Healing Touch Read online

  Healing Touch

  Jenna Anderson

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2009 Jenna Anderson

  All rights reserved

  Cover art: Jeff Okerstrom

  Special thanks to my family and friends

  for their support of my writing endeavors.

  Thank you also to Joan, Mat, Cassie, Susan,

  Melissa, and Roni for your advice and feedback. You guys are the best!

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  eBook editions are licensed for your personal enjoyment only. eBooks may not be re-sold, copied or given away to other people. If you would like to share an eBook edition with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  What readers are saying about Healing Touch:

  “…I was drawn right in on the first page and didn't stop reading until it was done.”

  “…a feel-good romance.”

  “…engaging and thoroughly enjoyable.”

  Part I

  The magazine I held took the full brunt of my anger. Images of happy housewives, mascara ads, and easy eggplant recipes streaked past my vision. Pages snapped, crackled, and ripped under my fingers. I couldn’t believe Dr. Nelson talked me into coming back to the clinic. My pathetic behavior resembled a lovesick teenage girl’s. Hearing his sexy voice may have helped convince me to come in, but it would never persuade me into doing another medical test. A biopsy was out of the question. I asked myself for the tenth time in the last two minutes, “Why am I here?”

  My hands continued to flip through the two year old magazine. I paused briefly at an article showing the top fall fashions for toddlers. The cheapest item was a $35 pair of khakis modeled by a two year old boy.

  I snorted with disgust. “Yeah right. Cody would have those ripped to shreds and covered in grass or blood stains in less than two hours.”

  “Did you say something, Tracy?” asked a voice to my right. Mrs. Busybody. Her name was actually Mrs. Larson but anyone who has been the subject of her gossiping refers to her as Mrs. B. Many “B” words fit the abbreviation.

  She sat too close to me, probably trying to peek into my purse for something private or embarrassing. Aside from the six disgustingly ugly blue chairs and a couple of old end tables, we were alone in the clinic’s small waiting room. Mrs. Larson had heard exactly what I said, but I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction and repeat myself. I just smiled at her and returned to my magazine.

  A word to the wise, never ever open up a conversation with Mrs. Larson if you don’t have a preplanned escape route. It’s best to say ‘Hi’ out your car window at a red traffic light or just before the elevator door closes on her face. Not that my tiny town had a stoplight or an elevator. The two story court house didn’t even have one. I wasn’t sure how they got around the ADA laws. I guess anyone in a wheelchair had to face the legal system on ground level.

  I glanced at the clock above the receptionist. Dr. Nelson was behind schedule. Fifteen minutes of my lunch break was already gone. He better hurry up, call me in, tell me whatever crazy crap he planned to today because I needed to get back to work. A one hour lunch break shouldn’t stretch into two. If I stayed out too long, I’d have to stay later this afternoon to make up the time. If I did that I’d be late picking up Cody from daycare.

  These thoughts made me quite disgusted. I groaned loudly as I tossed the magazine onto the end table.

  “So, tell me dear, why are you here today?” Mrs. Larson had such a sweet, innocent voice. Victims of her scandalous talk lay scattered throughout the community, dazed, confused, not knowing what hit them.

  An evil thought entered my mind. “Didn’t you hear? There is a highly contagious virus spreading throughout Iowa.”

  “No, really?” She looked both intrigued and a little frightened.

  “Yes. I’m serious. I’ve been feeling a bit freakish lately, so I’m here to get myself checked. They say the first sign of the virus is hearing loss.” I exhaled a hot breath in her direction which caused her to back up. Mrs. Larson was a big believer of THEY. Whatever THEY say must be gospel.

  “I haven’t heard anything about this. Why wasn’t it in the papers? Sam should run a story.”

  “What? I’m sorry I didn’t catch what you said. Anyway, people end up going completely deaf. Then, you’ll never guess what happens after that?”

  A voice called from behind the reception desk. “Tracy, what are you telling Mrs. Larson?”

  The gossip queen couldn’t resist this juicy news. She leaned in and risked touching my arm. “What happens next?”

  I conjured up a short bout of violent coughing and grabbed both of her hands in my newly moistened grip.

  “Tracy…” The receptionist’s disapproving tone indicated she saw through my weak performance. She sounded angry, but the twinkle in her eyes told a different story.

  “Well,” I continued, “they say that people who have a full blown case of Kerbunktavitous end up completely losing their voice. The victim’s vocals cords dry up and become as useless as crusty old night crawlers.” I cleared my throat and shot a look at Connie behind the desk. Words croaked from my lungs. “It’s awful. I hope you don’t catch it, Mrs. L.”

  The old biddy dropped my grasp and leaned away from me. “I most certainly hope you don’t have it. Why are you out and about? Why isn’t Dr. Nelson making house calls? Connie, I need to talk to Dr. Nelson right now. This can’t continue.”

