A Candle For Nick

He sat by the bed, his head bent close to Nick’s. He was talking baseball and he had the boy’s full attention.

His shoulders were slightly broader than she remembered, his chest wider, but no gray marred the thick, dark hair. The hand that lay lightly on the bed rails was the same, too—lean, strong.

Kent Berger hadn’t changed. And oh, God, she’d never realized how much Nick looked like him. The shape of his face, the way he cocked his head to listen, even the half smile. She’d never let herself notice. Would he?

Please, no, she begged. She must have made a sound of supplication, because he looked up.

And for the first time in eleven years, Mallory stared into the eyes of the man who could save her son’s life—his real father.

Dear Reader,

Only he can save her son, the son he doesn’t know is his.

When her son, Nick, is diagnosed with leukemia, Mallory Brenner places him in the care of Dr. Kent Berger, the man who fathered him. Now she must face the most difficult decision of her life—to tell Kent the truth or keep her secret. And as Hanukkah, the holiday that celebrates a miracle, approaches, she hopes for her own miracle: life for her child.

Eerily, soon after I began this book, my husband, Ralph, was diagnosed with acute myelogenous leukemia, the same illness Nick has. I completed this story as Ralph waged a courageous battle for his life, and I promised him I’d finish it on time. I dedicate this book to his memory and I plan to donate part of my royalties to the Leukemia-Lymphoma Society as a memorial to him.

Lorna Michaels

A Candle for Nick

Lorna Michaels

www.millsandboon.co.uk

LORNA MICHAELS

When she was four years old, Lorna Michaels decided she would become a writer. But it wasn’t until she read her first romance that she found her niche. Since then she’s been a winner of numerous writing contests, a double Romance Writer’s of America Golden Heart finalist and a nominee for Romantic Times BOOKclub Love and Laughter Award. A self-confessed romantic, she loves to spend her evenings writing happily-ever-after stories. During the day she’s a speech pathologist with a busy private practice. Though she leads a double life, both her careers focus on communication. As a speech pathologist, she works with children who have communication disorders. In her writing, she deals with men and women who overcome barriers to communication as they forge lasting relationships.

Besides working and writing, Lorna enjoys reading everything from cereal boxes to Greek tragedy, interacting with the two cats who own her, watching basketball games and traveling. In 2002 she realized her dream of visiting Antarctica. Nothing thrills her more than hearing from readers. You can e-mail her at lmichaels@zyzy.com.

For my husband.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Epilogue

Chapter One

“Hey, Mom, Rick Howard hit another home run. I bet he breaks his record.”

Mallory Brenner stepped into the family room, where her ten-year-old son sprawled on the couch, remote in hand, watching a New York Yankees baseball game. She ruffled his chestnut-brown hair. “Hey, son, I bet Nicholas Brenner breaks his record for the most home runs in Little League.”

He grinned, showing a mouthful of braces. “Bet you’re right.”

Then he scowled as she leaned over him, thermometer in hand, and ordered, “Open.”

He did. As his hero rounded third though, he mumbled, “If we lived in New York instead of Valerosa, Texas, we could see Rick Howard play.”

Mallory removed the thermometer, set it again and stuck it back in Nick’s mouth. “Haven’t you noticed? You are seeing him play, right here in our living room, through the modern miracle of television.” Nick muttered disgustedly and she held up a hand. “Now zip your lip and watch the game, or I’ll have to start over again.”

Nick turned his attention to the TV and kept quiet. The thermometer beeped and Mallory checked the reading. “Normal. Second day in a row.”

“Cool. Think Dr. Sanders will let me play ball now? It’s been a year.”

“A month,” she corrected, then added, “I’m sure he will, as soon as he gets the results of your blood test.”

The last week of April, Nick had come down with the flu.

Usually quick to shake off any illness, he hadn’t been able to recover from this one. Their family doctor had been at a loss to explain the lingering fever and weakness and had ordered a complete blood count.

“When’s he gonna find out?” A whiny note appeared in Nick’s voice. “I’m tired of laying around here.”

