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Nadia's Hope

By Lisa Buffaloe

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Faceless crowds provided a place to blend in. A way to become invisible. Just another ant in the busy throng. Students crowded the college campus as Nadia Minsky made her way to the university bookstore.
A cool breeze rustled in the trees signaling the promise of fall. At the bottom of the bookstore steps Nadia stopped, rummaged through her backpack, and found cash to buy the notebook needed for the upcoming literature project.
Young men descended the stairs toward her.
Dread slithered down her spine. She stood straight, stayed close to the rail, and focused on the top step.
“Hey, sexy.”
“Give it up.” Another voice bantered. “She’s way out of your league.”
Nadia refused to acknowledge them. She squeezed past. Just a few more steps and she’d be safe inside the building.
A wolf-whistle sent a chill from the past coursing through her veins. She stumbled and grabbed for the rail. Her hand met air. She slammed hard against the granite steps, landing on her bad side. Pain exploded down her leg. She wouldn’t cry. No one would see her cry.
A strong hand gripped her arm. “Can I help?”
Shockwaves jolted from his touch. “No.” She wrenched away and pulled herself to her feet. Steadying herself, she brushed off her jeans.
“You hit hard. Are you sure you’re okay?” His deep voice tinged with concern tempted her to look his way.
She locked her gaze on her feet. “I am fine.”
“I don’t remember seeing you last semester. I’m David Cohen.” His broad-shouldered back to her, he gathered her books and papers, including, much to her embarrassment, the Bible her friend Ruth had given her. At least her knife had stayed secure in the hidden pocket at the bottom of her backpack.
She forced herself to ignore the aching throb in her leg and instead clenched the rail. “Please, may I have things?”
“Your things? Sure.” He hesitated. “I can carry this for you.” His voice seemed gentle and kind.
“No, not is necessary.” Careful to avoid eye contact or touch, Nadia retrieved her belongings.
“I like your accent. Where are you from?”
She groaned inwardly and berated herself for speaking. Her hip throbbing, she hurried toward the door. “I transfer.”
His footsteps followed. “I didn’t get your name.”
She stopped. An intense longing for someone to know her name, to care, welled up within her, staggering her with intensity. She turned toward him and risked looking up. Sandy-brown hair, athletic physique, and blue eyes met her gaze. His white-toothed perfect smile struck her as honest and sincere.
“Nadia.” She cringed as her name left her mouth. He was a stranger.
“Nadia, nice to meet you.” He took a step toward her. “You sure you’re okay?” He was perfect. Something she could never be.
“I … I must not be late for class.”
“I’ll see you around.” He bounded down the stairs, stopped, and looked back.
She couldn’t believe she watched him. Worse yet, he caught her watching. His grin warmed her face and rustled embers long thought cold. No, she couldn’t take the chance. Not now. Never again.
Fifteen minutes later, inside the classroom, she sat in her usual spot—in the corner, against the back wall, near the door. As the Literature professor’s lecture droned on, she jotted down the main points. Why did teachers assign a chapter to read and then feel compelled to read it themselves? On autopilot, she gazed out the window providing a much-needed distraction from the boredom.
In the last month since she’d arrived, the guy on the steps was the first man she’d given her name. Why him?
She pushed a long strand of hair behind her ear. Then again, why not? He was nice enough to help. Plus, something about him seemed different. Tanned but not olive-skinned, muscular but gentle, and his smile showed in his deep-blue eyes. Last year with someone that good-looking, she would have leaped into his arms and offered her heart freely.
That was then.
Now she could only limp.

