The doctors recovery, p.11
The Doctor's Recovery, page 11
CHAPTER EIGHT
MIA PUNCHED HER pillow into submission, wishing she could slam thoughts of Wyatt out of her head, too. Sunlight peeked around the curtains, highlighting the empty chair beside her bed. Wyatt never returned last night. Never dropped into the chair to watch Renewed and Ruined. Never came back to apologize.
He hadn’t promised to return. Yet Ava had been certain Wyatt would come back, and so anticipation had kept her awake and waiting. She smashed her fist into the pillow again, calling herself every kind of fool. Only a fool lay awake, staring at an empty chair, wanting to make Wyatt understand.
Only fools got involved. That stopped this morning. She vowed she’d no longer treat the third floor as her own personal social center as if she was starved for friendship. She was starved for a decent night’s sleep, as she was fast becoming nocturnal like a bat, except she never slept the daylight hours away in her roost. Catnaps had become her new norm, quick, brief and anything but rejuvenating.
Her last good night had been with Wyatt three nights ago. But he had a job and life that didn’t include being her personal dream catcher or confidant. With her father, they’d been too busy completing their projects and developing new ones to indulge in conversations about inner secrets and dreams and stories from the past. Why was she looking for that now? A few hours with Ava and one photograph for Kellie hardly constituted lasting friendships; the women were acquaintances at best. Besides, the women worked for Bay Water Medical. Their job descriptions included being kind and courteous to every patient and family member.
Her sleep problem was clearly job-related. Confined to a hospital bed, with an IV line and monitors, prevented her from working herself into exhaustion. She just needed to focus more on her work, stop occupying her mind with all these trivial distractions, and the sleep would fall into place. Like usual. Like always.
I’ve worked too hard for my daughter not to be great. You need self-discipline and dedication, Mia. You need to do what needs to be done, even when you don’t feel like it. Okay, Dad, she got it.
Mia adjusted her bed and propped her computer on her lap. She needed to review the edit list with Eddy. Her finger paused on the power button. Her crew had walked out yesterday. Left her on her own. Surely that wasn’t permanent. She’d never meant to chase her friends away. They’d come around. They had to. They were a team. Teams didn’t quit on each other. Mia rubbed at her arm, trying to wipe away the same chill she used to get when she’d been five years old, huddled under her bedcovers, hiding from the storm winds that scraped tree branches against the metal siding on their house, making her believe a wicked witch clawed up the wall to snatch her away.
But she’d grown up, even enjoyed thunderstorms. Her guys would realize she was right once they watched the footage. Fiore productions hadn’t earned its name for boilerplate films and mediocre products. The rare footage had earned Fiore Films awards and acclaim and additional contracts. Her father had never accepted ordinary, in himself or his daughter. Fear wouldn’t drag her into the average category now.
Mia booted up her laptop. Time to watch the footage from Sunday’s accident. She glanced at the air vent and brushed that shiver off her skin again. The film wasn’t going to finish itself. This was about more than her and her fear. She had her mother to consider. If she wanted this life, she must embrace it, even the uncomfortable parts, like the near-death experiences. Fiores aren’t built for comfort zones, Mia.
Mia flexed her fingers over the keyboard. Risk had inspired her father; he’d thrived on the impossible. And those near-death experiences were dares he’d never turned down. Before every challenging shoot, he’d look at Mia over his glasses, his gaze alight with energy and enthusiasm, and say: Don’t die wondering, Mia. Always take the risk.
She hadn’t almost died wondering. She’d almost died panicking. Unlike her father. She’d seen the footage from his final film about a drug cartel’s underground role in human trafficking. Even after the two gunshots in his abdomen and leg, his camera had remained steady. If only she could cut the threads of panic inside her. Stop the spike to her pulse. The fear would’ve disappointed her dad. That was the last thing she’d ever wanted to do: disappoint the man who’d nurtured the artist inside her.
