LITMIR.BIZ

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Dr. Brown. The handwriting was vaguely familiar. Then it hit me. I knew who the letter was from, and time came to a screeching halt.

      Phil Brockton. My heart pounded. The only man besides my father whom I had ever loved. I hadn’t heard from him in seven years. I didn’t want to hear from him now. Now of all times. But I couldn’t stop myself. I tore open the envelope.

      Hi Ditie,

      I know how you love old-fashioned letter writing and I didn’t want you to hang up on me or delete my e-mail. I’m coming into town in a few days. I’d really like to see you. Things have changed for me. I can’t wait to tell you.

      Phil

      Phil had left me high and dry after we finished our residencies, his in oncology, mine in pediatrics. I had assumed we’d both be staying in Atlanta. When Phil took me out to dinner and told me he was doing a fellowship in New York and was going to move in with an oncology nurse he’d recently met, I wasn’t prepared for the news. He made sure we were in a restaurant, so I wouldn’t make a scene. I didn’t. I just never spoke to him again.

      I crumpled up the letter, straightened it out again, reread it. I studied the handwriting. He’d used a fountain pen, probably a quill pen, if I knew Phil. He loved the 1800s and the Civil War more than he’d ever loved me. He was seriously into reenactments and everything had to be authentic. I didn’t know what I felt about the contents of the letter. Angry? Hopeful? Disgusted with myself that I could possibly still care about him?

      Time resumed its pace. My childhood friend was dead, leaving two devastated children for me to care for. Phil was of no consequence, except that I couldn’t get him out of my head.

      I remembered every moment of our last encounter. He gave me the news shortly after our appetizers arrived. He spoke as if I had a rare form of leukemia that he hoped I would survive. Professionally compassionate. I wanted to throw my glass of wine in his face—a very nice cabernet sauvignon—which I’d assumed was meant for a celebration. Instead, it was supposed to be a consolation prize. I gulped it down and said nothing. I was a good girl after all. Never make a scene. Never tell your boyfriend to go to hell. My mother would have approved. My father would have held me in his arms and let me sob. But Dad had also left me high and dry. Not because he wanted to. Because his cancer gave him no choice.

      I was drawn to Phil partly because he chose the residency I intended to do—oncology. I wanted to save people the way I couldn’t save my dad, but working with children turned out to be my passion. Phil also seemed to have my father’s love of history and curiosity about the world. I didn’t realize until we broke up that he had none of my father’s gentleness or compassion.

      I never saw Phil again after that night, and he never wrote. Until now. I tried to shake off the letter the way you might shake off a bad dream, but I couldn’t do it. Any more than I could shake off the image of Ellie, dead on a slab in the morgue.

      It was a sleepless night.

      * * * *

      Sunday morning Lucie and I serenaded Jason with our own version of “Happy Birthday” and then the three of us worked on his birthday cake. He wanted chocolate, and there is nothing better than my Mexican chocolate cake if I do say so myself. I’d probably have to change the name to something French in order to please Lurleen. Jason stayed just long enough to learn to crack an egg. Then he was off with his Superman cape rescuing Hermione from danger. He would have done the same with Majestic, but she was too quick for him and disappeared under a bed.

      Children are amazing, thank God. Jason played with Hermione and dashed around the house waiting for Lurleen to arrive with all her surprises. He smiled and laughed. Something might remind him of his mother, and then he would grow quiet or ask about her. He’d want to go get her. But Lucie or I would talk to him, and he’d be off again on a new adventure. Of course, the grieving wasn’t over. It hadn’t really started, but to have a few minutes of joy was a gift on Jason’s birthday. Lucie did her best to hide her own terrible sadness. She clung to me like a Post-it note and I hugged her back even though my hands were covered with flour. I’m sure we made quite a picture. Dressed in the best aprons I could find, we were decorated with the natural splatter that comes from baking and sampling—bits of chocolate, flour, sugar, pecans. I’ll bet we smelled good enough to eat.

      “Mom never had time to cook,” Lucie said shyly. “I did all the cooking. It’s more fun to do it with someone else.”

      “I agree,” I said. “Now that you’re here, we’ll try out some new recipes.”

      “I’d like that,” Lucie said.

      Detective Garrett called around noon. I left Lucie to keep an eye on Jason and took the call in my bedroom.

      “I’m sorry to bother you on a Sunday, Dr. Brown, but we’ve been having trouble reaching Mrs. Winston’s mother. She’s on vacation in Costa Rica, according to neighbors. We have no address. She hasn’t responded to messages on her cell phone. Do you have any ideas about friends who might know how to reach her?”

      “I’m afraid not. I never saw her after I moved away, and I don’t think Ellie saw much of her either.”

      “We haven’t found the children’s father yet either. According to the ex-wife, they split up a year ago, and she has no idea where he is.” He paused. “How are the kids doing?”

      He asked the question as if he really wanted to know. I wondered if he had kids. Then I wondered if he was married.

      “They’re doing as well as can be expected. Have you found out any more about what Ellie was doing?”

      “No. We haven’t located her cell phone.”

      “Oh,” I said, “that’s because she left it with Lucie. It’s here at the house. I never thought about it until now.”

      “I’ll come over and get it. Is now a good time? I’d like to talk with the kids while I’m there. Would that be all right with you?”

      “Sure.”

      “What’s wrong?” he asked. This guy was good. He could read me over the phone.

      “It’s Jason’s birthday. I hate to upset him anymore than he already is. You could come over and stay for his party at three if that’s not inappropriate.”

      “Unusual, but not inappropriate.”

      “Great,” I said. “Jason will be thrilled to have a real policeman at his party. I’ll give you the cell phone then and you can talk to the kids. Do you think you can do that without upsetting them too much? I mean, maybe we could follow up with the heavier stuff tomorrow?”

      “I may not know as much about kids as you do, Dr. Brown, but I’m pretty good with them. I’ll do my best not to upset them.”

      I got off the phone and took a quick shower. I no longer worried about my hair, which would do whatever it wanted to do no matter how much gel I put in it. Today it was a mass of dark curls springing out from my head in every direction. I put on makeup with a touch more care than usual. Why in the world was I doing that?

      I’d sworn off men after my last encounter on Match.com. Not a match made in heaven. “So you’re a doctor. You wanna be my doctor? Maybe we could play doctor.” I excused myself to go to the bathroom, never returned, and canceled my account.

      Now I was thinking about Detective Mason Garrett with his kind gray eyes. I probably needed something or someone to think about that didn’t make me cry.

      “You look nice,” Lucie said when I emerged from the bathroom.

      “Really? Thanks, Lucie. Detective Garrett is coming over. He’s going to stay for Jason’s party. You haven’t met him yet, but he’s a very nice man. He’s trying to find out what happened to your mother. He wants to talk with you and Jason.”

      Lucie got tearful but nodded. “I’ll get Jason ready.”

      “Thanks, honey.”

      Lurleen

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