“We should hear today. Tomorrow at the latest.” Seeing Nick’s lower lip inching toward a pout, she quickly suggested, “How about some ice cream? I picked up a quart of Baseball Nut.”

Nick pushed a pillow onto the floor. “No.”

Mallory sighed and prayed for patience. “Come on, Nick, it’s your favorite. And you hardly ate any lunch.”

He glared at her. “I’m not hungry.”

“Why don’t I set up the chess set and we’ll have a game before I go to work?

“It’s your day off.”

“Lauri’s kids are in a swim meet this afternoon. I promised I’d come in around four and relieve her.” Her partner, Lauri Gold, had put in plenty of extra time at Buds and Blossoms, their florist shop, since Nick had been ill. Mallory was glad to do a favor in return. She’d already made arrangements to drop Nick off at her parents’ for the couple of hours she’d be gone. She patted Nick’s shoulder. “How about that game?”

“You’re not very good,” Nick grumbled. “I beat you the last four times we played.”

Patience, she told herself. “Hey, nobody beats Mallory Brenner five times in a row.”

Deciding to interpret his grimace as a smile, Mallory got the chess set. They were setting up the pieces when the phone rang. “Be right back.” She went into the kitchen and picked up the receiver.

“Mrs. Brenner, this is Kelly from Dr. Sanders’s office. He’d like you to stop by to discuss Nicholas’s blood test.”

Stop by? To discuss the results of a routine blood test? Alarm bells went off in Mallory’s mind, and she grasped the edge of the kitchen counter. “I have to be at work soon. Can’t we do this on the phone?”

“I, um, don’t know. He asked me to have you come into the office. He said if you get here in half an hour, he’ll work you in.”

“All right.” Her hand trembled as she put the phone down. Something must be seriously wrong for Dr. Sanders to insist that she come in.

Or maybe not, she reassured herself. Maybe Nick had a vitamin deficiency or needed iron. Something like that. This could be just another instance of Dr. Sanders’s personal interest in his patients. He always took extra time with kids. When Nick had suffered nightmares after Dean’s death three years ago, Dr. Sanders had seen the boy several times just to listen to his fears and his sadness over the loss of his father. And last week the doctor had spent a good ten minutes with Nick, discussing the Yankees’ chances of winning the pennant this year.

“Nothing to worry about,” she told herself firmly as she started back to the living room. But her upbeat statement didn’t banish the queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach.

She found Nick absorbed in moving pieces around the chess board. She didn’t want to alarm him, too, so she hid her nerves behind a bright smile. “Change in plans, pal. I have to leave early. Pack up the chess set and you can play with Grandpa. I’m sure he’ll appreciate your company.” Her father was laid up after a knee replacement and was as bored as his grandson.

A sullen look that was becoming all too familiar settled on Nick’s face. “I don’t want to go to Grandma and Grandpa’s. They don’t let me watch South Park.”

“And neither do I, Mr. Brenner.”

“Yeah, but—” He muttered “Oops” under his breath and looked away.

Mallory wondered if he got to watch the show she’d banned at one of his friends’ homes, but she’d explore that later. “Hurry up, Nick. We need to get going.”

“Why can’t I stay home?”

“I guess I could call Angela and see if she can sit with you.”

Nick threw another pillow to the floor. “I don’t need a babysitter.” His voice rose. “I’m big enough to stay by myself.”

“Not for three hours.”

“If Dad was still alive, he’d let me.”

That hurt. Mallory swallowed a tear and counted to ten. Since Nick had been ill, he’d tested limits and tried her patience constantly. “Don’t go pushing my buttons, young man. Dad isn’t here anymore and you’re not to second-guess what he might’ve said. Now get your chessboard and let’s go.”

Scowling, Nick got to his feet and shuffled after her to the door. She dropped him off at her parents’ with the admonition to “be nice,” then drove to Dr. Sanders’s office.

The waiting room was crowded, but Helena, Dr. Sanders’s nurse, called her right in. A mother with two cranky preschoolers muttered something unpleasant as Mallory walked past, but Mallory ignored her. The knot of anxiety tightened in her chest. What could the doctor have to say that necessitated calling her in ahead of everyone else?