Mia opened her accident footage and held her breath, trying to plug those panic holes inside her lungs that let the air leak out and the dread seep in. She hesitated; reliving the accident messed with her head. Yet finishing this film severed her last real connection to her father. After the credits rolled, an In Memoriam tagline would be her final goodbye to her dad. She rubbed her chest, digging her fingers into her skin to disperse the ache already expanding against her ribs. She wasn’t ready. Would she ever be ready?
A soft knock on her door stopped her from pressing Play. The golden Lab bumping its tail against her door loosened that cinch inside her. Yet the irresistible little girl holding the dog’s leash scattered that loneliness inside Mia. But she’d vowed not to get involved. Not to be distracted. “Good morning, Ella. Who do you have with you?”
Ella’s smile filled her entire face, displacing all the emptiness inside the room. “This is Gretel. Hansel is out in the hall with Mom, but he needs to go home.”
“What happened?” Mia leaned forward, trying to see into the hallway.
“Hansel decided to let Mom know he didn’t feel well outside your room.” Ella wrinkled her nose. “I tried to tell her in the elevator, but Mom said all elevators smell bad because strangers are crammed together and worried about getting stuck. She says hospital elevators are the worst.”
Mia cleared her throat to break up her laughter. “I kind of thought the elevators around here smelled rather clean.”
“Me, too.” Ella checked her path with her cane and took three large steps closer to Mia’s bed. “That’s what I told Mom.”
“Ella, did you make sure Mia wasn’t sleeping?” Sophie rushed inside. She touched Ella’s shoulder and eyed Mia’s computer. “We don’t want to bother her.”
“I whispered her name and Ms. Mia answered.” Ella pushed her glasses up on her nose and lifted her chin. “She wasn’t sleeping—she was typing.”
“I definitely wasn’t sleeping.” Mia smiled at Sophie. “Ella isn’t bothering me at all.”
“Sorry, I’ll be right back.” Sophie disappeared into the hallway.
“You were typing, weren’t you?” Ella rubbed Gretel’s head, and the dog leaned into her leg for even more attention.
“I was.” Mia closed her laptop and set her computer on the table. Where’s your discipline and dedication, Mia? Paused, but just long enough to enjoy a moment with Ella. Her heart already hurt less after only two minutes with the little girl. Maybe she could find some of the courage Ella embraced and finally type In Memoriam into the script. “I’m putting together a song list for the hyperbaric chamber. I have to lie in there for an hour, and it’s quite boring.”
“You could listen to a book.”
“I’ve never listened to a book before.”
“I love books.” Ella’s enthusiasm rushed through her words. “Mom can’t get me new ones fast enough. I listen to them anywhere and everywhere, except in school. The teachers get mad when we don’t pay attention to them.”
“Teachers are like that. Ella, do you think you can help me find a book to listen to in the chamber?”
“Definitely.” Ella nodded, her blond curls bouncing against her small shoulders in approval. “Do you like fantasy books? Fairy-tale stories or ones about the Greek gods or adventure books? I don’t like scary books, but Ben does, so we can ask him.”
Mia rubbed her neck, debating about telling sweet Ella the truth about her poor reading habits. “I usually read magazines.”
Ella touched Gretel’s head as if she needed to balance herself. “This might take a while, Ms. Mia. Can Gretel and I sit down?”
“There’s a recliner straight in front of you and right beside my bed.”
Before Mia could offer the little girl assistance, Ella extended her walking stick and settled into the chair. Gretel stretched out on the floor beside Ella’s boots. “I think Hansel’s stomach got sick again.”
“Sounds like it,” Mia said. “You guys okay hanging out with me?”
Ella nodded yet chewed on her bottom lip. “But Gretel likes to sleep on a bed. Someone chained her to a light pole in the Market district in a lightning storm. Hard, cold floors make her scared.”
Mia scooted over and patted her bed. A graceful leap brought the golden Lab next to her. Gretel curled up against Mia’s good leg, rested her head on her thigh and tracked Mia’s movements with big, soulful brown eyes. Ella put the footrest up on the recliner and settled into the leather chair as if she was at home, making Mia forget her priorities and reset her inner timer.
