Love's Healing Touch (9 page)

Ana could hear the "rrr" noises Tonito made as he rolled his toy cars across the patio. Baby Marisol played with her toes on a blanket next to her mother.

Mike, the last one out of the house with his plate, stood on the back steps and searched for a place to sit. Glancing at Tim, then away, made it clear he didn't want to sit with the youngsters. Too old for their antics? A glance told him the round table was full and there were no more chairs on the patio.

"There's a seat on the swing." Tessie pointed behind her. Mike smiled at his mother and started in that direction.

At that moment, Ana realized something frightening: Mike was no longer
her
project. She and Mike were their
families'
project. Even worse, she guessed Mike's mother was as persistent as her family. They'd never escape.

As she watched Mike approach her, Ana knew exactly when he realized the seat on the swing, the place his mother had indicated, was next to her, the dreaded Dr. Ramírez. After two steps, his smile slipped and he hesitated. Only for a second, a pause imperceptible to anyone who hadn't been watching him as closely as she had. Almost immediately, he took another step and another until he stood only a few feet from her.

"May I join you?"

At her nod, he put his drink on the table next to the swing and held on to the arm to lower himself onto the cushioned seat. Neither said a word, not a single word, while chatter and laughter from the others floated across the lawn toward them. The fun everyone else was having made their silence even more awkward.

She searched for something to say to fill the quiet that became more uncomfortable by the second. Then her gaze landed on the plate in his lap. "Do you like Mexican food?"

"Yes." He took another bite of the chicken enchilada.

Great conversation.

When he swallowed, she said. "What's your favorite?"

Before she finished her question, he took another bite. Not to let him off the hook, she continued to watch him until he swallowed and said, "Tacos."

"I mean,
real
Mexican food."

"What?" He turned toward her, his forehead creased in confusion. "Tacos are Mexican food."

Success. The response was five words long, and he'd made eye contract. "And you know that because they serve them at Taco Bell?"

He laughed. "Okay, tell me why tacos aren't Mexican food."

Wonder of wonders. A laugh and another complete sentence.

"In Mexico, tacos are like sandwiches," she said. "You put whatever leftovers you have around the house into the taco shell. Fish, vegetables, anything handy."

He shook his head. "I can't imagine eating a fish taco so I'll say my favorite food is this chorizo. I love the spicy sausage."

She was feeling good about the conversation until he added, "Is that answer acceptable, Dr. Ramírez?"

"I didn't mean to sound so much like Dr. Ramírez." She could kick herself for the pedantic streak that showed up at the worst times. "Tonight, while we're all family, why don't you call me Ana. It's more comfortable."

He cleared his throat and glanced away, not acting a bit comfortable.

She'd guess he wouldn't call her anything tonight, most certainly not Ana.

He took a forkful of another food. "Now this is good. It might be my new favorite." He studied the serving on his plate. "What is it?"

"Menudo."

"What's
menudo?
" He took another bite.

"Tripe." When he raised an eyebrow, she said, "That's intestine, beef intestine."

He stopped chewing and looked as if he wanted to spit it out but was too polite.

"If it tastes good, it doesn't matter what it is," she said.

He swallowed and nodded. "I guess so, in theory, at least to a certain extent." He shook his head. "But intestine?"

After a few more minutes of chatter about the food and their families, she decided to try something more risky— digging for information she'd like to know while he was more talkative. "So, Mike, why did you decide to become a doctor?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he gazed at their families and down at his plate until he responded. "All the wrong reasons."

At least he'd answered. She'd figured he'd put up his barrier again. "What are the wrong reasons?"

"Money," he said. "Big house, country club membership so I could play golf on Thursday afternoons. Everything a kid with my background dreams of but doesn't have a chance at."

She pushed the swing slowly, watching the pinks and yellows of the sunset streak the sky before she asked, "So why didn't it work out?"

Ana couldn't believe how quickly his eyes lost every sparkle of interest and became bleak, how his lips thinned and his posture became rigid. He'd thrown up a barrier and glared at her from behind it.

Back to the old Fuller. How frustrating.

