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Nearly Beloved
Nearly Beloved
Nearly Beloved
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Nearly Beloved

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In his hands is the power to heal. Michael, a surgeon who specializes in trauma knows that his gift is God-given and that much is expected from him. Freely he gives of his talent, but his heart will not belong to anyone again.

Her hands create beauty. Erin is an artist who sells her paintings in a downtown gallery. Struggling with finances, Erin refuses to let go of her God-given vocation despite the impending loss of her business. She knows that the God who gives her an artist’s touch is the same God who will provide her needs.

When Rose, a customer plays matchmaker to her artist friend and her surgeon son, the best of intentions go terribly wrong when Michael thinks Erin is only after his money. Erin sees a hurt heart and a man who needs love, but can she tear down the wall that imprisons his heart?

LanguageEnglish
PublisherDiana Mylek
Release dateJun 17, 2011
ISBN9781458038999
Nearly Beloved

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    Nearly Beloved - Diana Mylek

    Nearly Beloved

    Diana Mylek

    Copyright © 2009 Diana Mylek

    All rights reserved.

    ISBN-10: 1502711508

    ISBN-13:  978-1502711502

    For my niece Erin, who is an artist--of cakes, and for whom my character is named and for my mother in law, Beverly who is always sharply dressed! I am surrounded by women who are not only great role models but also bring me great joy.

    A wife of noble character, who can find? She is worth far more than rubies. Her husband has full confidence in her and lacks nothing of value.

    Proverbs 31:10—11

    THE HOLY BIBLE: NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®.  NIV®.  Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by Biblica.  All rights reserved worldwide.

    CHAPTER 1

    One thing was sure; the painting would never sell. Erin closed one eye and tried to decide which way to hang the wretched canvas of Autumn Flowers. Flowers being a generous term for the green and orange paint splashes.

    Rose, what were you thinking? she said, shaking her head in wonder. Did I teach you anything? Erin sighed and placed the nametag and price on it anyway. Rose was one of her best customers—one of her only regulars and in no way would she risk their friendship or hurt her feelings. Erin had grown fond of the woman who frequented her shop carrying her little white dog in a mesh carrier. On a good day, they talked between patrons. Most days, conversations went uninterrupted. Erin was barely breaking even.

    Rubbing the back of her neck and stretching her back, Erin left the hanging work of art and locked the door for the day. Today she sold one painting at three hundred dollars. It would keep her open another twenty-four hours, and for now that was the best she could do. She lived and worked in the narrow shop with a loft apartment. In truth, it was a drafty, brick-walled storeroom with impossibly high pipe-coated ceilings that doubled as her living quarters. Except for cold winters, she loved her unusual space with a huge glass skylight over the raised platform that held her bed. On starry nights she could stare into the heavens and thank God for the glory of evening lights. If rain poured out from heavy clouds the noise on her windows was deafening and the view like standing under a waterfall. Erin loved the apartment and shop with its wooden-beamed ceilings and wall. The art district downtown was busy during the day and full of music at night. If only she could make the shop profitable.

    The phone rang and she snapped from her thoughts to business mode, repeating her standard answer. North Shore Gallery, this is Erin. Not that anyone else answered the phone. Erin couldn’t afford any help so she was owner, sales clerk, secretary, accountant and resident artist. To her customers and friends she was a tireless worker but in truth Erin wasn’t in any position to hire anyone else.

    Erinnnnn! Jodie, Erin’s sister nearly screeched into the phone. Guess what, sista? Guess?

    You have a date, Erin said drolly. Jodie always had a date. And each one was the man of her dreams, for a few hours, till reality set in and she saw past the chiseled jaws, the dimple in his cheeks. So what else is new?

    Jodie laughed, not at all insulted by her sister’s demeanor. This guy is it, I mean the one. He’s a doctor! Who cares about anything else?

    I would if he were a serial killer.

    Ah, you are so…

    Cautious? Erin offered. I’d at least want to know if he’s married.

    Jodie sighed into the phone. Oh, ye of little faith. Of course he’s not married. I asked him.

    Oh, that is very wise. As if a man cheating on his wife would tell you. Erin tucked the day’s receipts into her purse. I’m just closing up, where are you going?

    To his club, Erin. His club!

    Erin raised an eyebrow. Yacht club?

    What else is there? Don’t wait up for me to call, I’ll probably be late.