Sophie walked in and surveyed the scene. A chocolate Lab sat down beside her and rested its head against her thigh. “Evie is coming to get Hansel and take him home. I need to meet her downstairs.”
“I can wait here with Ms. Mia.” Ella stuffed her hands inside her sweatshirt pocket. “She told me I could.”
Sophie tugged on her ponytail. “It might be a little while.”
“I don’t mind. Ella agreed to help with an important task.” Mia rubbed behind Gretel’s ears, earning a tail wag from the gentle dog.
“Well, everyone does look pretty comfortable.” Sophie leaned across the bed and took Gretel’s paw as if they’d concluded a beneficial business agreement. “Gretel’s looking for her forever home. Aren’t you, sweet girl?”
“You’re adorable, Gretel, but I’m not your person. Not your forever home.” That emptiness tapped on Mia’s shoulder as if anxious to take up residence again. She cuddled closer to Gretel. A lot of people lived full and happy lives without a forever home. She couldn’t think of any one particular person other than herself, but she was certain they existed. Her father’s work fulfilled her. She knew nothing about forever homes and had no inclination to change herself to fit into one.
“Everyone needs a forever home.” Ella’s voice was matter-of-fact. “My mom can find you one, Ms. Mia. She’s really good at it. She gave me one.”
Sophie kissed Ella’s forehead, her smile wobbly and her gaze tender. “I’ll be back soon, then we’ll bring Amelia the new art book and gel pens like I promised.”
“I know.” Ella hugged Sophie as if she’d never doubted for one minute that Sophie wouldn’t keep her promise.
Mia wanted to have the type of all-in, 100 percent faith in herself like Ella had in her mom and her world.
Ella added, “Mia needs a book. And then Gretel needs a family.”
Everyone deserved a family, even if it was made up of four-legged friends. That was what Ben and Ella had explained during their chess tournament. Mia agreed the golden Lab needed a family. A picture of Gretel: her face smashed against Mia’s leg, eyes wide from the bliss of being petted that’d capture the attention of multiple forever families. That’d bring in adoption applications by the dozens. Framing the dog in her mind’s eye, Mia considered submitting her own application. But she wasn’t a forever kind of person. Still Mia reached for her digital camera. “Ella, I have an idea how we can help find Gretel a home, but I’d need to take a picture of you and Gretel together.”
“My dad takes pictures in secret,” Ella said. “It’s his job.”
“I always ask first.” Mia turned on the camera and checked the settings.
“Can you make me look pretty in a picture?” Ella asked.
Sophie stopped in the doorway and turned around. “Ella Marie, what have I told you?”
“Pretty comes from the inside.” Ella lifted her hands, palms out, as if that would make Sophie understand better. “But, Mom, you told Ms. Ava that Ms. Mia would make her look pretty in her pictures.”
Sophie rubbed her hand over her face. “Maybe just talk books until I get back. Mia, I can explain later about Ava.”
“And take a few pictures?” Hope stretched out Ella’s words.
“Not too many.” Sophie urged Hansel to stand up. Hansel tipped his head back at Ella as if he’d rather curl up in the chair with her. “We don’t want to wear out Mia.”
“We’ll be fine.” Mia waved Sophie out the door. “Go do your dog duty. We got this.”
Books downloaded, and Gretel’s adoption photos stored, Ella settled back into the recliner, Mia adjusted her pillows and Gretel stretched out on the bed. “We need to discuss the next game challenge. How do you propose we beat the boys again?”
Ella rubbed her hands together and launched their lengthy, funny conversation that continued until Sophie strode into the room, a black-and-white collie at her side and Ava behind. “We heard you two laughing when we stepped off the elevators.”
“Ella, your mom made me jog down the hall because she wanted to find out what was so funny.” Ava set her hands on her knees and drew a deep breath.
“We’re building a strategy to beat Ben and Dr. Wyatt at the next game challenge,” Ella said.
Mia grinned. “I like Ella’s style. She likes to win, no matter what it takes.”
Sophie smiled. “She gets it from me, I’m afraid.”
“The boys will be eating sweet potato ice cream before the week is out,” Mia predicted. Ella giggled, her shoulders twitching.