  “Oh, this virus is so contagious that just sitting in the same room with someone will spread it.” I gave her a sympathetic look. “Too bad too ‘cuz I’m pretty sure I’m sick. You know who I caught it from don’t you?”

  She couldn’t resist the dangling carrot of gossip and drew closer to me.

  The words crackled out of my mouth. “Your son.”

  “You did not! He’s a married man. Why would he be in the same room as you? I mean, not to say you two did anything inappropriate but…”

  I sighed and shook my head in a sad motion. “I hate to break the news to you. This virus will spread through your family and turn everyone deaf and mute by Sunday.”

  Connie had her head down on the reception desk. The sound of stifled giggles floated through the waiting room.

  I popped out of my worn blue chair with a sudden burst of health. “Well, I’d love stay and wait forever for Dr. Doogie Howser but I have a job. Connie, let him know that if he wants to talk to me he can schedule an appointment with my secretary.” I gathered up my bag and headed to the exit.

  Connie shot me a snotty look. “You work at Madder’s Truck Repair. You don’t have a secretary. Actually, aren’t you the secretary, billing person, or whatever the guys call it?”

  Mrs. Larson launched a lecture in my direction. I didn’t have to look at her to know her index finger was wagging for emphasis. “Tracy Campbell, you should be ashamed of yourself. Dr. Nelson may be young but he’s an asset to this community. Don’t you mouth off and scare him away. You hold your tongue, missy.” Visions of third grade popped into my head.

  “Gee, this is fun. Can we do it again soon? Bye everyone.” I shot them a departing dirty look and turned to leave the stuffy waiting room. My departing move wasn’t quick enough to avoid the call from a nurse.

  “Tracy Campbell.”

  “Fucking hell,” I mumbled.

  “Tracy!” Mrs. Larson didn’t miss a beat. It was al
most as if she’d expected the vulgarity and had the reproach waiting on the tip of her tongue.

  The nurse smiled at me from behind my file. A large purple star adorned one of the corners of the manila folder. It was probably secret code for ‘pain in the ass’ or ‘make sure she pays up front.’

  I gave the woman in white a smile and a big hug. It wasn’t her fault that Dr. Nelson called me in for the fourth visit in less than two weeks. “Hi Maggie. How’s Grace?”

  “She’s great Tracy. We need to get the kids together again for a play date. Cody and Gracie had so much fun last time. I can’t believe how much energy three-year-olds have!”

  “Tell me about it. Thank God Cody sleeps well. I don’t know what I’d do if he didn’t pass out the minute his head hit the pillow.”

  Maggie Johannes was a great person. Our toddlers loved each other. We joked that they would end up as high school sweethearts. If we both stayed in Cherryville, the two of them would graduate from the one and only high school in town. The same school Maggie and I graduated from. Difference was, I attended my twentieth high school reunion last year and Maggie just went to her tenth.

  Thinking about my twenty year reunion brought on a pang of anger and sadness. Mark, my husband of five years, decided to tell me during the banquet that he was leaving me. Coward. He knew I’d have a hard time controlling my emotions. I probably would have killed him if he’d told me while we were alone. So I sat there during dinner, fighting the urge to pry his head off with my fork and butter knife. Trying not to cry. The best thing I did was turn and tell him to get out of the reception hall, out of our house, and out of my life by the time I got home. That was a year ago. The asshole hadn’t been back since and the divorce was almost wrapped up. It took a little longer than normal due to lack of finances, not cooperation.

  I hoped Maggie never had to go through what I went through. I hoped also that Grace enjoyed a long life with her dad by her side. Cody wouldn’t have that chance. Last I heard, Mark put in for a job in South Carolina. He lived on a truck driver’s paycheck and couldn’t afford a pot to piss in. I knew the father/son get-togethers would be rare.

  Maggie had an ideal family. “How are Joe and baby Frank? I can’t wait to see them again.”

  “Oh, they’re great, Tracy. Thank you so much for helping me put the crib back together.”

  We laughed at the comment since we unsuccessfully tried for two hours to reassemble the piece of furniture. Joe finally finished the task when he got off his shift at the factory.

  “I’m not sure I helped with anything besides finishing off a bottle of wine you had in your fridge.”

  “Someone had to drink it.” She passed a handful of examination rooms and turned the corner which led us into another hallway. “Tracy, that mural you painted on Frank’s wall is absolutely amazing. You should really do that for a living.”

  I tried to imagine making money off of painting elephants and tigers. “Thanks but I think working at the shop is more secure.”

  “Don’t forget, I’m still planning to watch Cody the night of your class. I’m so proud of you for agreeing to teach a session on painting.”

  The class would consist of locals who were looking for an excuse to get out of the house for an evening. A small handful of regulars usually made up the roster of students.

  I became puzzled at our long trip through the clinic. “Where are we going? I thought Dr. Nelson wanted to see me again.”