Helena pointed the way to the doctor’s private office, but Mallory didn’t need directions. She’d been coming here since she was a child herself. She went in, and he rose to take her hand and lead her to a small sofa. As she sat, the odor of cherry lollipops, a smell she always associated with this room, rose from the dish on the coffee table.

Dr. Sanders sat down beside her. Instead of beginning their conversation with a joke as he often did, today the doctor was silent and somber. The knot in Mallory’s chest wrenched tighter as he picked up a sheet of paper from the coffee table. “We have the lab report from Nick’s blood test,” he said.

Though her mouth had gone dry, she swallowed. “Is something wrong?”

He set the paper down and leaned forward. Voice softer now, he said, “Nick’s white blood count is extremely high.”

“Does…that mean he has an infection? Or…”

Dr. Sanders covered her icy hand with his warm one. “I don’t know an easy way to tell you this, Mallory. Nicholas has leukemia. Acute myelogenous leukemia.”

The first two words of the diagnosis meant nothing to Mallory, but leukemia. She’d heard that word and from what she recalled, it meant…death.

She felt herself falling, sliding into a deep, dark hole. Though she still sat beside Dr. Sanders, still felt air moving in and out of her lungs, nothing around her seemed the same. Nothing seemed real. The sounds from the hallway faded, the hum of the air-conditioning stilled. Even her own body seemed alien. She saw that Dr. Sanders still held her hand, but she couldn’t feel it. Her nerve endings had frozen.

“Leukemia,” she muttered. “Cancer.” She gritted her teeth. She had to hold herself together or she’d shatter into pieces like a broken glass. “Nick’s going to… Is…is he going to die?”

Dr. Sanders shook his head and patted her hand. “No, leukemia isn’t a death sentence anymore. The majority of children survive. But he needs treatment, and we’ll see that he gets it.”

She nodded. The thought of treatment gave her something tangible to concentrate on. “When can you start?”

“I don’t have the training or the facilities here. He needs a cancer center, a specialist. Gaines Memorial in Houston is the closest and, fortunately, it’s one of the top three in the country. I’ve already called to check on their admission procedures.”

Houston. Away from her family, her friends. But that was inconsequential if the clinic there could help Nick. “How…how soon will we need to be there?”

“They want you there in three days.”

So soon. “Is Nick…” Her voice faded, but she managed to whisper, “Is he in danger?”

“No immediate danger, but they do need to start as soon as possible.”

His voice was reassuring. But, three days. And so much to get done. Her mind swam with fragments of a to-do list. Call Lauri…arrange for someone to help out at the shop…airline tickets…check her insurance policy… Thoughts jumped into her mind, flitted away.

She rose, sat down again. “I…I don’t know anything about leukemia or how it’s treated. I should check the Internet.” She wondered if she’d have time.

Dr. Sanders nodded. “That’s just what I expected you to say, and you’re right. You need to be informed. This will give you an introduction.” He handed her a pamphlet. “There’s a list of books and Web sites, too.”

“What about a doctor?” Mallory asked. “Who will we see?”

“The hospital gave me names of doctors on staff there. I can check them out and recommend one if you like.”

“I’ll trust you to pick the best.”

“Would you like me to tell Nicholas?” he asked gently.

She hadn’t even thought of that. “No, I’ll tell him,” she decided. “He’s at my parents’ now. They’ll help. And afterward—tomorrow maybe—then you can talk to him, explain the…the illness.”

Dr. Sanders nodded. “You’re a strong woman, Mallory. You’ve had to be, losing Dean, raising Nicholas on your own and running a business. Your son is strong, too, and brave. What the two of you have to face won’t be easy, but I have every confidence you’ll get through it.”

“Thank you.” Though she could barely feel her legs, they apparently worked, because she crossed the room to the door. Dr. Sanders opened it for her, but she stopped, grasping at a last shred of hope. “Could there be a mistake? Could the lab report be wrong? Maybe Nick should have another blood test.”

The doctor shook his head. “You’d just be wasting time.”

Time. It could be Nick’s ally…or his enemy. She wouldn’t waste a minute. She hurried to the parking lot.