###

After class, Nadia tucked her hair inside her helmet and climbed onto the scooter her friends, the Yamins, had given her. The back of her neck heated and tingled as though someone was watching. She hesitated, her darting eyes surveying the parking lot. Slowly, she glanced over her shoulder. Fiddling with the helmet, she scanned the crowd.
Everyone seemed oblivious to her presence, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. She had to stop being so paranoid. Probably just her imagination. Her past was thousands of miles away.
Heavy campus traffic crawled, causing the familiar drive down tree-lined streets to take ten minutes instead of the normal five. She parked in front of the two-story gray house with a wrap-around porch.
Tension eased from her shoulders as she walked along the stone pathway leading to the Yamins’ front door. She couldn’t explain her bond with Ruth and Isaac. They’d met in Israel and welcomed her into their lives like a daughter—even moving with her to the university. Their generosity and love overwhelmed her, enveloping her in feelings she couldn’t understand yet craved.
The wooden porch swing swayed in the gentle breeze, casting a playful shadow on the white trim. She knocked and called through the screen door. “Ruth?”
“In the kitchen.” Ruth’s voice almost carried a tune.
Nadia set her backpack on the floor next to the mahogany entry table covered with pictures of Ruth, Isaac, their daughter Hannah, and Nadia. The photos were arranged almost as though she were part of their family.
Isaac met Nadia in the hallway and enveloped her in a hug. “Lunch is on the table, and Ruth is hungry.” His deep voice reverberated against her ear.
She caught a whiff of the cologne she had given him for his fifty-fifth birthday. “I should drive faster.”
Releasing her, he gave her a stern but playful look. “Did you speed?”
“On a scooter?”
“That’s my girl.”
Her heart squeezed at the sweet words. If only he were her real father. With Ruth and Isaac, she could breathe—the void inside temporarily filled.
She peeked around the corner into the kitchen. Ruth wore dark blue Capri pants and a button-down cotton shirt, her silver hair drawn back in a blue ribbon. The outfit looked good on her, but then again, every outfit complemented her tall, slender frame.
“Hi, sweet girl.” Ruth hugged Nadia, squeezing her tight like a loving mother, making everything seem right with the world. “I heard that tacky remark about needing to drive faster. Are you two ever going to let me forget that one incident?”
“One incident?” Nadia grinned and grabbed napkins off the granite countertop. “You are always grumpy when you not eat.”
“Okay, I’ll admit it, openly and without shame. I’m a bear when my blood sugar drops.”
Isaac kissed Ruth on her forehead. “You are the most elegant bear I have ever seen. I still have to fight men away, even after thirty years. But we know better than to make you wait for food.”
“I’ll growl at you both if you don’t get to the table for lunch.” Ruth pushed them toward the kitchen table.
Once everyone took their seats, Isaac offered the blessing.
Nadia did her usual—bowed her head, stared at her plate, and tried to disregard the words. Why pray to someone who didn’t exist? And even if he did, he didn’t listen.
Isaac finished and passed her the salad dressing. “I had an interesting morning. We removed the cast of a motorcycle accident patient, and inside we found a toothbrush and part of a coat hanger.”
“Why?” Ignoring her growling stomach, Nadia sprinkled a small amount of dressing on her salad.
“Casts help protect the bone, but the covered body parts do get itchy.”
“What else do you find in casts?” Nadia took a tiny bite but kept her gaze on Isaac.
“Rulers, knitting needles, pencils, twigs, table knives, forks, spoons, even sunflower seeds.”
Ruth nudged Isaac. “Perhaps your patients should remember to cast their cares on the Lord.”
Nadia groaned.
“Ah, yes,” Isaac tilted his head back for a moment, and then looked back at Ruth. “But where there is no revelation, the people cast off restraint.”
“Okay, let me think.” Ruth tapped her fingers on the table. She grinned, her eyes dancing with mischief. “So then, banish anxiety from your heart and cast off the troubles of your body.”
Nadia cleared her throat to speak in her most dramatic voice. “And none but fools doth wear it, cast it off.”
Both Isaac and Ruth gave her a puzzled expression.
“Romeo and Juliet, Scene II, Capulet’s orchard.”
Giggling, Ruth put her hand over her mouth before her last bite escaped. “I love it.”
Isaac sat back in his chair. “Nadia, you are a treasure.”
Focusing on her plate, Nadia grinned. Like a warm salve over fresh wounds, she craved every hug, every word of encouragement. But she’d never completely belong, a piece of her soul would always remain missing.
After lunch, Nadia helped Ruth clean off the table.
Ruth frowned as she scraped leftovers from Nadia’s plate. “You didn’t eat much.”
“I am not very hungry.” Nadia busied herself cleaning the kitchen. She didn’t need another lecture on healthy eating.
“Did you eat a good breakfast?”
“Sure.” An apple and coffee got her through yesterday and the same would get her through today.
Trying to ignore Ruth’s concern, Nadia rinsed the plates and loaded the dishwasher. “Can you show me other exercise? The stretches from last week hurt. I hate this physical therapy.”
“I know it isn’t comfortable, but it does help. Do you still need your pain pills?”
“Sometimes, yes, but it stays very sore. Plus today I fell on the steps.”
Ruth’s mouth opened as she glanced at Nadia’s side. “Oh sweetie, are you okay?”
“Yes, some cute guy helped me.”
“You noticed a cute guy?” A grin replaced Ruth’s concerned expression. “Good for you.”
Heat flashed up Nadia’s neck. “How could I not?”
“Don’t get defensive. I’m just glad someone was there to help you.” Ruth closed the dishwasher and leaned against the counter. “Stop by the office tomorrow after class. I want you to meet one of my patients who had her knee replaced after skydiving. She’s seventy-five.”
“Seventy-five and skydiving?”
“I’ve never met anyone who enjoys life as much as this lady does.”
“She must have a very good life.”
“I think she’s had an interesting one. You’ll have to get to know her. You might be surprised at what makes her tick.”
Nadia eased a stray strand of hair over her ears. “Tick?”
“I mean what makes her who she is.” Ruth removed a tray of homemade cookie dough from the refrigerator. “Did you make it to counseling?”
“Yes.” Nadia folded and refolded the dishtowel. “What is the use for talking to a complete stranger? Why must I talk to her? Why can I not talk to you?”
“I’m always here for you. I love you like a daughter, but I’m not a trained counselor.”
“You give good advice.”
“I pray that I do. But counselors have special tools to help. They’re trained, and I’m not. Please try to stick it out beyond a couple of visits this time.”
Nadia shrugged. No point arguing. “Okay, but only for you I do this.”
“Do this for yourself. I promise it will help.” Ruth pushed her toward the back door. “I want to show you my latest planting bed. Maybe someday I’ll have a yard like your aunt’s.”
“No one has a garden like Elisabeth.” Nadia stepped onto the back deck and surveyed Ruth’s latest creation. Fall mums were now planted along with Hostas and daylilies. The yard, as always, was peaceful, orderly, and safe. Nadia sighed. Once again, she was secure in the beauty of nature, the sweet memories of running and playing in Elisabeth’s garden.
“I can’t compete with your Aunt. Her garden should have been featured in a magazine.”
“Very true.” Nadia gave Ruth a smug smile. “Probably because I helped many times.” If digging in the dirt counted when she was a little girl.
“You stinker. If you didn’t have class, I’d put you to work.”
“Yes, such a shame.” She glanced at her watch. “A student must not be late.”
“Alright, missy, but next time you have a free day, I’m handing you a garden trowel and a hoe.”
Nadia grinned as she turned and walked away. “Hi ho, hi ho, to class I must go.”

