something you wanted.”

“I saw it as something I wasn’t ready to give up just because
I’d been marching to my own drummer for twenty years. I had been asked out. I’d
also almost always said no.”

“But you started saying yes during your junior year in
college.”

“To anyone and everyone. I needed to find the man of my
dreams from among the ones who weren’t already taken. There were, of course,
plenty of terrific uncommitted men. One after the next, I convinced myself this
was
it
. I was in love. In hindsight, I was never even close. And none of
the guys I dated were ever in love with me. They liked me, and I liked them.
They also sensed how desperate I was.” Mira shrugged. “It seems so silly now.
But it was very painful at the time. Fortunately, I had veterinary school to
look forward to.”

“Which you loved.”

“Even more than I’d imagined I would.”

“You’ve dated since veterinary school.”

“Sure. Some.” She smiled. “Occasionally.”

“So you’re not really on a relationship hiatus. That’s just
what you say when you’re asked out by a man who’s less appealing to you than
the prospect of spending time by yourself, or with your animals, or with
someone other than him.”

You make decisions based on what’s best for you, Blaine had told her. Not what others expect or want you to do. “I guess that’s right.”

“Blaine was one of those men,” Thomas said. “Fourth in line—from
an appeal standpoint—after being alone, with patients, or with someone else.”

“Not a ranking he’d enjoy,” Mira mused. “But it all turned
out very well. When he and Vivian met, it was love at first sight for both of
them.”

“Love at first sight,” Thomas echoed. “Is that something you
believe in?”

“I think so.”
I’m beginning to.
“What about you?”

“I find myself believing in all sorts of things I never
imagined I could.”

“Like what a wonderful father you are?”

“Like believing I had it in me to even dare try.”

WCHM

Wind
Chimes Towers

Tuesday,
November
1

5
:
00
p.m.

“Helen? It’s Blaine. Don’t worry,
I’m not calling to cancel.”

“Thank goodness.”

“Do you know whether Snow’s had a chance to look at the
outline I sent over?”

“I know she has. We both have. It’s a very helpful summary of
the key points to emphasize. She’s used it to prepare the questions she wants
to ask you tonight.”

“I’m glad it’s helped. The real reason I’m calling is to see
if we can set up the sound check a little earlier than we’d planned. There’s an
outpatient group session that ends at nine-forty-five. It’s possible that one
of my patients will drop by the office before she leaves. If we’ve done the
sound check, I can put that line on hold while I talk with her.”

“I’ll call whenever you say.”

“Let’s do it at nine-forty-five. We should be finished by the
time she gets here, assuming she even decides to come. If she does, I’ll need
to escort her out before Snow’s ready to begin the interview. Can you tell me
the earliest that might be?”

“The news, followed by commercials, will run until
10
:
05
. After her opening remarks, Snow will go right into her
experience, the fictionalized version, with Olivia. My guess is that will take a
minimum of six or seven minutes. So . . .
10
:
11
,
10
:
12
,
at the earliest. Is that okay?”

“It’s perfect, Helen. I look forward to hearing from you at
nine-forty-five. And if either you or Snow have any last-minute questions,
please don’t hesitate to give me a call.”

“Why wouldn’t you have it in you?”
Mira asked. “You’ve dedicated your life to caring for others.”

He didn’t answer right away, and Mira could see his silent
debate. It almost looked, she thought, like a battle between wishes and dread.
A fierce battle. A ferocious war.
Tell me,
Thomas. Tell me about you
.

Lacey’s Thomas Vail was a Boston blue blood. At least that
was what the Hilltop heiress assumed. His academic pedigree suggested as much,
and his speech, clothes, and manners were Ivy League all the way.

And Mira’s Thomas? The real Thomas? The man with truths too
painful, and perhaps too shameful, to share?

He decided to share those truths, to dare to, with her.

He wanted to. Needed to.

Needed to know.

“I was born in Eastern Europe. I’ve never known precisely
where. I have a hazy recollection of a rocky hillside dotted with sheep. My
father was a shepherd, I suppose. I don’t have memories of him, hazy or
otherwise, or of my mother and three older siblings. It’s just as well. All
five were shot to death.”

“Oh, Thomas.”

“I don’t remember that, either. It’s what I was told at the
orphanage where I lived until I was twelve . . . and where I was responsible
for watching the other children.”

“You were a shepherd. Like your father.”

“Perhaps. It wasn’t a healthy flock. No one was entirely free
of disease. And some of the children were very ill. I believed I was helping
them by reporting their illnesses to the adults.”

