A Million Little Things (Mischief Bay, #3)

Not anything she expected. “If you get that, then why are you here?”

“Because you still have a future, Pamela. Many years ahead of you. I’d like to get to know you better. See where this leads. Now that I understand you haven’t felt ready to date, I’ll go more slowly.” He flashed her a smile. “I’m old enough to appreciate the power of anticipation.”

But I’m not interested in you in that way. That was what she meant to say. What she should say. Because she wasn’t. Other men weren’t on her radar. She wasn’t looking for anything other than what she had.

Only she couldn’t seem to speak the words. She was confused and sad, but also fighting a very real flicker of, if not hope, then maybe expectation. Miguel reminded her of the best part of her marriage. The connection. Being a part of something. Knowing someone. She hadn’t thought she would ever go there again and maybe she still wouldn’t. But refusing to consider the possibility no longer seemed so important.

The oven dinged. She slid in the tray of mini quiches. Miguel set Lulu down and walked to the sink. After washing his hands, he turned to her.

“I’m going to teach you how to make a margarita.”

“I know how.”

The smile returned. “You only think you do. Believe me. I’m a professional. There are secrets that will leave you amazed.”

“Highly unlikely, but sure. You can try.”

He laughed. “You’re not easy, are you?”

“No. I’m also confused and wary, just so you know.”

His humor faded. He moved close and stared into her eyes. “Be comfortable saying no, Pamela. At the same time, be comfortable saying yes. Every now and then life gives us an unexpected opportunity. How sad to walk away without sampling what is offered.”

Before she could respond, he leaned over and kissed her. Just once and oh so lightly. He straightened and walked to the island.

“The perfect margarita begins with great tequila. I brought you the best.”

“You might be a little prejudiced about that.”

“I’m not. I’ve tried all the others and this is by far the most superior tequila ever made. Now the secret to the perfect margarita is proportion and very sweet limes. Do you know how to tell if a lime is sweet?”

She leaned against the counter and smiled. “No, but I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”

He winked. “I’m going to show you, Pamela, which is much, much more interesting.”

*

Jen’s ongoing research about Jack had finally led her to someone she hoped could help. So Thursday morning she left Jack with her mother and an hour later had parked outside a three-story medical building in Orange County. The outside was a little shabby, but Jen was more concerned about the woman she was meeting inside.

She went up to the third floor and found the office. Deirdre McCallan was an herbalist and nurse practitioner who had rave reviews on several parenting sites. Deirdre specialized in treating autistic children with herbal remedies and other alternative therapies.

Jen had come prepared. She had copies of Jack’s medical records, including his most recent blood work and the results of several evaluations. She’d also recorded a few home sessions so Deirdre could see how he interacted.

The reception area was small, with a worn love seat and a single wooden chair. The air smelled of incense and sandalwood. Primitive art decorated the walls. Jen perched on the edge of the wooden chair and told herself everything would be fine. If not this woman, then she would find someone else. She wasn’t giving up on her son.

Right at eleven the inner door opened and a tall, thin woman about forty or so came out.

“You must be Jennifer,” she said, holding out her hand. “I’m Deirdre. So nice to meet you. Please come back and let’s talk.”

The private office was about three times the size of the waiting area. There were bookshelves lining two walls and fabric hangings on the others. A large window opened onto the parking lot and the freeway beyond.

The furniture was overstuffed with an Asian influence. There were several carved wood tables and a few low stools along with two sofas. The incense smell was stronger here. A refrigerator hummed in the corner. Next to that was a cabinet with a large lock by the handle.

Deirdre motioned to one of the sofas. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

When they were seated, Deirdre leaned forward. “Tell me what brings you here today.”

“It’s about my son. Jack. He’s nineteen months old.” Jen explained how he’d been growing just fine, doing everything he was supposed to do, on time. Until recently. She handed over the records, talked about the tests and finished with, “I know there’s something wrong. I’m with him every day and I feel it in my gut. But no one will listen. No one believes me.”

Deirdre sighed. “I feel your frustration. Western medicine is excellent when it comes to mechanics. You can’t meditate away a broken bone. But with the more subtle issues, especially those involving the brain, it is still in the Dark Ages. If it isn’t detailed in a textbook, it doesn’t exist.” She offered a sympathetic smile. “You’re his mother. Of course you would sense what was right and what was wrong about your own child.”

She held out her hand and Jen passed over the files. “The human body is a complex organism,” she continued. “So many systems interact in unique and unexpected ways. The immune system alone baffles us. What causes cancer? MS? Dementia. We’re barely scratching the surface.”

Jen listened politely, but honestly had no idea what the other woman was going on about. “I just want Jack to talk.”

“Of course you do. To talk and be like other children. It’s what all parents want.”

“Can you help me?”

Deirdre continued to smile. “I’m going to do my best.” She rested her hands on the files but didn’t open them. “Let me tell you how my process works. I’ll review his tests then arrange for a few of my own. I’ll want to have his hair analyzed for toxins. We’ll need to do a saliva test, which will be challenging as he’s so young, but it’s not impossible.”