Dr. Forget-Me-Not. Marie Ferrarella

going through. But she didn’t volunteer her time, her crew and the meals she personally prepared before coming here just to stand idly by if there was something she could do. Luckily, after her conversation with Maizie yesterday, there was. It was also, hopefully, killing two birds with one stone—or, as she preferred thinking of it, spreading as much good as possible.

      “Good to know, dear,” she said to Brenda, patting the woman’s shoulder. “But maybe you might want to have Dr. Mitch take a look at him anyway.”

      “Dr. Mitch?” Melanie asked. This was the first reference she’d heard to that name. Was the volunteer chef referring to a personal physician she intended to call?

      “Sorry, that’s what my friend calls him,” Theresa apologized. “His full name is Dr. Mitchell Stewart and he’s a general surgeon associated with Bedford Memorial Hospital—right down the road,” she added for Brenda’s benefit. “He’s been doing rather well these past couple of years and according to mutual sources, he wants to give a little back to the community. When I told Polly about it,” she said, referring to Polly French, the director of the shelter, “she immediately placed a call to his office and asked him to volunteer a few hours here whenever he could.” She moved aside the hair that was hanging in April’s eyes, fondly remembering when she used to do the same thing with her own daughter. “He’ll be here tomorrow. I’m spreading the word.”

      Brenda still looked somewhat suspicious of the whole thing. “We don’t need any charity.”

      “Seems to me that it’ll be you being charitable to him,” Theresa pointed out diplomatically. “If the man wants to do something good, I say let him.” Theresa turned her attention to Jimmy who had mercifully stopped coughing, at least for now. “What about you, Jimmy? What d’you say?”

      Jimmy looked up at her with hesitant, watery eyes. “He won’t stick me with a needle, will he?”

      “I don’t think he’s planning on that,” Theresa replied honestly. “He just wants to do what’s best for you.”

      “Then okay,” the boy replied, then qualified one more time, “as long as he doesn’t stick me.”

      Theresa smiled at Brenda. “Born negotiator, that one. Sounds a lot like my son did at that age. He’s a lawyer now,” Theresa added proudly. “Who knows, yours might become one, too.”

      The hopeless look on Brenda’s face said she didn’t agree, but wasn’t up to arguing the point.

      Theresa gently squeezed the woman’s shoulder. “It’ll get better, dear. Even when you feel like you’ve hit bottom and there’s no way back up to the surface, it’ll get better,” Theresa promised.

      For her part, Theresa was remembering how she’d felt when her husband had died suddenly of a heart attack. At first, she had been convinced that she couldn’t even go on breathing—but she had. She not only went on breathing, but she’d gone on to form and run a successful catering business. Life was nothing if not full of possibilities—as long as you left yourself open to them, Theresa thought.

      The last part of her sentence was directed more toward Melanie than to the young mother she was initially addressing.

      “I’d better get back to getting dinner set up,” Theresa said, beginning to walk away.

      Melanie followed in her wake. “Are you really getting a doctor to come to the shelter?” she asked.

      It was hard for her to believe and harder for her to contain her excitement. This was just what some of the children—not to mention some of the women—needed, to be examined by a real doctor.

      “Not me, personally,” she told Melanie, “but I have a friend who has a friend—the upshot is, yes, there is a doctor coming here tomorrow.”

      “Photo op?” Melanie guessed. This was the Golden State and a lot of things were done here for more than a straightforward reason. It seemed like everyone thrived on publicity for one reason or another. “Don’t get me wrong,” she said quickly, “some of these people really need to be seen by a doctor, but if this is just some kind of publicity stunt so that some doctor can drum up goodwill and get people to come to his state-of-the-art new clinic, or buy his new skin cream, or whatever, I don’t want to see Brenda and her son being used.”

      Sympathy flooded Theresa’s eyes. She had to restrain herself to keep from hugging Melanie. “Oh honey, what happened to you to make you so suspicious and defensive?”

      She was not about to talk about Jeremy, or any other part of her life. Besides, that had nothing to do with this.

      “This isn’t about me,” Melanie retorted, then caught hold of her temper. This wasn’t like her. She was going to have watch that. “This is about them.” She waved her hand toward where they had left Brenda and her children. “I don’t want them being used.”

      “They won’t be,” Theresa assured her kindly. “This doctor really does see the need to give back a little to the community.” That was the story Maizie and the doctor’s mother, Charlotte, had told her they’d agreed upon. “He’s a very decent sort,” she added.

      Melanie looked at her, confused. “I thought you said you didn’t know him.”

      “I don’t,” Theresa readily admitted. “But I know the woman who knows his mother and Maizie would never recommend anyone—even a doctor—who was just out for himself.” Theresa paused for a moment as little things began to fall into place in her mind. She had the perfect approach, she thought suddenly, pleased with herself.

      “Dr. Mitch is a little...stiff, I hear, for lack of a better word. I hate to ask, but maybe you can stick around a little longer, act as a guide his first day here. Show him the ropes.”

      Melanie would have thought that Polly, the director who was bringing him on board, would be much better suited for the job than she was. “I don’t know anything about medicine.”

      “No, but you know people,” Theresa was quick to point out, playing up Melanie’s strengths, “and the ones around here seem to trust you a lot.”

      Melanie shrugged. She didn’t know if that was exactly accurate. She was just a familiar face for them. “They’re just desperate...” she allowed, not wanting to take any undue credit.

      Theresa laughed, nodding. “Aren’t we all, one way or another?” This was the perfect point to just retreat, before Melanie could think of any further objections to her interacting with Mitch on a one-to-one basis. So Theresa did. “I really do need to get back to the kitchen to get things set up and ready or dinner is going to be late,” she told Melanie.

      About to leave, Theresa hesitated. It wasn’t just small sad faces that got to her. She’d been infinitely aware of the sadness in Melanie’s eyes from the first moment she’d been introduced to the volunteer.

      Coming closer to Melanie, she lowered her voice so that only Melanie could hear her. “But I just wanted to tell you that should you ever need to talk—or maybe just need a friendly ear—I’m here at the shelter every other week.” She knew she was telling Melanie something that she already knew. “And when I’m not—”

      Digging into the pocket of her apron, Theresa extracted one of her business cards. Taking a pen out of the other pocket, she quickly wrote something on the back of the card, then held the same card out to Melanie.

      “Here.”

      Melanie glanced at the front of the card. “Thank you, but I don’t think I’m going to be having any parties that’ll need catering any time soon.”

      Theresa didn’t bother wasting time telling the young woman that she wasn’t offering her catering service, but her services as a sympathetic listener. “That’s my private number on the back. If I’m not home, leave a message.”

      Melanie didn’t believe in pouring out her heart and burdening people, especially if they were all but strangers. “But we don’t