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“Oh.”
“Why don’t we meet the doctor Mr. Caleb and Mr. Keene recommended?” I suggest, as we reach the front door.
“But what if I don’t like her?” Bailey demands.
“Then I’ll listen to your reasons and we’ll see if we can work something out,” I state practically.
That’s when my little girl breaks my heart in two. Just as I jerk open the door, she whispers, “But what if she doesn’t like me?”
I barely glimpse Laura’s dark, sable curls swirling around the region of my chest height before they disappear. That’s because she didn’t spare a second to acknowledge me, but crouched down right next to Bailey’s wheelchair. “Hi. You must be Bailey.”
Bailey’s lips press together even as stubborn arms cross over her chest. Christ, even if a DNA test hadn’t confirmed she was mine long ago, I’d know it from that expression alone. I’m curious to see how the esteemed Dr. Laura Lockwood handles this.
“I’d like the chance to get to know you, Bailey.”
My mutinous child just glares at her. “I don’t want to get to know you. I want Mrs. Destry back.”
“Mrs. D’s the best, isn’t she?” Laura agrees.
“How would you know?” Bailey grumbles.
Laura sits down on the ground, barely inside the entryway. I have to prevent my tongue from falling out when her legs twist into a lotus position without thinking. Bailey’s face morphs into one of envy. I’d be willing to suffer another audit from the IRS if Laura missed it. Still, I’m not certain who is more shocked when she informs my daughter, “She’d occasionally babysit my brothers, my cousins, and me when we weren’t much older than you.”
“Really?” The excitement flies out of Bailey’s mouth before she can trample on it.
“Yes. I think she went into nannying because we terrorized her,” Laura confides.
Bailey cracks a tiny smile but is in no way giving up the war against Laura Lockwood. “I don’t want to do any stupid exercises.”
“Why not?”
“I’m tired of hurting all the time.”
I hold my breath while Laura contemplates Bailey’s demand. “It’s okay to be tired.”
Bailey’s jaw flops open. “It is? I mean, you’re saying I don’t have to do my exercises?”
“Sure.” Bailey, now on Team Laura, shoots me a smug look. I’m about three seconds from asking Laura to pick up her perfect ass and leave before she goes on to say, “If you’re willing to accept you won’t be able to walk or run like you used to.”
“I’ll be able to! You’re wrong! Tell her, Daddy!” Bailey shouts angrily.
Before I can jump in, Laura asserts herself. “In this, Bailey, I’m the expert. I’m not a nanny. What I am is a board-certified emergency room doctor.”
“Then why are you here instead of working in a hospital?”
“To help you and your dad out while he finds someone more permanent.”
“We don’t need your help,” she insists stubbornly.
“Hmm. That might be true for everything but this.”
I’m about to intervene when Laura speaks to her as directly as Dr. Rosenthal would. Right now, I appreciate her telling me she interned for him. “If you don’t do your exercises—with careful supervision—you can harm your future growth. You may not grow as tall. You may not be able to play in the same manner as your friends when you go back to school next fall.” But that’s where Rosenthal’s bedside manner ends and Laura Lockwood’s picks up. She reaches over and twists the wheelchair wheel a bit. “You have to build up the strength in your muscles. Don’t you want to get out of this thing?”
“More than anything,” Bailey admits.
“Why?”
“I want to stop being different than the other kids.”