Her damp hands clutched the steering wheel as she drove toward her parents’ home. They’d help. Her father, rabbi of Beth Jacob, Valerosa’s only synagogue, had sustained his congregants through times of trouble, and he and her mother had been her chief support through the dark days after Dean’s death. She’d lean on them now, and with their faith and courage to supplement hers, she prayed Nick would battle this illness and conquer it.

Half an hour later, sitting beside her son, Mallory took his hand. She forced her voice to stay steady. “Dr. Sanders found out what’s making you so tired. You have an illness called leukemia.”

She’d already told her parents the news. They’d been shocked, but they’d pulled together, and now she felt her mother’s gentle hand on her shoulder. Nick’s eyes widened and his fingers tightened around hers. But he surprised her and his grandparents by saying, “I knew something was wrong. I’m glad to know what it is.”

Mallory blinked back tears. “The doctors who can help you are in Houston,” she said, dreading the thought that he’d be away from everyone and everything he knew.

His brow furrowed. “Will I have to take shots?”

She swallowed. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

Her son squared his shoulders. “Then I guess I will if they’ll get me well.” A half smile appeared. “Can we go to an Astros game?” The Houston Astros were his second favorite team, after the Yankees.

“Sure we can. Houston has lots of things to do. We’ll make it an adventure,” Mallory said, and hoped they could.

“That’ll be cool, seeing the Astros, huh, Grandpa?” Nick said.

Mallory’s father nodded and smiled, but his face was still pale.

“I’ll go to Houston with you,” Lydia Roseman said, but Mallory shook her head. She hugged her mother.

“I appreciate the offer and I wish you could be there, but you need to be home with Dad.” Although her father insisted he could manage on his own, Mallory would not be swayed. “If Nick…if I need you, then you’ll come,” she said, and finally they agreed.

“I need to go by the shop and talk to Lauri,” Mallory said.

“Of course.” Her father put his arm around her and walked her to the door.

“I’m scared,” Mallory whispered.

“I know, but remember, ‘For every mountain—’”

“‘There is a miracle,’” Mallory finished, smiling through her tears. Her father collected quotes to build his sermons around. He had a proverb for every occasion and this was one of his favorites. “I’ll remember,” she promised.

Leaving Nick in her parents’ loving hands, she hurried to the florist shop to tell her partner. Lauri hugged Mallory close. “Don’t you worry about a thing. This store’s way down on your priority list. There are plenty of college kids home for the summer who’d love to have a job in a nice, air-conditioned shop. Now, what can I do to help?”

They came up with a list, then Lauri shoved Mallory out the door. “Go home and don’t show your face here anymore.”

Grateful, Mallory went back to her parents’ house. She found Nick playing with his Game Boy. That, she thought, was the best distraction for any child.

At dinner that evening they all joined hands around the table as her father led them in a prayer for Nick’s recovery. The familiar Hebrew words comforted Mallory, and her father’s voice, as deep and calm as it was in the synagogue, steadied her. For the first time since she’d heard the grim news, her frozen limbs seemed to thaw.

Still, she couldn’t sleep that night. She wished for Dean, who’d been her rock for the eight years of their marriage. He’d been a wonderful husband and father. And when a drunk driver had hit his car head-on, she’d at least had the chance to tell him so. She’d held him in her arms in the hospital and told him how much she loved him…and then, in an instant, he was gone.

“Don’t let me lose Nick, too,” she prayed and vowed she’d fight this disease in every way she knew.

News spread quickly in a small town, and by the next afternoon, Mallory had dozens of calls with offers of help. Lauri’s husband Mark offered to drive Mallory’s car to Houston. She’d need it there, but she and Nick would fly in. Nick’s fever and listlessness had returned, and Mallory didn’t think he could handle a long car trip.

The members of her Torah study group already had a schedule for checking on her house and taking care of the yard. All that remained were the arrangements with the cancer specialist, and Dr. Sanders would let her know about that.

When they arrived for their appointment, he visited with Nick first, then called Mallory into his office.

“Have you found us a doctor?” she asked.

“Yes, he’s young—well, young by my standards—but he’s highly regarded.”

