Dr. Dad To The Rescue. Jodi O'Donnell
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Maybe.”
“Are you scared what I might do will cause discomfort, Sam?”
Chin tucked, he chewed his lip. Then he nodded. “A-a little.” His voice trembled, the poor little boy.
The doctor made a sound, no doubt gearing up for what was sure to be another of his textbook interpretations of the problem, which would naturally be so helpful to Sam. Quickly, she shot Holden a forestalling glance, hoping this time he’d get the message. Normally, parents didn’t involve themselves in their children’s treatment once the therapist had established a rapport with the child. As a medical professional, Dr. McKee should know better than to interfere with that process, although she had a feeling getting him to give up even a little control to her was going to be an uphill battle.
She saw a muscle spasm pulse in his jaw. He inclined his head ever so slightly, yielding to her judgment For now.
Edie turned her focus back to Sam, whose hunched shoulders had drawn up even more, until he looked like a turtle retreating into its shell.
He would break her heart before this was over, Edie was certain. Something told her what she did in the next few moments would make all the difference in the world to this boy.
“You know, Sam, it’s all right to be scared.” She made her voice very hushed, just between the two of them. “I won’t lie to you and say what we’re going to do won’t feel a little uncomfortable for you, but we won’t do anything you’re not okay with. Deal?”
He didn’t answer.
Oh, what to do with a boy who shut everyone out of his pain! Edie was at a loss for how to proceed, was acutely aware Dr. McKee watched her every move. The words of her supervisor rang in her brain. You can’t let yourself get so emotionally involved, Edie. It’s not good for the patient—your judgment isn’t as clear—and it’s not good for you. You’ll end up losing yourself, burning out.
Yet every cell in her urged her not to hold back, and not just with Sam. Edie didn’t know why, but something told her that by doing so even a little, she would lose a part of herself. If she stifled the emotion, then she stifled her ability to connect.
She’d become like the doctor here.
She found herself wondering again where Sam’s mother was, could not imagine what kept her from being with him—and her husband.
On that thought, Edie laid her palm on Sam’s shoulder—much as she’d done moments earlier with Holden, it occurred to her. But it just seemed the thing to do, both then and now.
And such was the power of a simple touch that the boy responded like his father had. His head came up, chestnut brown hair falling over his forehead, and he peered at her, gaze searching.
“Will you trust me, just a little, Sam?” she murmured.
Dark lashes flickered, as if he were afraid to believe in what she offered. But then, hadn’t he stood there barely ten minutes ago and listened to his father insist upon the futility of believing in anything or anyone? Then to have that point driven home by being forced to admit he shouldn’t have believed he could fly!
How many more hopes and dreams could this child stand to have dashed?
“Will you trust me, Sam?” Edie urged.
His brow furrowed—as if he were afraid not to believe.
You can believe in this, Sam, she telepathed to him. My help, my understanding, my friendship. My allegiance.
Sam nodded. “’Kay. I’ll trust you.”
Relief washed over her. So the damage was repairable at this point.
“I’m glad you’ve put your trust in me, Sam,” she said around the lump in her throat. “I won’t let you down.”
With a smile of confidence, Edie glanced up at Holden.
Eyes hard as granite met hers.
“Is making personal affirmations to patients standard practice at this clinic, Ms. Turner?” he asked in that instructor-tostudent manner.
Her face grew hot. She couldn’t entirely blame him for that; by making her promise to Sam, she was the one who wasn’t being entirely professional. Yet she couldn’t find it in her to regret doing so. She’d had to follow her instincts.
“Do you think it better to tip the scale on the other end of the spectrum, Dr. McKee?” she asked, with that same air of them having a friendly debate, her calming hand still upon Sam’s shoulder. “Detach yourself completely from another’s distress when you have the ability to help ease it?”
“Of course not. But we’re not miracle workers. Too much is out of your control, and what is could get yanked out from under you in an instant—”
He broke off, clearly angry at himself for losing some of his control. “All I’m saying is, don’t make promises you can’t keep, Ms. Turner.”
Not to my son. She was well aware of his unspoken addendum, was well aware that Sam listened and might pick up on the tone of their conversation.
“But that’s just it. I haven’t.” She lifted her chin. “I will help Sam to the very best of my ability, Dr. McKee. You may depend on that, too.”
He studied her as skeptically as ever but said no more. Truly, she didn’t want to butt heads with him—especially not in front of Sam—but she had to do what she thought best.
Settling that aim in her mind, Edie turned her complete attention back to the boy. “All right, then! Let’s get an idea of what’s going on with that arm. Can you try and make a fist for me, Sam?”
Though obliging enough, the loose fist Sam curled his fingers into seemed not altogether his best effort. True to form, Dr. McKee was Johnny-on-the-spot with a pithy piece of medical advice. “Simple flexion of the fingers doesn’t significantly demonstrate range of elbow motion and forearm rotation.”
Whether he meant the comment for her enlightenment or Sam’s wasn’t clear. She only saw the boy’s mouth go taut.
She really was losing her patience.
“You know what I just realized?” Edie said. “That this trust thing sort of works both ways. Meaning we need to trust you, Sam, to be the judge of how much you can do. Don’t you agree, Dr. McKee?” She gazed at him innocently.
Holden’s own mouth went rigid as another of those spasms pulsed in his square jaw. “Of course,” he answered.
“Great.” She nodded to Sam. “Just give it your best shot, champ.”
Tongue curled up over his lip, Sam made a fist not much tighter than the last. Regardless, Edie made sure her praise was lavish—and quick. “Very good! Now try touching your pointing finger to your thumb.. .now your middle finger, right...ring finger, then pinkie. There you go!”
The boy’s shoulders relaxed visibly, she noted with satisfaction. “I guess...I guess maybe I will be able to play again. Regular stuff, I mean. Not magic tricks.”
“Well, it is pretty hard learning you’ve got a long way to go to be a master illusionist—or an escape artist, like I wanted to be when I was about your age. I was going to be the next Harry Houdini. Squeeze my fingers, will you, Sam? Hard as you can, but don’t hurt me, okay?”
Sam actually cracked a one-sided smile, even as he earnestly concentrated on complying with her request. The result seemed most promising. He was loosening up, both literally and figuratively. “Playing Harry Hou...who?”
“Harry Houdini. He was a very famous magician who specialized in escaping from things. Yup, I cracked my head a good one trying to escape from a straitjacket while hanging upside down.”
The boy’s eyes rounded. “Really?”
“’Course I didn’t have a real straitjacket, just an old bedsheet I wrapped around myself