    Laughing, Erin hung up the phone and started for the back stairs. It didn’t matter if Erin waited up or not; Jodie would think nothing of calling in the middle of the night to recollect her date with the doctor. And Erin would listen, as she always did because Jodie had a much more exciting life than Erin and she envied her sister’s outgoing personality. While Erin was more cautious, realistic, and responsible, Jodie was gregarious, carefree and not about to let something as petty as a job get in the way of her social life. She was sloppy, irresponsible and the most wonderful person in Erin’s life. Since the death of their mother four years ago, Jodie had stayed home with her father, supposedly to take care of him. But a man of fifty didn’t need a nurse and Jodie was the worst cook in the world.

    Erin loved her father, an over the road driver. She dated…well, never but not by choice. The gallery was her life right now, and it was imperative that she make a profit; her father was not financially able to help her and Jodie wasn’t in any danger of holding down a job. This was all Erin had—her artistic talents and a burning desire to create. She painted to relax, she painted when she was happy and she painted to feel close to God. The Creator of all things was the first and best artist of all; Erin loved him for the beauty of nature and in the things humans were led to design. In Erin’s mind, art was a tribute to God.

    Whoa, where do you think you’re going? Erin scooped her tiny Siamese cat into her arms. The cat, barely larger than a kitten was surely the runt of the litter but Erin loved its small stature, its lovely blue eyes. Behind the beauty was the soul of a joker, and more than a few times Erin was woke in the night by something falling from the headboard of the bed onto her face. Hair bands, rings, paint brushes—whatever Ming could carry. How could Erin be angry at the cat when it grinned in its feline way and jumped out of reach only to lick a paw as if bored?

    Dinner time, Ming. What did you make tonight? For an answer, the cat wiggled out of her grasp and ran under the sofa. Emerging again, she held the carcass of a brown mouse.

    Ooh, good kitty, Erin cooed, gently prying the rodent loose and replacing it with a kitty treat. We’ll put your treasure in its usual place. She stuffed it in the trash and replaced the lid, then went to wash her hands. The answering machine beeped and she wondered who would call and leave a message at the apartment when everyone knew she was downstairs at the shop most of the day.

    Erin? Sorry to call you at home but I didn’t want to take you from paying customers, Rose’s voice sounded from her machine. I was thinking maybe five hundred dollars is too much for my painting? Maybe three—after all, I’m not a known artist.

    Oh, Rose. Erin sighed as the woman went on about a friend she knew who sold a sculpture for over a thousand dollars.

    I don’t want to under price it—you know, seem like an amateur. Let me know what you think.

    Erin started to call her back and stopped. She hated to tell her friend that the painting might not sell at all. Let Rose have her dream.

    In the waning light of evening, a storm was brewing. Erin could see lightning flashes in the sky and hoped her sister’s date had enough sense not to go out on a boat. Lake Michigan was not friendly in spring when the storms rolled in and waves crashed against the shoreline. Erin envisioned her sister on the lake, swaying with the surf, reveling in an adventure.

    Erin found a can of ravioli and emptied it into a bowl before tossing it in the microwave. Three minutes later, the ping of the appliance alerted her that dinner was ready. She opened a diet soda, placed the bowl of pasta on the table and sat down to read the newspaper. She clicked on the television and watched the news, recorded earlier. The storm kicked in, drenching her skylight with rain and drowning out the news anchor that spoke of a medical mission to Guatemala. Something about a local doctor who volunteered to repair the misshapen faces of deformed children. Erin frowned at the pictures on the set and when the reporter started to interview the doctor, the electricity in her apartment went out completely, so she never did see the story.

    §

    Michael’s mother stopped dead in her tracks. And where on Earth are you going now?

    He stopped packing long enough to answer. Guatemala. I told you about it.

    She put a hand to her head as if swooning and leaned against the doorframe. He had seen this act many times before and it affected him not one bit. Stuffing the last of his clean socks in the suitcase, he closed it up and set it on the floor next to the bed.

    Feed my fish while I’m gone? Michael asked, as he did every time he traveled.

    His mother rolled her eyes and straightened. I haven’t killed any yet. At least let me feed you before you go.

    Mother…I’m catching a plane at nine. I have to get to the airport. Michael looked around to see if he had forgotten anything and saw his wallet on the dresser. He stuffed that in the pocket of his khakis and turned to kiss his mother. See you in two weeks. We’ll do a night on the town.

    You always say that, Rose pouted, her eyes shiny with tears. You’re out to save the world but you don’t give a second thought for your own mother.

    He grunted at her plea and ignored the fake tears she was straining to shed. Come on, Ma. You paid for my education and told me to make a difference in the world. I’m using the talents and knowledge God gave me, just like you prayed. You should be proud.