###

David attempted to focus on his clinic duty and away from thoughts of the beautiful girl he’d found on the steps this morning. He’d been honest when he told her he hadn’t seen her during the summer session, but he’d noticed her plenty of times the last few weeks. He’d even taken the long way to his clinic duty, hoping to see her. Knowing her name and that she carried a Bible piqued his interest.
From a distance, she was beautiful. Up close, the entire package was stunning—figure slender but curvy in the right places, big dark eyes, eyelashes so long they almost touched her perfectly arched brows, long dark hair, and full lips. Not that he noticed.
Her jet-black eyes captivated him. Mysterious. Did he read pain or fear? Why?
And he’d practically chased her up the steps. Probably scared her to death. Of course, he was only being helpful. Wasn’t he?
In the emergency room, in front of the closed curtains of the waiting area, he read through the chart of his next patient. Bicycle accident.
With a professional smile, he opened the curtain. Four-year-old Michael Adams sat with his head in his mother’s lap. The boy held his arm against his small body. Tears pooled in his coffee-colored eyes as his mother stroked his hair.
“Mrs. Adams, I’m Dr. David Cohen.” He squatted eye-level with his patient. “What happened, Michael?”
The boy bit his quivering lip and sniffled. “I hurt my arm. And the paint scratched off.”
“The paint?”
“Uh-huh.” He held up his scratched and bloody arm. The scratches white against his dark skin.
“Don’t worry. The paint will come back when you heal.” He gently probed his wounds. “You must have been going pretty fast.”
The boy rubbed his nose and wiped his hand on his monster truck T-shirt. “I’m faster than Thomas.”
“Thomas?”
“He’s Michael’s best friend,” Mrs. Adams added.
“You’re one tough guy. It’s not every day we get a young man who races so fast he scratches off the paint. I think we need a picture for our files. We have a really cool machine called an X-ray. Mom will come with us.”
Michael glanced up at his mother and back to David. “Okay.”
Mrs. Adams helped her son off the table.
David turned to her. “We need to check for a break. I’ll have the nurse give him a mild sedative to help with the pain. If his arm is broken near the growth plate, I’ll call Dr. Yamin. He’s one of the finest orthopedic surgeons in the area.”
Michael gave David a brave nod. His face held a look of determination. “I go to X-ray and orfopedic with you.”
David knelt in front of him. “For big guys like you, we give the special treatment.”
Michael’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“You bet. The X-ray machine is like a camera, only super big, and monster truck cool.”
“Wow! Can I see it?”
Mrs. Adams’ eyes rimmed with tears. “Thank you for being so sweet to Michael. You must have children.”
“No.” David closed the chart, wishing he could close off the nagging reminder of his own father. “But hope to someday.” And when he did, he’d make sure he’d be there for his own son.

###

Classes over for the day, her roommate gone as usual, Nadia settled into her bedroom chair to check e-mails. The apartment was way too quiet. She closed the desk drawer and played with the inchworm Beanie Baby she used for a wrist rest.
Two messages appeared. Her brother Gideon asked her to come home to visit. Something had taken place in his life. She shook her head. The things in Gideon’s life usually meant trouble. She closed his message. He didn’t need to know a friend had already sent a plane ticket. Her plans had nothing to do with Gideon. However, his invitation did give an excuse to explain her trip to Isaac and Ruth—if she told them.
The cursor blinked rhythmically as she stared at the second message, a notification from her friend in Israel. She fought her climbing pulse as she clicked it open.
The message was short. Nothing new to report. No changes today.
Nadia blew out a breath and hit delete. What happened now didn’t matter. Nothing could change the past. Nothing.
Leaving the light on, she crawled into bed and jerked the covers over her head. They were still out there.

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