  “Oh, he does. He conducts some of his consultations in the office.”

  My sarcasm returned. “Fabulous.”

  Without knocking, Maggie swept us into the small office. Aside from an old desk heaped with papers, two dingy office chairs, and a bright bank of windows draped in hideous lace curtains, we were alone. The good doctor wasn’t home. The nurse quickly tossed my file on the cluttered desk and made for the door.

  “Wait. Where’s Doogie? I really don’t have that much time and if he is going to be a while−”

  “He stepped out for a second and should be right back. Have a seat.” She smiled at me, gave me a quick parting hug, and pulled the door shut only to reopen it a half second later. “No snooping, Tracy!”

  “Wha? Me? I will sit here like an angel.”

  Maggie knew I was lying. I heard her laugh all the way down the hall.

  I shouted after her, “Tell the doc he better hurry up! If he’s not here in two minutes I’m leaving!” In less than one minute I had my face buried in a thick file taken from his desk.

  “Well I’m here so you won’t need to break out the timer,” said a voice coming through the door.

  I stood and tried to slide the file back on his desk discreetly.

  Jeremy Nelson, M.D. greeted me with a smile. His arms were loaded down with grocery bags. He kicked the door shut and walked directly toward me. Stopping well within my personal space, he peered over my shoulder at the file I just slid back. I stared at his tanned neck. A whiff of peppermint tic tacs and a subtle aftershave floated my way. I had a sudden urge to taste the exposed skin. All I had to do was lean in and press my lips on the bend of his neck.

  His green eyes locked with my brown ones. My heart pounded and I wondered if he read my inappropriate thoughts. I waited to be yelled at. Instead he smiled and said, “You should have picked up Bob Schmidt’s file. His is better reading.”

  Swallowing hard, I tried to speak in a normal voice. “Are you working part time at the Piggly Wiggly bagging groceries? I guess that means this temporary placement at the clinic isn’t working out. Bummer.”

  Thankfully, he put more distance between us. He set the bags down on the counter under the windows and unloaded a few things. There must have been a fridge under the desk since he ducked down a few times with creamer, butter, and cheese.

  “Tracy, I know that you’re upset with me. You’ve made that fact painfully clear during our last couple of visits.”

  I winced a little at his comment. The poor doctor had been on the receiving end of my frustration. Frustration caused by a small lump in my throat. A growth, a potential tumor that I wished would just dissolve and be erased from my life forever. Two weeks ago, I came in thinking I had a strange type of sore throat. A couple of exams and an ultrasound later told me differently.

  Dr. Nelson removed files and mail from the desk. The way he piled and moved things insured he’d never find anything in those stacks again. My medical file disappeared with all the rest.

  “See, I’m good for something. I can clean off a desk.” He swished his arm across the surface to remove the small amount of dust that managed to find the faux oak. Once done with that task, he folded his arms and gave me his full attention.

  I felt bad. This man sitting in front of me did nothing to deserve the grief I’d given him. I studied his features while forming my apology. I admitted to myself that part of the reason I agreed to come in for another visit was to see his handsome face. Jeremy Nelson was easy to look at, in his early thirties, medium build, strong hands, and wavy brown hair. A few of the longer pieces curled because of the humid summer air. Many women of Cherryville hoped the good doctor would turn his temporary medical assignment into a permanent placement.

  I pushed my hormones aside. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a little frustrated with all of this. I know you think there is something wrong with my thyroid.” I held up a hand at his attempt to interrupt. “You’ve done blood work and an ultrasound to prove me wrong. But I know my body; this is not a tumor. I refuse to have a biopsy done and throw more money at my ridiculously high deductible. It will go away on its own.” I leaned in to emphasize my final statements. “Stop bugging me. It’s nothing.”

  “I agree. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. It is not serious but you need to get it looked at and removed−”

  My face felt warm as I spoke through gritted teeth, “I said stop bugging me.”

  We studied each other for a moment. I hoped I had come across as firm but not rude. If he pushed the issue I w
ould have shown him Tracy Campbell’s version of rude.

  He swept away a few remaining areas of dust. “Ok, fine. So, why don’t you just have lunch with me?”

  I slouched back in the old chair and crossed my arms. My eyebrows furrowed as I squinted at him.

  “Lunch? You want me to have lunch with you?”

  “Yes, Ms. Campbell, will you please have lunch with me?”

  I drummed my fingers against my chin. “Lunch?”

  “We’ve established that fact. Yes, lunch.”

  “Gee, I wish I could but I don’t have time to go out for lunch. I’ve been gone from work for almost a half hour already.”

  “It’s a good thing then that I brought lunch to us.” He disappeared under the desk only to reappear a moment later with various clear plastic containers. Potato salad, ham on wheat, tuna on a croissant, and a festive tub of Jell-o were laid out on the desk.