    Proud? Of my son the surgeon? She made a sputtering noise. That I spent a lifetime preparing you to be the man you are only to have you run away from home?

    Oh, Mother. He sighed and hugged her tight. I love you. Get over it.

    Laughter bubbled up from deep within her. Michael, what am I going to do with you?

    Quit nagging me, for one. He tweaked her nose and grabbed his suitcase.

    One grandchild, that’s all I ask. Rose stood between him and the door. My friend Dawn has four! And she’s two years younger than me.

    Her daughter started at sixteen. She’s got ten years on me.

    Fourteen but who’s counting? Crossing her arms, Rose stepped aside but followed her son down the wide, curving staircase. You’re thirty years old, Michael. When do you think you’ll settle down?

    He stopped and shook his head. When the right woman comes along. I’m too busy to worry about it. This much was true. In an emergency time meant nothing to Michael, only the life and health of a patient. Operations took minutes, hours—at times, a whole day. He worked on no set schedule, just as needed in trauma and surgery. And Michael loved his life that way, on the edge of life and death, with only him and his team between heaven and earth in a patient’s life. He was not God, but Michael used his hands and brain as if he were the Almighty’s instrument. And he did not take his call lightly, no matter the sacrifice to him.

    Setting his suitcase on the ceramic tile of the foyer, Michael flipped open his cell phone and called his best friend and partner in travel, Drew. A computer repair technician by trade, he jumped at the chance to join Michael in his medical mercy missions all over the world. It kept him connected to humanity and reminded him to be grateful for all he was given.

    Hey. Michael had no need to identify himself. I’m on my way.

    Cool. I’m up to my elbows in a problem with my client’s computer but when you get to the airport I’m walking away from it all. My eyes are crossing I’m so stressed.

    Michael smiled, said good-by and kissed his mother. Don’t forget, the fish. See you in two.

    Rose groaned dramatically and held the door till he was gone.

    The plane was delayed because of weather. Accustomed to such occurrences, Michael used the time to catch up with Drew on the latest news. His friend was dating a woman that had three kids and dearly wanted a fourth.

    Don’t look at me, Drew said, shaking his head. I love kids, but I’m not ready to father a brood. I’m the third man she’s dated in two years and it seems every time the kids get attached, she moves on to someone else.

    So what’s the attraction? Michael asked. I mean, if you don’t want to be a father.

    Drew raised a paper cup to his mouth and sipped. I like the kids a lot more than the mom. One of them is in my Sunday school class and he’s the coolest kid. She comes as a package.

    Michael laughed and set his coffee on the table. Usually it’s the other way around. You date a woman and tolerate her kids.

    Aw, you know I never do anything normal. What’s the fun in that? Drew downed the rest of his coffee and crumbled the cup in his hand. He winked at a stewardess who happened past and she slowed her pace to give him a second glance.

    Hello, I’m talking to you. Michael waved a hand in front of his friend’s face. Geeze, Drew.

    With a grin, he tore his eyes away from the stewardess. Can’t help it, I’m a babe magnet.

    More like a baby magnet, retorted Michael. And speaking of babies, my mom’s at it again. As if that’s all there was to life, procreating. She is determined to get a grandchild; it’s like an obsession with her. She’s making me crazy.

    Your mother? Drew laughed and threw his cup at a trash container. He missed. Rose was not one to fade in the background. If she had something on her mind, no one was safe from her opinion. Yet she was not overbearing so much as persuasive, and if Rose wanted something, she did not give up till she had it.

    Michael shrugged. He didn’t need to tell Drew about his mother’s desire to have a grandchild; Drew spent nearly as much time with Rose as her own son. His own mother had passed away when he was a young child and Rose raised him right alongside her son even when his father remarried and moved across the States. Rose gained custody of Drew, put him through college on her own money and was the only mother he really knew.

    Maybe I should bring home your friend and her kids. Give my mother three for the price of one.

    Whatever works. Hey look, you’re on the news. Drew pointed to the television hanging from the ceiling of the airport terminal. A news reporter was interviewing Michael about his impending mercy mission. They discussed the needs of the children and the group’s excitement to be part of such a worthy cause. The reporter mentioned Michael’s many trips and said that he organized this one, but Michael corrected the statement saying it was actually his pastor’s idea.

    He’s got the vision and we’re just the hands of the Lord reaching out, Michael told him. We’re storing up treasures in Heaven. The reporter had a blank look on his face and ended the interview saying that donations could be sent to any Merchant Bank.

    Apparently that was new to him, the treasures in heaven thing, Drew said. I’ll bet even now he’s scratching his head, wondering.

