Summer in Orchard Valley: Valerie / Stephanie / Norah. Debbie Macomber
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have nothing in common,” Valerie told him. “Steffie’s a crazy woman who flies off to Europe to study the Italian Renaissance, and Norah’s main goal in life is to become another Clara Barton. We don’t even look alike.” Valerie was grasping at weak excuses, and she knew it. Anything she could think of to enlist Dr. Winston’s help in keeping her father alive.
“That has nothing to do with me, Valerie,” he told her gently. “However, I’ll do everything I can to see that your father regains his health and lives to a ripe old age.”
Blinking away tears, Valerie nodded, reminding herself once again that she was the oldest of David Bloomfield’s daughters. In a crisis everyone looked to her; she was the one who needed a cool, decisive head, who couldn’t let her emotions dictate her reactions.
But it was different this time.
The man in that hospital bed, barely holding on to life, was her father, the man she idolized and loved beyond reason. Her emotions were so close to the surface that the force of them frightened her.
“I’d—I’d like to see him as soon as possible. Please.” She’d grovel if necessary. She had to be with her father. “I won’t make the least bit of noise, I promise.” She certainly didn’t want to disturb his rest. Somehow, though, she had to reassure herself that he was still alive. She’d never been more frightened.
Dr. Winston hesitated. “Wait here, I’ll go and check on him.”
He returned a few minutes later. “David’s awake and asking for you.”
Valerie was so eager that she nearly vaulted out of the room, but Dr. Winston stopped her. “Before you go to your father, let me prepare you for what you’re going to see.” He spent the next five minutes explaining the different medical devices used to monitor his patient’s heart. He explained how the small electrodes on her father’s chest detected the electrical impulses that signal the heart’s activity. He warned her about the tubes going in and out of his body.
But nothing he said could have prepared Valerie for what she saw. Her father was connected to a frightening number of tubes, machines and devices. His face was ashen, so pale and bloodless that his skin seemed iridescent. His eyes, which had always sparked with vitality, revealed no emotion, only a weariness that was soul-deep.
“Oh, Daddy,” Valerie whispered, fighting tears. She locked her fingers around his hand, careful not to disturb the intravenous needle.
“Valerie … so pleased you’re here … at last.”
“Where else would I be?” she asked, managing a smile. With the back of her other hand, she brushed a tear from her cheek.
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” her father said, apparently talking to Dr. Winston, who hovered in the doorway. “Only … what did you do to your hair?”
“Do you like it?” Valerie asked, rallying somewhat, surprised he’d even noticed that she’d changed the style. “I had it cut.” The new look was short and tousled.
“She’s got the temper to go with that red hair, you know.”
Her father was speaking to Colby Winston again.
“My hair isn’t even close to being red,” she argued, annoyed by the doctor’s effort not to grin. “It’s auburn.”
“Looks like you haven’t combed it in a month,” her father mumbled.
“Dad, I’ll have you know I paid good money for this.”
“In that case, you should demand a refund.” His voice was weak, and speaking had clearly depleted him of what little energy he possessed.
“Dad,” Valerie said, trying to disguise her concern. “Instead of complaining about my hair, you should rest.”
He didn’t respond, merely closed his eyes and sighed audibly.
“I’m going to leave you for a little while,” Valerie said. “But I’ll be right outside, so if you want to tell me how much you like my hair and beg my forgiveness, then all you need to do is ring for the nurse.” Dr. Winston had told her earlier that she’d be allowed to visit her father five minutes out of every hour, depending on how well he was doing.
David’s smile was barely discernible.
“Rest now, Daddy. I’m here.”
Dr. Winston’s hand was at her elbow directing her out of the glass-enclosed cubicle.
“Doc?” Her father’s voice had a sense of urgency.
“What is it, David?”
“She’s the one I was telling you about. You remember what I said, don’t you?”
“Yes. Now don’t you worry about a thing.”
“Her hair doesn’t usually look like a rag doll’s.”
“Daddy!” Valerie had no idea what was taking place between the two men but she wasn’t going to stand idly by and let them insult her.
“This way,” Colby Winston said, leading her from the Coronary Care Unit.
“What was that all about?” Valerie asked the instant they were out of earshot.
“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” he said without meeting her eyes.
Valerie wasn’t fooled. There was definitely something going on, and she wanted to know what. She’d been in business far too long to allow questionable remarks to slip past her unchallenged.
“What did Dad mean, I’m ‘the one’?”
Dr. Winston still refused to look at her. “While we—your father and I—were talking earlier, he voiced a few concerns about his daughters.”
“Yes?” Valerie said. Making an effort to appear nonchalant and relaxed, she walked over to the coffeepot and lifted it to him in silent invitation.
Dr. Winston shook his head and Valerie refilled her own paper cup. “So, what did Dad have to say about us girls?” she asked.
“He’s very proud of all three of you.”
“Naturally. We’re his children. What I’d like to know is what he meant when he said I was ‘the one.’”
“Yes, well.” He walked away from her and stood gazing out the window into the night sky.
“Come on, Dr. Winston, I’m a mature woman and this is my father. I’m sure if I insisted he’d tell me.” They both knew that coercing her father was out of the question; nevertheless, it was an effective ploy. Dr. Winston went to the coffeepot and filled a cup, even though he’d declined one moments earlier.
“It seems he’s the most worried about you.”
“Me?” Valerie blurted. Of the three girls, she was the most financially secure. She was established in an excellent career and living on her own. For heaven’s sake, she was the only one with investments! “That makes no sense at all.”
“Yes, well.”
“Why is he worried about me? Furthermore, why didn’t he talk to me instead of discussing it with you?”
“There are any number of reasons—”
“Just tell me what he said,” Valerie interrupted impatiently.
“Your father seems to think—”
“Yes?” she prompted.
“That you should be married.”
Valerie couldn’t restrain her laughter. It shot out of her, like bubbles from a champagne bottle.
“In fact,” Colby continued grimly, “your father seems to think you should be married to me.”