Christmas at Timberwoods - Fern Michaels [88]
All he needed was another ten minutes. After that, he didn’t care what happened. He thought of the long flight of stairs to the roof and winced as a sharp pain stabbed his chest. He would have doubled over if a little boy hadn’t taken that particular moment to grasp his leg and point to his sack. Charlie drew out a candy cane and a coloring book and handed them to the child. Then, moving as fast as the pain in his chest would allow, he hurried toward the exit and the stairway to the roof.
Could he make it? One step at a time, both feet on one step. That was the way to do it. It would take longer, but there was no way he could force his legs to do anything else. When he got to the top of the stairs, he collapsed, his breathing ragged. What if I die here, alone? he thought. That spurred him on. Move, Charlie, he ordered himself, just a little farther. A few more steps, that’s it. Do what needs to be done. Step by step. Just a little farther . . .
Pediatric Oncology. Maria’s mother glanced at the badge pinned to Dr. Francis Tucker’s white coat, then down at her daughter. He held the little girl’s wrist in his hand, his eyes on the antique pocket watch he carried. It was 1:35.
“Her pulse is stronger.” He checked the new entries on her chart, then replaced it at the foot of her bed. “And her vitals are on the upswing. Both good signs.” But he shook his head. “I’m not sure letting her visit the mall is a good idea if you want her to be home for Christmas. She could pick up a minor bug that she can’t shake off in her present state of health.”
“It would make her so happy. I’ll take every possible precaution and keep her away from the crowds.”
The doctor nodded and looked down at his bright-eyed patient. “Maria, the decision is up to your mom.”
“Dr. Tucker, will you look out the window and see if you can see anything special across the highway?” Maria said in a soft voice.
He looked across the highway and smiled. “I sure can, young lady.” He turned toward the window. “Well, I’ll be darned—there’s a Santa Claus on the roof of the Timberwoods Mall. Looks like he’s stuffing his bag with something. Now, that’s clever,” he added to Carol Andretti.
Maria rose halfway and craned her neck, but she was too short to look out the window without someone to lift her up. “Do you really see him?” She sounded out of breath. “He’s my special miracle. Isn’t he, Mommy?”
Carol Andretti squeezed her daughter’s small hand. “Yes, honey. He’s right where he was.”
“Is he waving, Dr. Tucker?”
“Why, I . . . Yes, he is. Do you want me to wave back?” He turned to Maria, his eyes twinkling.
“Oh, yes, wave back. I can’t see and I want him to know that I know he’s there. Wave, please, wave for me.”
Francis Tucker felt slightly foolish, but he did as the child asked, then turned around and smoothed her fevered brow. “You look tired. It’d be a good idea for you to get some sleep now. I want to talk to your mother for a minute, and then she’ll be right back.”
“Okay, Dr. Tucker. But first . . . you didn’t say when I’d be better.”
Francis Tucker closed his eyes for a brief moment. Somehow you were never prepared for things like this. “You’re doing well, Maria. We’re all really happy about that.” He picked up the iPod that was inside a fold of the bedcovers. “Do you want to listen to your music now?”
She nodded and took it from him, putting in the earbuds and listening to a tinny singing voice he could barely hear. Some teenage pop star. Maria smiled to herself.
Luckily for him she fell asleep, saving him from having to give her a reply.
“I couldn’t have answered her,