Dr. Forget-Me-Not - Marie Ferrarella

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throttle her. The other part was having other thoughts that seemed to be totally unrelated to the situation—and yet weren’t.

      “Anyone ever tell you that you have a smart mouth on you?” he asked.

      He didn’t pull punches, she thought. A lot of people kept treating her with kid gloves and maybe his way was more like what she really needed—to get into a fighting mode.

      “It goes with the rest of me,” she answered flippantly, then got down to business. What was important here were the children and their mothers, not anything that had to do with her. “When can you come back?” she asked him.

      Caught off guard, Mitch paused. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

      In all honesty, the only thing that had been on his mind was getting through this session. As far as he was concerned, he’d fulfilled his obligation. He’d agreed to come here, as his mother had asked him to, and here he was—staying longer than he’d either intended to or wanted to. But apparently, that didn’t seem to be enough.

      “Maybe you should,” Melanie was telling him. And then she added with a smile that appeared outwardly cheerful—but didn’t fool him for a minute. “We’re available anytime you are.”

      Mitch sighed. “I’ll check my calendar.”

      “Why don’t you do it now?” she suggested, pushing the issue. “This way, I can tell the director and your new fans out there,” she nodded toward the door and the people who were beyond that, “when to expect you.”

      “Definitely a smart mouth,” Mitch muttered as he took out his phone and checked the calendar app that was on it. His frown deepened when he found what he was looking for. “I can possibly spare a few hours Friday morning,” he told her grudgingly.

      She met his frown with nothing short of enthusiasm. “Friday works for us,” she assured him. “I’ll get the word out.”

      His tone was nothing if not dour when he said in response, “Why don’t we wait and see how things gel?” he suggested, then qualified, “Things have a way of cropping up.”

      Her eyes met his and there was a defiance in them he found both irritating beyond words—and at the same time, oddly intriguing.

      He supposed that maybe his mother had a point. He could stand to get out more. Then people like this annoying woman would hold no interest for him.

      “Why don’t you write the shelter into your schedule anyway?” she said. “Having a commitment might make you more inclined to honor it.”

      “Are you lecturing me?” he asked point-blank.

      “I’d rather think of it as making a tactful suggestion,” she replied.

      She could call it whatever she wanted to, Mitch thought. But no matter what label she put on it, they both knew what she meant.

       Chapter Four

      Melanie looked at her watch. It was the old-fashioned, analog kind which required her brain to figure out the exact time.

      Right now, the second hand seemed to be taunting her. As it moved along the dial, hitting each number one at a time, she could almost hear it rhythmically beating out: I told you so. I told you so.

      A deep sigh escaped her.

      It was Friday. The doctor should have been here by now.

      She supposed, giving the man the benefit of the doubt, he could have been held up in traffic, but it would have had to have been a monumental traffic jam for Dr. Stewart to be this late. After all, it wasn’t like this was Los Angeles. If anything, Bedford was considered a distant suburb of Los Angeles, located in the southern region of the considerably more laidback Orange County area.

      Granted, traffic jams did have a nasty habit of popping up in Orange County, but when they did, they had the decency of doing so between the hours of six and nine in the morning or four and seven in the evening, otherwise whimsically referred to by the term “rush hour,” which was a misnomer if ever she heard one.

      “Isn’t he coming, Melody?” April asked her, the small voice echoing with the same concern that she herself felt. The five-year-old had decided to keep vigil with her today, unofficially appointing herself Dr. Stewart’s keeper.

      Melanie came away from the window. Staring out into the parking lot wasn’t going to make the man appear any faster—if at all.

      “I don’t know, honey,” she answered.

      “But he said he would,” April said plaintively.

      It was obvious that the little girl had taken the doctor’s word to be as good as a promise. But then, Melanie reminded herself, according to what she’d said, the little girl still believed in Santa Claus. Apparently the doctor’s word fell into the same category as the legendary elf did.

      “Yes, he did,” Melanie agreed, searching for a way to let the little girl down gently. “Maybe he called Miss Polly to say he was running late.”

      “How can he do that?” April asked, her face scrunching up as she tried to wrap her little mind around the phrase. “If he’s running, how can he be late?” she asked, confused.

      “I’m afraid it’s something grown-ups do all the time, sweetie,” Melanie said evasively. “Tell you what. You stay here and keep on watching for him,” she instructed, turning April back toward the large window facing the parking lot. She felt having her here, standing watch, was better than having April listen in on the conversation she was going to have with the director. “I’ll be right back.”

      “Okay!” April agreed, squaring her small shoulders as she stared out the window, as intent as any soldier standing guard. “He’ll be here, I know he will,” were the words that followed Melanie out of the room.

      “If he’s not,” Melanie murmured under her breath, “I’ll kill him.” It would be justifiable payback for breaking April’s heart.

      Melanie turned the corner just as the director was walking out of her office. A near collision was barely avoided and only because Melanie’s reflexes were sharp enough for her to take a quick step back before it was too late.

      Her hand flying to her chest, the tall, thin woman dragged in a quick, loud breath.

      “I was just coming to look for you,” Polly declared breathlessly.

      “Well, here I am,” Melanie announced, spreading her hands wide like a performer who had executed a particularly clever dance step.

      She was stalling and she knew it, Melanie thought, dropping her hands to her sides. Stalling because she didn’t want to hear what she knew was coming.

      Raising her head, she looked the director in the eye. “He called, didn’t he?” she asked. “Dr. Stewart,” she added in case her question sounded too ambiguous.

      Just because she was thinking of the doctor didn’t mean that Polly was. The woman did handle all facets of the shelter, from taking in donations to finding extra beds when the shelter was already past its quota of homeless occupants. In between was everything else, including making sure there was enough food on hand as well as all the other bare necessities that running the shelter entailed.

      The look in Polly’s eyes was a mixture of distress and sympathy. “Just now. He said that something had come up and he couldn’t make it.”

      Since it was already almost an hour past the time that Dr. Stewart should have been here, Melanie murmured, “Better late than never, I suppose. So when is he coming?” she asked. She wanted to be able to give April and the others a new date.

      Polly shook her head. “He didn’t say anything about that.”

      Melanie looked at her in surprise. The question came out before she

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