    Michael shook his head. Somehow I don’t think so.

    Boarding was called for the departure and they moved from café table to the terminal. Tonight’s flight was not full and they were able to put a seat between them and stretch. Michael was bone tired; two surgeries today and a full night shift last night had given him a twenty-four-hour workday. He planned to sleep on the flight to Houston and then again to Central America. Broken sleep was better than none even though Michael was used to catching whatever he could from his resident days. He settled in, paying no attention to his buddy as he flirted with the stewardess. Women loved Drew and it wasn’t just his movie-star good looks. Or maybe it was. Michael was too tired to think about it and if he were really lucky, he’d be asleep before takeoff and not have to think another thought till Miami.

    Up, Golden Boy. We’re here. Drew nudged his friend and stood to reach for their bags. Michael was instantly awake and before he even stood he was alert and ready to go. They left the plane, only to hop another one and once again, Michael was asleep in minutes. The last thing he heard was the clicking of computer keys and he slept until they reached their destination.

    For the next two weeks Michael’s life was a blur of endless patients, cutting, sewing, giving medicine and wrapping bandages. The people appeared from nowhere, lined up at the clinic for a mile, and slept right outside the doors for days until it was their turn for treatment. Same as always, Michael thought as he eyed the line snaking through the dirty, mud-caked streets. Men lay, propped against buildings while mothers calmed their crying babies and children ran around the whole crowd. Sick people with long-set broken extremities, sores that seeped and smelled enough to turn a stomach and illnesses that were healed easily in the states waited patiently for the only medical care they might get all year. No fees were charged, though some, too proud to accept charity left payment in the form of a chicken or handmade clothing for the doctors and nurses. One of the women brought Michael a brightly colored rug she had dyed and woven and presented it with much pride. He was sure to thank her properly and sent her home with her child’s cleft lip repaired; the little girl’s face as beautiful as it was meant to be. He scrubbed up and moved on to the next patient without a pause and by midnight Michael fell beyond exhaustion onto a pallet on the floor. Before dawn he was up again and attending patients, his fellow medical personnel and Drew by his side.

    On the second to last day of their mission, a young man was brought in with end-stage cancer. He was younger than Michael and his eyes were a mask of pain. The cancer had started in his mouth, eaten away most of his face, and left him one big, open wound where his mouth and nose should be. It was the most horrible sight Michael had ever seen.

    Oh, man, sighed Drew. It would be more merciful to put him out of his misery. I mean, he’s going to die soon anyway, why prolong his suffering?

    I can’t, Drew. It’s not for me to choose when to end his life. Michael let out his breath and probed gently with his gloved hands. He truly could do nothing for this poor youth but make his final days as comfortable as possible. What if he had found this young man before the disease had progress so far? Could he have saved him then? How many others were suffering in silence, not getting the care that would ultimately save their lives? Michael could make a thousand visits and not cure everyone. So he gave the family instructions on how to inject medicine, sent them home with enough to keep the youth reasonably pain free for two weeks, and prayed that God would end his suffering soon. The family assured him they understood and left with the bag Michael provided. It was hard, watching them go, but he had done his best, and there were still hundreds waiting for care in the twenty-four hours left till his plane took off. Michael picked up his pace and set about seeing all of them.

    Like he was on the losing end of a prize fight. That’s how Michael felt as they boarded the plane. This puddle jumper would take them to the main airport and he grated his teeth as the little plane soared just above the treetops into the sky. Bumping and dipping, the passengers held onto their seats and tried to ignore the nausea that grew in the pits of their stomach. An hour and forty minutes later, they jumped from the fuselage, their aching muscles now screaming. More than anything else in his life, Michael wanted a shower but it would have to wait till they were home. And that was a whole lot of hours from now. He and Drew needed no words to describe how they felt to one another, it was written on their face.

    This had to be the roughest trip yet, Drew sighed as they sat in the airport waiting for their flight. I had a great time. When’s the next one?

    Christmas, Michael grinned. I can’t wait.

    Me either. And they both meant it.

    §

    CHAPTER 2

    The shop was closed for the evening, but Erin had a painting she wanted to finish. She sat at her canvas, readied her paints and had her brush in the air when a loud knock at her door made her stop. Setting her brush aside the pallet, she stood and moved around the painting to see who was standing at the door.

    Rose. Erin smiled and unlocked the door to let her enter.

    I decided to take you to dinner, no excuses, Rose said hurriedly. I overheard you talking to your sister on the phone and you said there was no money for groceries today.

