Surprise flooded him. He wasn't the religious sort, but he was deeply touched at her sincerity. "Thanks. I could use all the help I can get."
Scott clapped him on the shoulder. "Here's your jacket. Do you need a ride? I can give you a lift wherever you need to go."
"Oh, no. That's okay. I'll just take the 'L'; it passes right by where I'm going. Besides, you're in the middle of packing, and I've already taken up too much of your time."
"You didn't take up any of my time." Scott walked with him to the door and once outside, his mood became quieter, pensive even. They stopped in front of the building. Scott reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. For a horrified moment, Mark thought he meant to offer him money, but all he did was pull out a business card.
"Here, Mark. Take this. If you ever need anything, don't hesitate to call me."
Mark glanced down at the card. Dr. Scott Palmer, Board Certified in Psychiatry. "You're a psychiatrist? I…I don't think I need one just yet." Humiliation burned through him. He had thought they were different. That maybe, for once, someone had believed him with no questions asked. He tucked the card in his wallet. "I'll do that." He stuck out his hand, barely able to suppress the hurt he was feeling. "It was nice meeting you and your wife. You have a great family."
Scott shook his hand, but regarded Mark with concern. Instead of letting go of Mark's hand he tugged on it until Mark met his eyes. "I didn't give you the card because I think you're crazy. I gave it to you because, with the move, it's the only number that won't be changing soon." He released Mark's hand. "I want to keep in touch and if you ever want to talk, officially or unofficially, please call me. God only knows, you probably need someone to talk to."
Mark nodded, feeling stupid that he had mis-interpreted Scott's motives, but also relieved. "I'll remember that, Scott. And if you're ever in the River North neighborhood, stop in the studio and say hello."
CHAPTER SIX
The Chicago cityscape slid by in a blur but Mark didn't notice. His mind wandered back to the time he'd spent with the Palmers. Their home, even with the mess created by moving, was comfortable and inviting. It was the kind of home he'd always imagined he would have one day. A home filled with love and laughter and kids. At least a couple of them. And a dog. Gotta have a dog. He shifted on the hard train seat in an attempt to ease the discomfort in his back. When he thought of the reason for the soreness, he smiled. Thomas's face, with his big eyes and mop of sun-streaked hair, popped into his mind. A little stiffness was a small price to pay.
"Polk Street!"
The announcement pulled Mark from his reverie, and he stood and headed for the doors. Several other passengers also prepared to exit and he noticed a few studying him curiously. He zipped his jacket higher and turned up his collar in hopes that it would conceal a bit of his face. He'd tried on a baseball cap, intending to use that to help hide his identity, but the edge of it rested right on the place he'd received his stitches and he couldn't tolerate the irritation. Maybe he should have worn sunglasses. He glanced up at the steel gray sky, the clouds threatening to either deposit snow or rain any minute. Sunglasses would have just called attention to him.
Ignoring the stares of the few that seemed to recognize him, he exited and headed the short distance to Cook County Hospital. He wondered if the girl was still a patient and if she was, if they would even let him up to see her. The automatic doors slid open, and Mark approached the information desk.
The volunteer manning it looked up. Her tight curls had a blue cast but her eyes weren't the least bit dimmed by age. "May I help you?"
"I sure hope so. Could you please tell me what room Judy Medea is in?"
"Let me just check." She pushed a couple of buttons on her computer and leaned forward to read the screen. "It says here that she has to be notified before any visitors are allowed." The woman picked up the phone and punched in a few numbers. "Hello. This is the information desk. I have a young man here to see you."
The volunteer looked Mark up and down. "Yes, he's kind of tall…no…no, not that tall."
Mark shuffled his feet, feeling a flush of embarrassment as the older woman continued to relay his description to Judy Medea. "He's a very nice looking young fellow."
His face heated with a full-fledged blush. "Um…just tell her it's Mark Taylor; the guy from last night."
The woman's mouth dropped open as her eyebrows shot up. Mark straightened and shook his head with indignation. "Not like that!" Sheesh.
The woman relayed the information and finally hung-up. "She's in room 207. Second floor."
Mark found the room without any trouble and knocked lightly on the open door as he entered. Judy looked a lot better now than the last time he had seen her. Her blond hair hung limply around her face and dark smudges stained the skin beneath her eyes, but her smile was bright.
He stopped a few steps inside the door, feeling awkward now that he was here. "Hi. I just wanted to stop by and see how you're doing. "
Judy pulled the covers up to her chin and swept her hands through her hair. "Hello. I'm doing okay." She shifted in the bed and bit her lip. "Mark…your name is Mark, right?"
He nodded and stepped to the side of the bed, his hand out. "Mark Taylor. Nice to meet you."
She shook his hand. "I'm Judy, nice to meet you too." Judy smiled, then burst into giggles and covered her face with her hands. The gesture made Mark realize just how young she really was. She couldn't be more than twenty-two years old. After a moment, she stopped laughing, but her smile remained. "Gosh, this is so embarrassing. You've seen me in the altogether, and we're just now introducing ourselves."
Mark dipped his head and jammed his hands in his pockets. "I wasn't looking… I mean, I don't really remember any details or anything." His face heated, and he was sure even his ears were red.
Her face became serious, and she averted her eyes for a moment before meeting his gaze. "I didn't get a chance to thank you last night for what you did. For saving me."
"I'm just glad I was able to help, and that you're okay."
"Are you okay? I sort of remember you got hit with the staff." She grimaced and rubbed her temples. "It's all kind of fuzzy in my mind."
"I'm fine. Couple of stitches is all." Mark glanced around the room, noticing a lack of cards or flowers from anyone. "I was just wondering if you need anything. One of the detectives said that you used to be part of that cult-"
"It's not a cult." Her chin rose and she glared at him. "It's a guild."
Mark snapped his mouth shut in surprise and rubbed the back of his neck. "Oh. Sorry. I just thought-well, that's what I was told." He took a step backwards. "I guess I'll get going. Take care now."
"Wait, don't go yet. I'm sorry I snapped at you."
He paused at the doorway and looked over his shoulder to see Judy sit up and swing her legs off the bed as though to stop him.
"Don't get up." Mark stepped back into the room and held his hand up in a stop sign.
"It's just that our leader is normally so wonderful. Last semester, I was struggling at school. I had no money, I was behind on my tuition payments, and the leader paid for it all, and gave me a place to stay. I was treated like family."
Mark bit back a response about how if that's how they treated family, he'd hate to see how they treated their enemies, but he didn't come to upset the girl, so he kept his thoughts to himself. "I'm sorry. I didn't know that the group wasn't a cult, and it's great they helped you out. All I was trying to say is that if you need anything, just give me a call." He pulled a business card out of his wallet. "Here's the phone number of the studio."