Free The Wish List by Myrna Mackenzie Page A

and you can’t be here, but it doesn’t matter, anyway. The reasons don’t matter. Just don’t send the other therapist. I’ll wait this out until—”
    Damn. Her reasons, real reasons for backing away finally hit him. Nathan let out a sigh and forked his fingers back through his hair, trying not to look at the picture of his daughter smiling as though happiness could never possibly die—as though children could never be hurt.
    “I’m…so sorry, Faith,” he suddenly said. “How is your boy, anyway? It’s tough being sick when you’re a kid.” He remembered. He did remember that, like it or not.
    “He’s, I don’t know...” Faith’s voice was low, hesitant. “Miserable. Quiet. Too quiet for Cory, but he’ll be all right in a few days, the doctor says. In the meantime, Nathan...Nathan, you can’t wait. I’m sending a substitute. That’s final.”
    He wanted to crunch the phone in his hands, to crawl through the wires and stand in front of her, lean into her to get his point across. “I told you, Faith, that I didn’t want to be gawked at. You and Anderson are just about all I can take. And you know what a jerk I can be, how uncooperative I am. Do you really want to ask this woman to put up with me knowing what she’s walking into?”
    “You want the truth? No, I don’t. If someone’s going to have to take grief from you, then I’d rather it was me. I’m used to it, at least. And it’s very difficult asking someone to do a favor for me, knowing that I’m asking them to walk into an unpleasant situation. But darn it all, that’s the way it has to be. This therapy—we’re not talking about someone who merely needs to be able to grasp things. You know that, all too well. Your fingers have to be more than merely flexible; you have to have above average dexterity. Otherwise, if your hands didn’t cooperate during surgery, you could slip and maim someone—or at least be incapable of carrying out the tasks you’d want to do. These sessions aren’t just mildly amusing activities we take part in.”
    Her words finally brought a smile to Nathan’s face. He leaned back in the chair imagining Faith with that icy schoolteacher-stern look she wore so well. The one that made him want to move in close and press up against her to see if he could lick away the frost, make her melt beneath his mouth.
    “Mildly amusing activities?” he protested. “Lady, you’ve got to be kidding. I’ve never strained and grunted and worked so hard just to pick up a damn pencil or to grasp the phone before the person on the other end decides to give up. And yes, I know what you’re saying, but I—hell, it doesn’t change things. I’ll wait until you have time for me, Faith. If I have to backtrack to make up for lost time, that’s no problem.” Not if it meant he could steal a few extra days of time with her trying to recover the ground he’d lose .
    The thought sneaked in. He ignored it, suppressing the knowledge that he was being a jerk again, unreasonable and foolish. He tamped down the niggling thought that maybe another therapist would be the best course. Maybe if Penny Damen was competent, then he should switch to her completely. But no, Anderson had done his homework. He’d insisted Faith was the one. Nathan blew out a breath of relief.
    “I’ll wait, and you’re not to feel guilty. It’s my choice.”
    “Nathan...”
    “You don’t have any recourse. Just...watch your boy. Make sure he gets well. Call me when he’s better.”
    “Nathan...please, I wouldn’t do this if there was any other way. No way would I turn you over to someone else’s care if I could be there. I don’t like this, either.”
    Her voice sounded tired, sad, concerned. Nathan thought he could hear a small cry in the background. Faith covered the phone. She murmured something soothing and reassuring.
    Hell, what kind of a louse was he? Didn’t she have enough problems and worries without him giving her grief? Hadn’t he