"Why did you become a doctor, Dr. Ramírez?" he asked in a voice devoid of interest.

His choice of "Dr. Ramírez" and his asking her the question showed how far she'd trespassed into his territory.

Should she tell him that after the traffic accident her mother was involved in that had nearly take Mama's life, Ana had admired the skill of the doctors so much she'd vowed to be one? Or should she give him the expanded, emotional reason?

After her mother's accident when Ana was eight years old, she and her father had raced to the hospital, terrified that her mother would die. Ana'd stood on tiptoe to look through the glass into the emergency room. It had been calming to know all the people on the other side of the window were caring for Mama. When Papi had found her, he tried to carry her back to the waiting room, but she'd insisted on staying.

After they'd wheeled her mother to the operating room, she put her arms around his neck and kissed his cheeks.
"No llores,
Papi.
Los doctores le van a salvar la vida."

He'd quit crying and the doctors had saved her mother's life, but she was
really
sure Mike wouldn't want to hear all the touching details.

"When I was a kid, emergency room doctors saved my mother's life."

He nodded. "That's a good reason." Then he stood. "Coffee?"

"Oh, no." She jumped to her feet. "I have to make the sopaipillas for dessert."

They both went in different directions. Actually, Ana thought they'd fled in different directions because the sharing was more than Mike could handle and she was beginning to feel embarrassed about pushing him to talk.

But no one else would see that. The Ramírezes and the Fullers would feel this had been a successful blending of the families. Only she knew that Mike wasn't ready for the sharing and kidding the Ramírez family did every time they came together.

Because Martita had said her family had to leave early to get the children home and to bed, Mike was driving the family home from the Ramírez home at nine.

"What did you think?" his mother said. He tried to read her expression but she'd turned toward the window.

Had she noticed that he and Dr. Ramírez— he could
never
call her Ana— had been talking? Of course she had. She'd planned that. Had she noticed how abruptly he'd moved away from the swing to stand and talk with Tim, Luz and Quique? Yes, she saw that, also. She probably thought it showed a strong attraction between him and Dr. Ramírez. Again, she was right, but nothing was going to come of it no matter what his mother's creative brain came up with. He didn't have the time, money or resiliency for a relationship. He might consider that once his family was taken care of.

"Nice family." Mike turned onto I-35.

"That Luz is great." Tim spoke from the backseat. "Did you know she's going into the army in a few months? She's got her whole life mapped out."

"What's she going to do?" Mom put her hand on the back of her seat and turned to watch her younger son.

"After she gets out, she wants to be an architect."

In the rearview mirror, Mike saw Tim shake his head as if in wonder. Tim had never been drawn to smart girls with plans for the future.

"Are you interested in her?" Mike asked to get the spotlight off himself.

"No," Tim denied strongly. "She's way too focused on her future, but she said she'll get out of the army with enough money for college." Tim paused. "Maybe I should do that."

"If you want to go to college, you don't have to join the army," Mike said. "The state pays for college for foster kids. I wouldn't have made it through without that."

Tim shrugged, which meant the end of the conversation. From now on, Mike would leave any vocational considerations up to Luz. Tim accepted ideas from a pretty young woman better than advice from an older brother. No surprise about that.

When he'd parked the car and all three had entered the house, his mother took Mike's arm in the dark living room before he could follow Tim to their bedroom. "Did you like Antonio?" she asked softly.

"He seemed very nice." He smiled down at his mother. "And quite interested in you."

The hand on his arm relaxed. "What did Tim think about him?" he asked.

"Oh." She waved her hand. "I didn't ask Tim. He likes everyone." With a kiss on his cheek, she switched on a light in the kitchen.

What did that say about Mike? That he didn't get along with everyone?

He saw the glow of the hall light. "Are you going to bed?" she asked from there.

"In a minute."

He'd always thought he got along with people, but as he watched her go into the kitchen, Mike had to recognize that since the breakup with Cynthia and with the addition of other responsibilities, he
had
changed, reverted to earlier behavior, silent and closed up. Not that he'd ever had the happy-go-lucky attitude Tim had. If he had, they wouldn't have a place to live.