“Did you find a book for Ms. Mia?” Sophie asked.
Ella nodded and tried to chew away her grin.
“We bought five,” Mia said. “We couldn’t decide on just one.”
Sophie shook her head.
“And we took pictures.” Ella bounced in the recliner, making the chair rock. “Now Ms. Ava can have her picture taken, too. I bet Ms. Mia makes her look like a princess.”
Ava pointed at the fabric headband covering her red hair and yoga pants. “I’m afraid I left my princess clothes at home with my glass slippers.”
Mia studied Ava’s flawless, porcelain skin, her symmetrical eyebrows with natural arches, her slightly imperfect mouth adding visual interest. She was long arms and even longer legs, all wrapped in muscle and strength. Her subtle, understated beauty made her approachable, relatable. Ava wasn’t a supermodel or centerfold, but to Mia that made her a perfect subject for a photo shoot.
Ella tugged on Ava’s hand. “Ms. Mia says it’s not about your clothes. She says pictures work the best if you act natural. So that’s what I did.”
Ava tucked a curl behind Ella’s ear. “How did you do that?”
Ella shrugged. “I just did what I always do.”
“And that worked?” Ava asked.
“You have to see the pictures. Ms. Mia told me they were perfect.”
Mia turned on the camera and handed it to Sophie to let her scroll through the pictures of Ella and Gretel.
Ava tweaked her nose. “Because you are perfect, Ella-bell.”
“Nobody is perfect.” Ella’s voice lowered into the wise and thoughtful tone of an enlightened philosopher. “But you can be perfectly you.”
Sophie looked up from the camera screen. “Where did you hear that?”
“Ms. Mia.” Ella’s voice turned matter-of-fact, as if it should’ve been obvious.
Sophie nodded at Mia, her smile grateful, before she pointed at the camera screen. “Can I have these pictures?”
“Sure, I’ll email them to you,” Mia said.
“Let me see.” Ava took the camera and scanned through the photographs. “Post these on your website and social media pages, Sophie, and you’ll be flooded with applications for Gretel.” She tugged on the leash in her hand and the collie came forward. “Pepper’s turn now. She needs a forever home, too.”
“You have to be in her pictures, Ms. Ava.” Ella’s tone was firm like her grip on the armrests. “I was there for Gretel. You need to be there for Pepper.”
Ava shrugged. “I’m not looking for a forever home.”
“Neither was I.” Ella grinned and relaxed back into the leather. “But it makes the dogs more comfortable in front of the camera.”
“Is that so?” Ava set her hands on her hips and frowned at Mia.
Mia timed her nod to match Ella’s and pinched the edge of her lip with her teeth to keep from smiling. Ella was a powerful force and definitely difficult to deny.
“Okay, but this is for Pepper. It’s not my photo thing for Dan.” Ava pointed at both Sophie and Ella, waiting for their agreement.
“There’s a photo thing?” Mia eyed Ava. Something like eagerness ping-ponged through her. She’d been re-creating her father’s vision for so long. But the still photographs would be her creation, her vision.
“Ava lost a bet with her partner, Dan,” Sophie added. “I was going to take the photograph of Ava with my phone for her to pay up, so to speak. But last night I saw the picture of Kellie and Rey online, and I knew we needed to ask an expert like you.”
“Mia has better things to do than take my picture.” Ava’s disgruntled tone pulled her mouth into a deep grimace.
“You want me to photograph you?” Mia asked. These women wanted to include her. When was the last time Mia had been included in something not related to one of her father’s films? When was the last time someone had sought her out for her and not to gain access to her dad? Mia glanced at Ava. “But don’t you have a photograph to use?”
“Not one that Dan will accept. He says I have to be smiling, at least.” Ava’s displeasure lengthened the last two words.
“She needs a photo for a calendar,” Ella volunteered.
“Not yet.” Ava slid onto the floor as if her misery dissolved her resolve and coaxed the docile collie into her lap. “But I lost the bet and I have to give Dan a photo and bio that he can submit to make me a candidate for this local hero charity event.”