    Erin blushed pink with embarrassment. Oh! I meant…well, there is no money for groceries but I do have a loaf of bread and some lunchmeat. Just no real dinner.

    Rose shook her head, and pulled bills from her purse. I can’t let you go hungry. Here, buy food. For you and your little kitty.

    I—I can’t take that, Erin said, pushing it gently back. Tomorrow I’m sure I’ll sell paintings, there’s a couple who said they would be back. I really can’t take your money.

    The woman would not be dissuaded. At least let me take you to dinner. You’ll feel guilty enough to let me do all the talking and tonight I just wanted a friend to listen.

    Erin smiled and hugged Rose. You don’t have to pay for my friendship, silly. However—I’ve got a taste for lasagna that won’t go away. Are you game?

    Rose opened the shop door up and pointed outside with her thumb. Atta girl, Erin. Eating is one of the things I do best.

    They were given a booth in a quiet corner of the restaurant, a window seat overlooking a flower garden. The view was lost to the women, however; they were talking about their lives, rather Rose was talking and Erin listened as she sipped ice tea.

    I wasn’t born to wealth, Rose said as she played with the cloth napkin. My parents were both raging alcoholics who spent their days fighting and their nights drinking. My sisters, brother and I were trapped in a life of fear and want; we used to go through garbage cans looking for food.

    Erin shook her head. How awful.

    Rose agreed, but said, That wasn’t the half of it. By the time I turned eighteen I wanted to run from home. And I nearly did, but my older sister was already on the streets, selling her body for money. At twenty she was a mother of two, drug addicted and a prostitute. I knew that’s what the streets had to offer. I wanted more, a real life, the things I dreamed of.

    You found it. Erin looked at Rose’s bejeweled fingers. Real stones, not imitation. She had the unmistakable air of wealth.

    Rose rubbed her diamond wedding ring. I had something men wanted, a beautiful face and figure to die for. My only worth was in that. When I met my husband—my son Michael’s father, he was a sixty-year old widower with three sons older than me. He wanted my youth, and I wanted his money and security. Both of us understood the trade. But I wasn’t a gold digger, I decided to make him proud and express my gratefulness by making him very happy. I was sure to let his sons be first and foremost in importance in his life and never challenge them for any of his estate. And Douglas was very generous, fair and financially shrewd. We all came away with plenty when he passed away eight years ago.

    The waitress placed their dinners on the table and they were silent a few moments while enjoying the meal. Erin watched as Rose’s rings glowed in the faint candlelight of the table decoration. To the casual observer, she looked easily ten years younger than the fifty-year old widow that she was. Her skin was soft and clear, her hair styled in the latest fashion, and she wore a form-fitting sweater and skirt. She was a beautiful woman, and not a few men gave her admiring glances as they passed through the restaurant. Erin looked at her own simple dress and flats, both bought at a second hand shop a few doors down from her gallery. Her straight blonde hair was pulled back in a clasp, and she brushed a stray lock from her face. Makeup for Erin was always applied sparingly, not because she didn’t like wearing it but because she was running out and had no money for more. She couldn’t remember her last haircut.

    I put my son through medical school and he’s a gifted surgeon who could be making millions too—plastic surgery, you know. But he uses his talents for the good of others. Where did I go right? She laughed. His career however, is more important to him than anything else; he put his heart and soul into it.

    That’s a good thing, Erin said.

    Rose waved her hand in the air. Sure, but working the way he does, there’s no time for a social life. He’s thirty! I’m worried that I’ll never get a grandchild.

    Erin chuckled. Oh, my father says the same thing to us girls. What is it with turning fifty? Does that trigger the grandparent gene?

    Honey. Like crazy. I see these people with their grandchildren, taking them to the zoo and showing them off in the park…And I’m jealous! Can you believe it? Rose laughed.

    Well…I kind of understand, Erin replied, looking down at the table. I see other women with husbands and children and I’m reminded of the hole in my life. Usually I’m too busy to think about it, but when I see them so happy with such beautiful children, it makes me very sad.

    Rose sipped her drink. I knew you would understand. It’s so wonderful to have another woman to share with. My son is gone again, on another medical mercy mission and I’m at home with my dog. When my son is home he’s too busy to spend time with me anyway. I just get lonely sometimes.

    Oh, but Rose you have so many friends. You’re always going to lunch or a charity event. You have a full life.

    Full of acquaintances. No one close, really. She ate a few bites and held her fork in the air as she talked. This is so good. Not as good as my own but it’s no fun cooking for only me.

    You mean having your maid cook for you.

    Rose laughed. "Of

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