Heading toward the bathroom and turning the kitchen and hall lights out behind him, he had to admit that, yes, he'd always been different from Tim. Maybe part of that was because he'd been too hurt by their father's second abandonment after Tim's birth.

For years before Mom was incarcerated, he'd been a pretty happy kid, a lot like Tim. He had changed, become less trusting after Mom went to prison and he'd been shuffled from foster home to foster home. No one wanted or put up long with a sullen teenager.

He thanked God for his cousin Francie's support and encouragement. Without that, he didn't know how he would have ended up. Certainly in prison, probably likely to return.

Mike went into his bedroom where Tim was already snoring in his upper bunk. Mike watched him and wondered why they were so different now.

Most likely because Tim had lived with the Montoyas for eight years. They were a great foster family. They'd truly been Tim's family and kept up with him still.

Mike undressed, entered the bathroom and took a shower. As the water slammed down on him, he remembered the terrible emptiness inside him when his mother had gone to prison and the family had been separated. He'd been too masculine, too embarrassed to mention it. Instead, he pretended he didn't care when it had torn him up inside. So no one would know how he felt, he closed in on himself. He bluffed his way through the concerns of teachers and school counselors, keeping his grades up, playing basketball, looking great on the outside. That was how he'd coped then. That was how he was coping now.

Why had it been so important not to allow anyone to see the inside?

Why was it still so important to keep people out?

After getting out of the shower, drying off and brushing his teeth, he went back to the bedroom.

"G'night, Mike," Tim mumbled when Mike came in.

"'Night," Mike said, but the light snores told him Tim had already fallen asleep.

He got dressed before looking at the clock. Only a little after nine-thirty. He was due at work in an hour, so Mike picked up his anatomy book and lay down to read it after he set the alarm. In spite of an interesting section on the ulna, thoughts from the past still bombarded him.

When he got to college, the first year was hard. He didn't know how to make friends, to build a relationship. Then he began to succeed and the shell had begun to crack bit by bit. It split open when he got to medical school. He'd believed his outer shell had disappeared when he and Cynthia were engaged.

After almost half an hour, Tim turned his light on and hopped from the top bunk. When he came back a few minutes later he had a handful of cookies and a glass of milk. The kid ate even in the middle of the night. Tim finished the snack, put the glass on the floor and got back in bed.

"What do you think about the Ramírez family?" Tim's voice filtered down.

"Seems nice." He shut the book, turned to pull his shoes on then stood to leave the room in the hope he could avoid what he figured would be Tim's next remark.

"Yeah."

Mike thought his brother had dozed off, but as he reached the door Tim said, "Ana's pretty, too. And a doctor. What do you think of her?"

He ignored the question. After grabbing his keys and leaving the house, he got in the car and headed to the hospital.

Yes, Ana, Dr. Ramírez to him no matter what she said, had looked great. Her hair was as long and wavy, as beautiful as he'd imagined. He'd had to clench his fists to keep from touching it, from filling his hand with the mass of dark curls. She was wearing a frilly blouse and seemed very feminine and soft, not a word he'd ever associated with her in the past. Sitting next to her on the swing, he smelled her perfume, something flowery and light, felt her warmth, felt himself being drawn to her. Because he couldn't allow that to happen, he'd leaped to his feet and run.

Pretty bad when the pleasure of sitting next to a beautiful woman frightened him, when it seemed like the worst thing that could happen.

What kind of idiot felt that way? Obviously, he was exactly that kind of idiot.

For a moment, he thought about praying. That's what he'd have done a year ago, even a few months ago, but he didn't. He couldn't figure out what to say to God, what to pray for.

T
wo days later, during the next shift Ana and Mike worked together, she could tell his barriers were up and he'd posted guards on every entrance and tower. When she passed him in the hall, he gave her a polite nod. No more Mr. Let's-Have-a-Chat. If she called for transfer, he'd hurry in, move the gurney and leave without a word. The few times she talked to him, he answered, "Yes, Dr. Ramírez," or "Of course, Dr. Ramírez," or "Right away, Dr. Ramírez."