“You weren’t helping them?”

“No. They were taken away, never to return.”

“You think they were being . . .?”

“Culled? I didn’t know, and I needed to know. I told the
administrators I had the same symptoms. I very soon found myself on a cot,
where dying children had lain, behind a closed door. I was given blankets. Food
and water were left on the floor beside me.”

“Was the door locked?”

“No. I was able to get up and walk out. Unlike the children
who were truly sick.”

“That’s horrific
.
”

“It wasn’t done to be cruel. The administrators had nothing
to offer the sick children. No medications of any kind. And if a hospital
existed nearby, and I don’t know that one did, its limited resources would have
been allocated to those more valuable to the village than a child who was too
frail to work. In that part of the world, at that time in history, sick
children were destined to die. By quarantining them, the orphanage workers
hoped to prevent their illnesses from spreading to others.”

“But for the adults to have made you responsible for
identifying illness in your friends, your playmates . . .”

“No one played in the orphanage, Mira. Or made friends. The
struggle against cold, hunger, and disease was all-consuming.”

“Survival of the fittest.”

“That was the idea. Somewhere along the line, it was decided
that becoming ill meant you weren’t fit. I’m not sure why I resisted that
concept. It would be years before I learned about developing immunity to an illness
after surviving it.”

“You just knew you couldn’t let another child die alone in
that room. What did you do?”

“I paid closer attention to the signs and symptoms. By
spotting the illness early, I could isolate the child myself, or cohort
children similarly infected, and decrease the spread. If I fed the sick
children, and kept them warm and hydrated, some would survive.”

Your own ICU, Mira thought. Where, under your care, children
who might otherwise have died would live.
Some
children.

“But not all,” she murmured.

“Not even the majority, Mira. Whenever a death occurred, I
would wait until the others were sleeping before carrying the dead child to the
administrators. They never questioned why I had missed earlier symptoms. They
weren’t medically trained, or even curious. They were running an overcrowded
facility with children no one wanted. Most of them were cold and hungry, too.”

Mira saw him then, the boy shepherd he had been, a child
himself, carrying the bodies of dead children in the darkness—to protect the
others from such terror—all the while living the terror himself, the terror and
the sadness, hiding it, burying it deep within, and sharing it with no one.

“It sounds so hopeless,” she whispered.
So impossible to
have hope.

“It was all we knew. Until the United States military
arrived. When I look back on that day, I see what had been an always gray world
suddenly fill with color. I mean that literally. Before that day, I honestly
can’t remember a blue sky, a golden sun, a lavender sunset.”

“What happened when the military arrived?”

“Medical care. And global awareness of Eastern European
orphans in desperate need of homes.”

“Who adopted you?”

“No one. Adoptive couples wanted younger children, or
siblings of varying ages. I was the last orphan left, and I’d already been told
I was old enough to be on my own.”

“You were twelve.”

“Twelve there isn’t the same as twelve here. I was going to
enlist in the newly formed army in what had become a newly formed country. At
the last minute, two American doctors invited me into their home—and offered me
their last name. Their children were grown. They had plenty of room. I don’t
believe they expected me to become like another child, or another grandchild,
to them. I hope not. I would hate to think I disappointed them. They were,
are
,
wonderful people. And they know how grateful I am. But there’s always been a
distance between us, a remoteness . . . because of who I am.”

“Because of where you came from, Thomas. And what you were
asked to do. The orphanage administrators knew they could rely on you to notice
the slightest sickness in the other children and let someone know, believing it
was right and good to do so. They made you an unwitting accomplice to something
you never would have done. How could you trust
anyone
after that?”

He’s a bitter divorce waiting to happen. There can’t be an
alienation of affection claim because there was never any affection in the
first place.
Lacey’s
Thomas, the arrogant physician who insisted on being available even when he
wasn’t on call, and had even more reason for arrogance when it came to his
spectacular lovemaking, might have countered her fury with an easy smile, a
reassurance that he had survived the betrayals of his childhood. More than
survived.

But Mira’s Thomas, the real Thomas, didn’t smile. And other
emotions crossed his handsome face . . . emotions he had believed were lost
forever when he learned what happened to the children he tried to save . . . emotions
that had been missing ever since.

Until now.

“Trust? It turns out,” he said softly, “that I can.”

His words were as wondrous as the emotions that were neither
missing nor lost. Thomas Vail, who had no reason to trust anyone, trusted her.

His dark blue eyes told her even more. He was beginning to
trust the impossible feelings. The glittering wishes.

Beginning to surrender to the wonder.