Page 305 of Under Her Skin

I stop, too, and wait to see what they say to one another. Delaney looks over her shoulder at me with a deer-in-the-headlights kind of look, which I find kind ofamusing.

Let’s see how she handles this littlesituation!

“Why?” she askshim.

“I need a date for Thanksgiving. My parents are insisting I bring someone and mom likes you,” he says, then gives me a nod. “How are you doing today, Mr.Vanderbilt?”

“I’m great. I had a good day here yesterday, followed by a great night. Cannot complain, not one bit,” I say as I wait to see how Delaney gets out ofthis.

“Is it in the afternoon or evening?” she asks, making my insides get a bit on the jittery side. If she thinks she’s going to go with him to his family’s house, she has another thinkcoming!

“Evening,” he says, then he moves his hand up to stroke her cheek with his knuckles, and I get very jitteryinsides.

She steps back and shakes her head. “Can’t do it then, sorry. You see, I’m Mr. Vanderbilt’s aid and he wants to throw the kids a Thanksgiving dinner in the evening. During the day, he’ll be with his brother and sister to eat withthem.”

Then the monkey is on my back and Paul looks at me. “Can’t you switch things around, Mr. Vanderbilt? You can do lunch with the kids here and eat a nice Thanksgiving dinner with your family in the evening. Then she could come withme.”

No way in hell,buddy!

“No can do. My sister has invited someone and they have to work in the evening. Sorry. Maybe next year,” I say and watch himfrown.

“Surely another nurse can help him for that day. Find him someone else, Delaney,” he says, then reaches out for her again. “I need you. You know I wouldn’t be begging like this if Ididn’t.”

She takes another step back to avoid his touch. “Paul, I can’t do that. End of discussion. We have a ton of things to do today and this is slowing us down and putting us behind. Ask someone else to go with you. I already told you we were done anyway.” She reaches back and grabs my hand. “Come on, Mr. Vanderbilt. We have three more patients to get to before lunch.” She tugs me along behind her as Paul watches her with his lips held tightlytogether.

I wait until he’s out of earshot, then whisper, “He is not a happyman.”

“I know. He’ll move on. I’m sure of it,” she says, then turns abruptly and knocks on another door, “Meagan, are youdecent?”

“Yes, ma’am,” a young girl answersher.

As we walk in, I am struck by the many lines that are going into the young girl. “Hi,” I say as I make my way to her bed, which she obviously can’t get out of. “I’m Blaine. I’m here to make some of your dreams come true,princess.”

She has a tiny, pink bow taped to the top of her bald head. Her green eyes are so light, they’re nearly transparent. She has to be all of six years old, Ibet.

“My dreams?” she asks as she peers up at me from her flat position on thebed.

“Yes, your dreams,” I tell her and sit on the side of the bed. Gently, I stroke her shoulder, then run my hand over her forehead. “How are you feeling?” Her head is warm and her cheeks are red, while the rest of her is so pale it seemsunreal.

“Not good,” shesays.

I turn back to find Delaney busily checking the machines. “She’s kind of warm, NurseRichards.”

“Let me get her temp,” she says and hurries to place a thermometer in hermouth.

It doesn’t take but a moment for it to start beeping. “You have a fever, precious,” I tell her as Delaney pulls the thermometer out and checksit.

“One hundred and one. Let me have Dr. Jensen paged. She’s here today.” Pressing the nurses’ station call button on the side of the bed, she sets things in motion for the doctor to make this very sick little girl a toppriority.

I sit on the bed and run my hand back and forth along her thin arm. Never have I seen someone so small and frail. It hurts me to know children can get thissick.

The memory of the first few weeks when mom didn’t come home linger in the back of my mind. I recall asking Pops if there was any way possible that she might get to come back home. I asked him nearly every day, and I prayed she’d walk through our front door on manyoccasions.

It was all the way back then that I started questioning if there was a God at all. And if there was, why would he take away three little kids’ mother? We needed her and he took her away fromus.

I look at this poor, sweet little girl and have to ask, what did she do to deserve this? Why was this put on her tiny shoulders to bare? What kind of a God would dothat?

After I swallow back the knot in my throat, I say, “I’d like to bring you something to make things better for you. What kind of toy would you like? Anything in the world is yours for theasking.”