The Healing Place. Leigh Bale

Angie, now the Make-A-Wish Foundation. She felt strangely excited by the possibilities. Thursday night, she’d get off work by six o’clock and go somewhere besides her lonely apartment. She’d get to do something besides read medical reports and stare at the television as she ate dinner by herself.

      “Well?” Sonja poked her head in the office. “What did Don Yearwood want?”

      Emma explained.

      “Wow! That’s a real honor,” Sonja said. “I’m glad they realize what an asset you would be to the committee.”

      Emma doubted Sonja’s words. She felt apprehensive about Mr. Yearwood’s invitation.

      That night, when she got home, Emma went directly to her bedroom, lifted her son’s picture from her dresser and told him all about her day. “I don’t know what I would have done with Mrs. Valdez if Mark Williams hadn’t been there to bail me out. And though I’m a bit nervous about the Make-A-Wish thing, I’m also kind of excited to help kids like you. Maybe it’s time I got out more.”

      Yes, it’s time.

      It was as if someone whispered in her ear. Peace enveloped her and she knew she was doing the right thing. Somehow, she felt more alive than she had since before Brian’s death. It was almost as if he were there beside her, urging her to live again, cheering her on.

      As she looked at Brian’s picture, she didn’t feel like crying. Instead, she felt like smiling and sharing. She kissed the glass before putting the picture back on top of her dresser.

      Thursday came quicker than Emma expected. The office was a whirl of activity and she had little time to think about her commitment to serve with Make-A-Wish.

      That evening, she arrived five minutes early at the brightly lit office on Pyramid Street. They had converted a red-brick home into a business office. The summer sun was still high as Emma parked her green compact car and walked inside the main foyer, which smelled of freshly brewed coffee.

      “Dr. Shields? I’m Don Yearwood.” A tall, balding man with a bushy mustache held out his hand and Emma took it. “We’re glad you could make it. Come on in and help yourself to some juice or coffee. As soon as the others arrive, we’ll get started.”

      He indicated a small conference room with a long table and chairs set all around. Wide windows with open curtains admitted the evening sunshine. To the side of the room sat a counter top with a coffee pot, various cartons of juice, cups, and a plate of fruit, cheese, and doughnuts.

      What a combination.

      Two men stood at the counter, munching on doughnuts as they talked. On the other side of the room, a man and woman sat at a table, sipping cups of coffee and chatting.

      Emma helped herself to some pineapple juice and took a seat at the farthest end of the table, away from everyone else. Setting her notepad on the tabletop, she fidgeted with her pen, unable to deny the prickles of panic dotting her skin. She didn’t know what to say to these people. Maybe this was a mistake. It wasn’t too late to change her mind.

      She stood to leave, but strangers filtered through the doorway and blocked her path.

      She sat back down. In the next five minutes, the room filled with people and Don introduced Emma to each one. She pasted a smile on her face as she greeted them. An orthodontist, a lawyer, two bank executives, three small business owners and one housewife who used to be an accountant before she had three young children at home to care for.

      An impressive crew.

      The meeting was called to order and started with a reading of last week’s minutes. Emma was stunned when the door opened and Mark Williams walked in.

      What was he doing here?

      Mr. Yearwood didn’t stop his dialogue as Mark surveyed the room, spying an empty chair opposite Emma. Skirting the juice counter, he rounded the table and pulled the chair out, finally spotting her. A smile brighter than a neon light spread across his face and his eyes twinkled as he stared at her.

      Emma’s throat went dry.

      As he sat, he winked at her.

      Emma looked away.

      “Oh, no,” she groaned softly, then covered the sound by taking a hurried sip of juice.

      “Mark, since you’re the late arrival, how would you feel about coordinating the food and paper goods for the barbecue?” Don asked. “We’ll also need you to take a turn manning the hamburger and hot dog booth.”

      “Sure,” Mark agreed. “I’ve already got the head count. I can pick up the supplies anytime and store them in my garage. I’ll get the food the day before the event.”

      Mark Williams was donating free time to Make-A-Wish? She could hardly believe it.

      “Great! Dr. Shields, would you be willing to assist Mark?”

      Her mouth dropped open and she answered in a halting tone. “Ooo-kay.”

      She didn’t have a choice. She had committed to help. How would it look if she said no to her first assignment?

      Don loosened his tie as he paced in front of the Dry Erase board at the front of the room. “I’ve contacted Channel 6 News to see if they would include a short broadcast the week before the event asking people to donate their frequent flyer miles to Make-A-Wish. Since it’s for a good cause, the news people are willing to do a real nice piece for us. They thought it might be more effective to interview a parent and one of our Wish Kids. Mark, I don’t mean to pick on you, but how would you and Angie feel about being interviewed by them?”

      Mark sat back, his white shirt stretching taut across his muscular chest. “Let me check with Angie tonight. I don’t think she’ll mind. I’ll give you a call after I’ve had a chance to ask her.”

      “That would be fine.”

      The meeting proceeded, but Emma heard nothing more. Her ears felt clogged, like she was under water. Breathing deeply, she tried to steady her pounding pulse.

      Anxiety attack. That’s what her doctor called this crazy, muzzy feeling when she was sure she’d implode. He’d given her pills to take for it, but she was determined to cope without drugs.

      Breathe deeply. Everything’s okay. You can handle this. Really, you can.

      The meeting finally ended and Emma stood on shaky legs, prepared to bolt out of the room.

      “Emma!” Mark called to her.

      Gritting her teeth, she waited while he rounded the table and came to stand close beside her. Too close.

      She took a step back.

      “I didn’t know you were on the committee, too. When did you join?” he asked.

      “This is my first meeting. You could say I was brought in as part of a conspiracy.”

      One of his brows quirked and he laughed. “Conspiracy, huh? That sounds rather sinister.”

      When she glanced at Mark and saw amusement playing across his face, she smiled. She couldn’t help it. Mark’s laughter was infectious and, with a bit of surprise, she found his presence strangely comforting.

      “Angie’s one of their Wish Kids,” he said. “I wanted to be involved, to give back to a wonderful group. I thought I could help make a difference, like so many people have made a difference for Angie and me. I can’t begin to thank all the wonderful people who have stepped in and blessed our lives. My business partners, church members, social workers, neighbors.”

      He moved closer and her eyes widened.

      “You,” he said.

      Staring at the top button on his Oxford shirt, she backed up a step. His gratitude disarmed her. If he only knew what she had done to her own son, he would never want her to doctor Angie.

      He stepped closer and she felt cornered. He reached