“That’s good to hear.” Mallory reached into her purse for the notebook and pen she’d brought. “What’s his name?”

“Berger. Dr. Kent Berger.”

“Berg…” The pen dropped out of her hand. With the other hand she grasped the arm of the couch. Surely she’d heard wrong. “Wh-who?”

The doctor bent to retrieve the pen. “Kent Berger. Everyone I spoke to says he has a superb reputation. I’m putting you in capable hands.”

Mallory bit the inside of her lip and suppressed the impulse to laugh hysterically. Kent Berger. She’d buried that name deep inside, never in eleven years allowed herself to speak it or even think it.

Dr. Sanders glanced at her sharply. “Is something wrong?”

Mallory shook her head. “I, um, just thought you’d have several names.”

Dr. Sanders frowned. “You asked for the best. From what I hear, Berger is the best.” He studied her face, glanced down at the trembling hands she hadn’t thought to conceal. “Mallory, if something makes you uncomfortable about seeing this man, say so and make a change now.” He looked at her thoughtfully. “Do you know him?”

“N-no,” she said. “For a minute I thought the name sounded familiar, but…but I’m sure I was wrong.” She clasped her hands together and fought to control her breathing.

The name was all too familiar. She knew him all too well. Kent Berger. Nick’s…father.

Years had passed since she’d thought of him as the parent of her child. And now—

There couldn’t be a worse time to face Kent Berger again.

Chapter Two

Dr. Sanders picked up a sheet of paper. “I’ve spoken with Dr. Berger’s nurse, Catherine Garland. She wants you to call.” He handed her the paper and rose.

Mallory stared at him blankly. What was she supposed to do? Get up. She got to her feet, watched the papers she held scatter over the coffee table. “Oh,” she murmured.

Dr. Sanders looked concerned. “Mallory, are you all right? Do you need some water?”

“No, I’m…okay. Just stressed.” She gathered the papers and stuffed them in her purse. With an effort, she pulled herself together and shook the doctor’s hand. “Thank you for everything.”

Dr. Sanders put his arm around her and walked her to the door. “Dr. Berger will keep me informed of Nick’s progress, but if you want to ask questions or just talk, I’m a phone call away.”

She hugged him. Voice breaking, she said, “I’ll remember. Thanks.”

She got Nick from the waiting room and drove home, and was surprised she could control the car, her hands shook so badly. Kent Berger…Kent Berger…

She remembered the first time she’d seen him. She’d had a summer job lifeguarding at the Comanche Trails Resort just outside of Valerosa. On that bright June morning her gaze swept over the Olympic-size swimming pool and stopped at the nearby high board, trapped by the sight of the man halfway up the ladder.

The morning sun shone on him, scattering chestnut highlights through his dark brown hair. He wasn’t tall, perhaps a couple of inches under six feet, but his body was magnificent. Broad shoulders, wide chest covered with curly, dark hair, flat belly, thighs roped with muscle and not a spare ounce of flesh.

Her stare must have drawn him, for he turned his head. From her perch on the lifeguard chair, Mallory’s eyes were even with his. Their gazes locked, and everything else faded—the noisy shouts and splashes of children, the odor of chlorine, the North Texas heat. She saw nothing but the dark eyes that captured hers, felt nothing but the sudden pounding of her heart.

He smiled, a slow, lazy curving of his mouth that she felt as intensely as if it had touched hers. Barely realizing what she was doing, she lifted a finger to trace her tingling lips. He held her gaze a moment longer, then continued up the ladder…and the world came back into focus.

He strode across the board, and Mallory held her breath. He bounced, then rocketed through the air in a powerful jackknife. The breath left Mallory’s lungs in a whoosh as he plunged downward and cut the water with barely a splash. He reminded her of some ancient god, plummeting from heaven to earth.

In a moment, he emerged from the water, swam to the side and pulled himself out. Shaking the drops from his hair, he glanced toward her…and winked. A warmth that owed nothing to the June sunshine spread through her body.

High-pitched shrieks distracted her, and she turned. Two toddlers were fighting over a toy sailboat. One grabbed the boat and darted away, heading toward the deep end of the pool, dangerously close to the edge.